proofreading team. cicero's tusculan disputations; also, treatises on the nature of the gods, and on the commonwealth. literally translated, chiefly by c. d. yonge. new york: harper & brothers, publishers, franklin square. . harper's new classical library. comprising literal translations of cÆsar. virgil. sallust. horace. cicero's orations. cicero's offices &c. cicero on oratory and orators. cicero's tusculan disputations, the republic, and the nature of the gods. terence. tacitus. livy. vols. juvenal. xenophon. homer's iliad. homer's odyssey. herodotus. demosthenes. vols. thucidides. Æschylus. sophocles. euripides. vols. plato. [select dialogues.] mo, cloth, $ . per volume. harper & brothers _will send either of the above works by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the united states, on receipt of the price_. note. the greater portion of the republic was previously translated by francis barham, esq., and published in . although ably performed, it was not sufficiently close for the purpose of the "classical library," and was therefore placed in the hands of the present editor for revision, as well as for collation with recent texts. this has occasioned material alterations and additions. the treatise "on the nature of the gods" is a revision of that usually ascribed to the celebrated benjamin franklin. contents. _tusculan disputations_ _on the nature of the gods_ _on the commonwealth_ the tusculan disputations. introduction. in the year a.u.c. , and the sixty-second year of cicero's age, his daughter, tullia, died in childbed; and her loss afflicted cicero to such a degree that he abandoned all public business, and, leaving the city, retired to asterra, which was a country house that he had near antium; where, after a while, he devoted himself to philosophical studies, and, besides other works, he published his treatise de finibus, and also this treatise called the tusculan disputations, of which middleton gives this concise description: "the first book teaches us how to contemn the terrors of death, and to look upon it as a blessing rather than an evil; "the second, to support pain and affliction with a manly fortitude; "the third, to appease all our complaints and uneasinesses under the accidents of life; "the fourth, to moderate all our other passions; "and the fifth explains the sufficiency of virtue to make men happy." it was his custom in the opportunities of his leisure to take some friends with him into the country, where, instead of amusing themselves with idle sports or feasts, their diversions were wholly speculative, tending to improve the mind and enlarge the understanding. in this manner he now spent five days at his tusculan villa in discussing with his friends the several questions just mentioned. for, after employing the mornings in declaiming and rhetorical exercises, they used to retire in the afternoon into a gallery, called the academy, which he had built for the purpose of philosophical conferences, where, after the manner of the greeks, he held a school, as they called it, and invited the company to call for any subject that they desired to hear explained, which being proposed accordingly by some of the audience became immediately the argument of that day's debate. these five conferences, or dialogues, he collected afterward into writing in the very words and manner in which they really passed; and published them under the title of his tusculan disputations, from the name of the villa in which they were held. * * * * * book i. on the contempt of death. i. at a time when i had entirely, or to a great degree, released myself from my labors as an advocate, and from my duties as a senator, i had recourse again, brutus, principally by your advice, to those studies which never had been out of my mind, although neglected at times, and which after a long interval i resumed; and now, since the principles and rules of all arts which relate to living well depend on the study of wisdom, which is called philosophy, i have thought it an employment worthy of me to illustrate them in the latin tongue, not because philosophy could not be understood in the greek language, or by the teaching of greek masters; but it has always been my opinion that our countrymen have, in some instances, made wiser discoveries than the greeks, with reference to those subjects which they have considered worthy of devoting their attention to, and in others have improved upon their discoveries, so that in one way or other we surpass them on every point; for, with regard to the manners and habits of private life, and family and domestic affairs, we certainly manage them with more elegance, and better than they did; and as to our republic, that our ancestors have, beyond all dispute, formed on better customs and laws. what shall i say of our military affairs; in which our ancestors have been most eminent in valor, and still more so in discipline? as to those things which are attained not by study, but nature, neither greece, nor any nation, is comparable to us; for what people has displayed such gravity, such steadiness, such greatness of soul, probity, faith--such distinguished virtue of every kind, as to be equal to our ancestors. in learning, indeed, and all kinds of literature, greece did excel us, and it was easy to do so where there was no competition; for while among the greeks the poets were the most ancient species of learned men--since homer and hesiod lived before the foundation of rome, and archilochus[ ] was a contemporary of romulus--we received poetry much later. for it was about five hundred and ten years after the building of rome before livius[ ] published a play in the consulship of c. claudius, the son of cæcus, and m. tuditanus, a year before the birth of ennius, who was older than plautus and nævius. ii. it was, therefore, late before poets were either known or received among us; though we find in cato de originibus that the guests used, at their entertainments, to sing the praises of famous men to the sound of the flute; but a speech of cato's shows this kind of poetry to have been in no great esteem, as he censures marcus nobilior for carrying poets with him into his province; for that consul, as we know, carried ennius with him into Ætolia. therefore the less esteem poets were in, the less were those studies pursued; though even then those who did display the greatest abilities that way were not very inferior to the greeks. do we imagine that if it had been considered commendable in fabius,[ ] a man of the highest rank, to paint, we should not have had many polycleti and parrhasii? honor nourishes art, and glory is the spur with all to studies; while those studies are always neglected in every nation which are looked upon disparagingly. the greeks held skill in vocal and instrumental music as a very important accomplishment, and therefore it is recorded of epaminondas, who, in my opinion, was the greatest man among the greeks, that he played excellently on the flute; and themistocles, some years before, was deemed ignorant because at an entertainment he declined the lyre when it was offered to him. for this reason musicians flourished in greece; music was a general study; and whoever was unacquainted with it was not considered as fully instructed in learning. geometry was in high esteem with them, therefore none were more honorable than mathematicians. but we have confined this art to bare measuring and calculating. iii. but, on the contrary, we early entertained an esteem for the orator; though he was not at first a man of learning, but only quick at speaking: in subsequent times he became learned; for it is reported that galba, africanus, and lælius were men of learning; and that even cato, who preceded them in point of time, was a studious man: then succeeded the lepidi, carbo, and gracchi, and so many great orators after them, down to our own times, that we were very little, if at all, inferior to the greeks. philosophy has been at a low ebb even to this present time, and has had no assistance from our own language, and so now i have undertaken to raise and illustrate it, in order that, as i have been of service to my countrymen, when employed on public affairs, i may, if possible, be so likewise in my retirement; and in this i must take the more pains, because there are already many books in the latin language which are said to be written inaccurately, having been composed by excellent men, only not of sufficient learning; for, indeed, it is possible that a man may think well, and yet not be able to express his thoughts elegantly; but for any one to publish thoughts which he can neither arrange skilfully nor illustrate so as to entertain his reader, is an unpardonable abuse of letters and retirement: they, therefore, read their books to one another, and no one ever takes them up but those who wish to have the same license for careless writing allowed to themselves. wherefore, if oratory has acquired any reputation from my industry, i shall take the more pains to open the fountains of philosophy, from which all my eloquence has taken its rise. iv. but, as aristotle,[ ] a man of the greatest genius, and of the most various knowledge, being excited by the glory of the rhetorician isocrates,[ ] commenced teaching young men to speak, and joined philosophy with eloquence: so it is my design not to lay aside my former study of oratory, and yet to employ myself at the same time in this greater and more fruitful art; for i have always thought that to be able to speak copiously and elegantly on the most important questions was the most perfect philosophy. and i have so diligently applied myself to this pursuit, that i have already ventured to have a school like the greeks. and lately when you left us, having many of my friends about me, i attempted at my tusculan villa what i could do in that way; for as i formerly used to practise declaiming, which nobody continued longer than myself, so this is now to be the declamation of my old age. i desired any one to propose a question which he wished to have discussed, and then i argued that point either sitting or walking; and so i have compiled the scholæ, as the greeks call them, of five days, in as many books. we proceeded in this manner: when he who had proposed the subject for discussion had said what he thought proper, i spoke against him; for this is, you know, the old and socratic method of arguing against another's opinion; for socrates thought that thus the truth would more easily be arrived at. but to give you a better notion of our disputations, i will not barely send you an account of them, but represent them to you as they were carried on; therefore let the introduction be thus: v. _a._ to me death seems to be an evil. _m._ what, to those who are already dead? or to those who must die? _a._ to both. _m._ it is a misery, then, because an evil? _a._ certainly. _m._ then those who have already died, and those who have still got to die, are both miserable? _a._ so it appears to me. _m._ then all are miserable? _a._ every one. _m._ and, indeed, if you wish to be consistent, all that are already born, or ever shall be, are not only miserable, but always will be so; for should you maintain those only to be miserable, you would not except any one living, for all must die; but there should be an end of misery in death. but seeing that the dead are miserable, we are born to eternal misery, for they must of consequence be miserable who died a hundred thousand years ago; or rather, all that have ever been born. _a._ so, indeed, i think. _m._ tell me, i beseech you, are you afraid of the three-headed cerberus in the shades below, and the roaring waves of cocytus, and the passage over acheron, and tantalus expiring with thirst, while the water touches his chin; and sisyphus, who sweats with arduous toil in vain the steepy summit of the mount to gain? perhaps, too, you dread the inexorable judges, minos and rhadamanthus; before whom neither l. crassus nor m. antonius can defend you; and where, since the cause lies before grecian judges, you will not even be able to employ demosthenes; but you must plead for yourself before a very great assembly. these things perhaps you dread, and therefore look on death as an eternal evil. vi. _a._ do you take me to be so imbecile as to give credit to such things? _m._ what, do you not believe them? _a._ not in the least. _m._ i am sorry to hear that. _a._ why, i beg? _m._ because i could have been very eloquent in speaking against them. _a._ and who could not on such a subject? or what trouble is it to refute these monstrous inventions of the poets and painters?[ ] _m._ and yet you have books of philosophers full of arguments against these. _a._ a great waste of time, truly! for who is so weak as to be concerned about them? _m._ if, then, there is no one miserable in the infernal regions, there can be no one there at all. _a._ i am altogether of that opinion. _m._ where, then, are those you call miserable? or what place do they inhabit? for, if they exist at all, they must be somewhere. _a._ i, indeed, am of opinion that they are nowhere. _m._ then they have no existence at all. _a._ even so, and yet they are miserable for this very reason, that they have no existence. _m._ i had rather now have you afraid of cerberus than speak thus inaccurately. _a._ in what respect? _m._ because you admit him to exist whose existence you deny with the same breath. where now is your sagacity? when you say any one is miserable, you say that he who does not exist, does exist. _a._ i am not so absurd as to say that. _m._ what is it that you do say, then? _a._ i say, for instance, that marcus crassus is miserable in being deprived of such great riches as his by death; that cn. pompey is miserable in being taken from such glory and honor; and, in short, that all are miserable who are deprived of this light of life. _m._ you have returned to the same point, for to be miserable implies an existence; but you just now denied that the dead had any existence: if, then, they have not, they can be nothing; and if so, they are not even miserable. _a._ perhaps i do not express what i mean, for i look upon this very circumstance, not to exist after having existed, to be very miserable. _m._ what, more so than not to have existed at all? therefore, those who are not yet born are miserable because they are not; and we ourselves, if we are to be miserable after death, were miserable before we were born: but i do not remember that i was miserable before i was born; and i should be glad to know, if your memory is better, what you recollect of yourself before you were born. vii. _a._ you are pleasant: as if i had said that those men are miserable who are not born, and not that they are so who are dead. _m._ you say, then, that they are so? _a._ yes; i say that because they no longer exist after having existed they are miserable. _m._ you do not perceive that you are asserting contradictions; for what is a greater contradiction, than that that should be not only miserable, but should have any existence at all, which does not exist? when you go out at the capene gate and see the tombs of the calatini, the scipios, servilii, and metelli, do you look on them as miserable? _a._ because you press me with a word, henceforward i will not say they are miserable absolutely, but miserable on this account, because they have no existence. _m._ you do not say, then, "m. crassus is miserable," but only "miserable m. crassus." _a._ exactly so. _m._ as if it did not follow that whatever you speak of in that manner either is or is not. are you not acquainted with the first principles of logic? for this is the first thing they lay down, whatever is asserted (for that is the best way that occurs to me, at the moment, of rendering the greek term [greek: axiôma]; if i can think of a more accurate expression hereafter, i will use it), is asserted as being either true or false. when, therefore, you say, "miserable m. crassus," you either say this, "m. crassus is miserable," so that some judgment may be made whether it is true or false, or you say nothing at all. _a._ well, then, i now own that the dead are not miserable, since you have drawn from me a concession that they who do not exist at all can not be miserable. what then? we that are alive, are we not wretched, seeing we must die? for what is there agreeable in life, when we must night and day reflect that, at some time or other, we must die? viii. _m._ do you not, then, perceive how great is the evil from which you have delivered human nature? _a._ by what means? _m._ because, if to die were miserable to the dead, to live would be a kind of infinite and eternal misery. now, however, i see a goal, and when i have reached it, there is nothing more to be feared; but you seem to me to follow the opinion of epicharmus,[ ] a man of some discernment, and sharp enough for a sicilian. _a._ what opinion? for i do not recollect it. _m._ i will tell you if i can in latin; for you know i am no more used to bring in latin sentences in a greek discourse than greek in a latin one. _a._ and that is right enough. but what is that opinion of epicharmus? _m._ i would not die, but yet am not concerned that i shall be dead. _a._ i now recollect the greek; but since you have obliged me to grant that the dead are not miserable, proceed to convince me that it is not miserable to be under a necessity of dying. _m._ that is easy enough; but i have greater things in hand. _a._ how comes that to be so easy? and what are those things of more consequence? _m._ thus: because, if there is no evil after death, then even death itself can be none; for that which immediately succeeds that is a state where you grant that there is no evil: so that even to be obliged to die can be no evil, for that is only the being obliged to arrive at a place where we allow that no evil is. _a._ i beg you will be more explicit on this point, for these subtle arguments force me sooner to admissions than to conviction. but what are those more important things about which you say that you are occupied? _m._ to teach you, if i can, that death is not only no evil, but a good. _a._ i do not insist on that, but should be glad to hear you argue it, for even though you should not prove your point, yet you will prove that death is no evil. but i will not interrupt you; i would rather hear a continued discourse. _m._ what, if i should ask you a question, would you not answer? _a._ that would look like pride; but i would rather you should not ask but where necessity requires. ix. _m._ i will comply with your wishes, and explain as well as i can what you require; but not with any idea that, like the pythian apollo, what i say must needs be certain and indisputable, but as a mere man, endeavoring to arrive at probabilities by conjecture, for i have no ground to proceed further on than probability. those men may call their statements indisputable who assert that what they say can be perceived by the senses, and who proclaim themselves philosophers by profession. _a._ do as you please: we are ready to hear you. _m._ the first thing, then, is to inquire what death, which seems to be so well understood, really is; for some imagine death to be the departure of the soul from the body; others think that there is no such departure, but that soul and body perish together, and that the soul is extinguished with the body. of those who think that the soul does depart from the body, some believe in its immediate dissolution; others fancy that it continues to exist for a time; and others believe that it lasts forever. there is great dispute even what the soul is, where it is, and whence it is derived: with some, the heart itself (_cor_) seems to be the soul, hence the expressions, _excordes_, _vecordes_, _concordes;_ and that prudent nasica, who was twice consul, was called corculus, _i.e._, wise-heart; and Ælius sextus is described as _egregie_ cordatus _homo, catus Æliu' sextus_--that great _wise-hearted_ man, sage Ælius. empedocles imagines the blood, which is suffused over the heart, to be the soul; to others, a certain part of the brain seems to be the throne of the soul; others neither allow the heart itself, nor any portion of the brain, to be the soul, but think either that the heart is the seat and abode of the soul, or else that the brain is so. some would have the soul, or spirit, to be the _anima_, as our schools generally agree; and indeed the name signifies as much, for we use the expressions _animam agere_, to live; _animam efflare_, to expire; _animosi_, men of spirit; _bene animati_, men of right feeling; _exanimi sententia_, according to our real opinion; and the very word _animus_ is derived from _anima_. again, the soul seems to zeno the stoic to be fire. x. but what i have said as to the heart, the blood, the brain, air, or fire being the soul, are common opinions: the others are only entertained by individuals; and, indeed, there were many among the ancients who held singular opinions on this subject, of whom the latest was aristoxenus, a man who was both a musician and a philosopher. he maintained a certain straining of the body, like what is called harmony in music, to be the soul, and believed that, from the figure and nature of the whole body, various motions are excited, as sounds are from an instrument. he adhered steadily to his system, and yet he said something, the nature of which, whatever it was, had been detailed and explained a great while before by plato. xenocrates denied that the soul had any figure, or anything like a body; but said it was a number, the power of which, as pythagoras had fancied, some ages before, was the greatest in nature: his master, plato, imagined a threefold soul, a dominant portion of which--that is to say, reason--he had lodged in the head, as in a tower; and the other two parts--namely, anger and desire--he made subservient to this one, and allotted them distinct abodes, placing anger in the breast, and desire under the præcordia. but dicæarchus, in that discourse of some learned disputants, held at corinth, which he details to us in three books--in the first book introduces many speakers; and in the other two he introduces a certain pherecrates, an old man of phthia, who, as he said, was descended from deucalion; asserting, that there is in fact no such thing at all as a soul, but that it is a name without a meaning; and that it is idle to use the expression "animals," or "animated beings;" that neither men nor beasts have minds or souls, but that all that power by which we act or perceive is equally infused into every living creature, and is inseparable from the body, for if it were not, it would be nothing; nor is there anything whatever really existing except body, which is a single and simple thing, so fashioned as to live and have its sensations in consequence of the regulations of nature. aristotle, a man superior to all others, both in genius and industry (i always except plato), after having embraced these four known sorts of principles, from which all things deduce their origin, imagines that there is a certain fifth nature, from whence comes the soul; for to think, to foresee, to learn, to teach, to invent anything, and many other attributes of the same kind, such as to remember, to love, to hate, to desire, to fear, to be pleased or displeased--these, and others like them, exist, he thinks, in none of those first four kinds: on such account he adds a fifth kind, which has no name, and so by a new name he calls the soul [greek: endelecheia], as if it were a certain continued and perpetual motion. xi. if i have not forgotten anything unintentionally, these are the principal opinions concerning the soul. i have omitted democritus, a very great man indeed, but one who deduces the soul from the fortuitous concourse of small, light, and round substances; for, if you believe men of his school, there is nothing which a crowd of atoms cannot effect. which of these opinions is true, some god must determine. it is an important question for us, which has the most appearance of truth? shall we, then, prefer determining between them, or shall we return to our subject? _a._ i could wish both, if possible; but it is difficult to mix them: therefore, if without a discussion of them we can get rid of the fears of death, let us proceed to do so; but if this is not to be done without explaining the question about souls, let us have that now, and the other at another time. _m._ i take that plan to be the best, which i perceive you are inclined to; for reason will demonstrate that, whichever of the opinions which i have stated is true, it must follow, then, that death cannot be an evil; or that it must rather be something desirable; for if either the heart, or the blood, or the brain, is the soul, then certainly the soul, being corporeal, must perish with the rest of the body; if it is air, it will perhaps be dissolved; if it is fire, it will be extinguished; if it is aristoxenus's harmony, it will be put out of tune. what shall i say of dicæarchus, who denies that there is any soul? in all these opinions, there is nothing to affect any one after death; for all feeling is lost with life, and where there is no sensation, nothing can interfere to affect us. the opinions of others do indeed bring us hope; if it is any pleasure to you to think that souls, after they leave the body, may go to heaven as to a permanent home. _a._ i have great pleasure in that thought, and it is what i most desire; and even if it should not be so, i should still be very willing to believe it. _m._ what occasion have you, then, for my assistance? am i superior to plato in eloquence? turn over carefully his book that treats of the soul; you will have there all that you can want. _a._ i have, indeed, done that, and often; but, i know not how it comes to pass, i agree with it while i am reading it; but when i have laid down the book, and begin to reflect with myself on the immortality of the soul, all that agreement vanishes. _m._ how comes that? do you admit this--that souls either exist after death, or else that they also perish at the moment of death? _a._ i agree to that. and if they do exist, i admit that they are happy; but if they perish, i cannot suppose them to be unhappy, because, in fact, they have no existence at all. you drove me to that concession but just now. _m._ how, then, can you, or why do you, assert that you think that death is an evil, when it either makes us happy, in the case of the soul continuing to exist, or, at all events, not unhappy, in the case of our becoming destitute of all sensation? xii. _a._ explain, therefore, if it is not troublesome to you, first, if you can, that souls do exist after death; secondly, should you fail in that (and it is a very difficult thing to establish), that death is free from all evil; for i am not without my fears that this itself is an evil: i do not mean the immediate deprivation of sense, but the fact that we shall hereafter suffer deprivation. _m._ i have the best authority in support of the opinion you desire to have established, which ought, and generally has, great weight in all cases. and, first, i have all antiquity on that side, which the more near it is to its origin and divine descent, the more clearly, perhaps, on that account, did it discern the truth in these matters. this very doctrine, then, was adopted by all those ancients whom ennius calls in the sabine tongue casci; namely, that in death there was a sensation, and that, when men departed this life, they were not so entirely destroyed as to perish absolutely. and this may appear from many other circumstances, and especially from the pontifical rites and funeral obsequies, which men of the greatest genius would not have been so solicitous about, and would not have guarded from any injury by such severe laws, but from a firm persuasion that death was not so entire a destruction as wholly to abolish and destroy everything, but rather a kind of transmigration, as it were, and change of life, which was, in the case of illustrious men and women, usually a guide to heaven, while in that of others it was still confined to the earth, but in such a manner as still to exist. from this, and the sentiments of the romans, in heaven romulus with gods now lives, as ennius saith, agreeing with the common belief; hence, too, hercules is considered so great and propitious a god among the greeks, and from them he was introduced among us, and his worship has extended even to the very ocean itself. this is how it was that bacchus was deified, the offspring of semele; and from the same illustrious fame we receive castor and pollux as gods, who are reported not only to have helped the romans to victory in their battles, but to have been the messengers of their success. what shall we say of ino, the daughter of cadmus? is she not called leucothea by the greeks, and matuta by us? nay, more; is not the whole of heaven (not to dwell on particulars) almost filled with the offspring of men? should i attempt to search into antiquity, and produce from thence what the greek writers have asserted, it would appear that even those who are called their principal gods were taken from among men up into heaven. xiii. examine the sepulchres of those which are shown in greece; recollect, for you have been initiated, what lessons are taught in the mysteries; then will you perceive how extensive this doctrine is. but they who were not acquainted with natural philosophy (for it did not begin to be in vogue till many years later) had no higher belief than what natural reason could give them; they were not acquainted with the principles and causes of things; they were often induced by certain visions, and those generally in the night, to think that those men who had departed from this life were still alive. and this may further be brought as an irrefragable argument for us to believe that there are gods--that there never was any nation so barbarous, nor any people in the world so savage, as to be without some notion of gods. many have wrong notions of the gods, for that is the nature and ordinary consequence of bad customs, yet all allow that there is a certain divine nature and energy. nor does this proceed from the conversation of men, or the agreement of philosophers; it is not an opinion established by institutions or by laws; but, no doubt, in every case the consent of all nations is to be looked on as a law of nature. who is there, then, that does not lament the loss of his friends, principally from imagining them deprived of the conveniences of life? take away this opinion, and you remove with it all grief; for no one is afflicted merely on account of a loss sustained by himself. perhaps we may be sorry, and grieve a little; but that bitter lamentation and those mournful tears have their origin in our apprehensions that he whom we loved is deprived of all the advantages of life, and is sensible of his loss. and we are led to this opinion by nature, without any arguments or any instruction. xiv. but the greatest proof of all is, that nature herself gives a silent judgment in favor of the immortality of the soul, inasmuch as all are anxious, and that to a great degree, about the things which concern futurity: one plants what future ages shall enjoy, as statius saith in his synephebi. what is his object in doing so, except that he is interested in posterity? shall the industrious husbandman, then, plant trees the fruit of which he shall never see? and shall not the great man found laws, institutions, and a republic? what does the procreation of children imply, and our care to continue our names, and our adoptions, and our scrupulous exactness in drawing up wills, and the inscriptions on monuments, and panegyrics, but that our thoughts run on futurity? there is no doubt but a judgment may be formed of nature in general, from looking at each nature in its most perfect specimens; and what is a more perfect specimen of a man than those are who look on themselves as born for the assistance, the protection, and the preservation of others? hercules has gone to heaven; he never would have gone thither had he not, while among men, made that road for himself. these things are of old date, and have, besides, the sanction of universal religion. xv. what will you say? what do you imagine that so many and such great men of our republic, who have sacrificed their lives for its good, expected? do you believe that they thought that their names should not continue beyond their lives? none ever encountered death for their country but under a firm persuasion of immortality! themistocles might have lived at his ease; so might epaminondas; and, not to look abroad and among the ancients for instances, so might i myself. but, somehow or other there clings to our minds a certain presage of future ages; and this both exists most firmly, and appears most clearly, in men of the loftiest genius and greatest souls. take away this, and who would be so mad as to spend his life amidst toils and dangers? i speak of those in power. what are the poet's views but to be ennobled after death? what else is the object of these lines, behold old ennius here, who erst thy fathers' great exploits rehearsed? he is challenging the reward of glory from those men whose ancestors he himself had ennobled by his poetry. and in the same spirit he says, in another passage, let none with tears my funeral grace, for i claim from my works an immortality. why do i mention poets? the very mechanics are desirous of fame after death. why did phidias include a likeness of himself in the shield of minerva, when he was not allowed to inscribe his name on it? what do our philosophers think on the subject? do not they put their names to those very books which they write on the contempt of glory? if, then, universal consent is the voice of nature, and if it is the general opinion everywhere that those who have quitted this life are still interested in something, we also must subscribe to that opinion. and if we think that men of the greatest abilities and virtues see most clearly into the power of nature, because they themselves are her most perfect work, it is very probable that, as every great man is especially anxious to benefit posterity, there is something of which he himself will be sensible after death. xvi. but as we are led by nature to think there are gods, and as we discover, by reason, of what description they are, so, by the consent of all nations, we are induced to believe that our souls survive; but where their habitation is, and of what character they eventually are, must be learned from reason. the want of any certain reason on which to argue has given rise to the idea of the shades below, and to those fears which you seem, not without reason, to despise; for as our bodies fall to the ground, and are covered with earth (_humus_), from whence we derive the expression to be interred (_humari_), that has occasioned men to imagine that the dead continue, during the remainder of their existence, under ground; which opinion has drawn after it many errors, which the poets have increased; for the theatre, being frequented by a large crowd, among which are women and children, is wont to be greatly affected on hearing such pompous verses as these, lo! here i am, who scarce could gain this place, through stony mountains and a dreary waste; through cliffs, whose sharpen'd stones tremendous hung, where dreadful darkness spread itself around. and the error prevailed so much, though indeed at present it seems to me to be removed, that although men knew that the bodies of the dead had been burned, yet they conceived such things to be done in the infernal regions as could not be executed or imagined without a body; for they could not conceive how disembodied souls could exist; and, therefore, they looked out for some shape or figure. this was the origin of all that account of the dead in homer. this was the idea that caused my friend appius to frame his necromancy; and this is how there got about that idea of the lake of avernus, in my neighborhood, from whence the souls of undistinguish'd shape, clad in thick shade, rush from the open gate of acheron, vain phantoms of the dead. and they must needs have these appearances speak, which is not possible without a tongue, and a palate, and jaws, and without the help of lungs and sides, and without some shape or figure; for they could see nothing by their mind alone--they referred all to their eyes. to withdraw the mind from sensual objects, and abstract our thoughts from what we are accustomed to, is an attribute of great genius. i am persuaded, indeed, that there were many such men in former ages; but pherecydes[ ] the syrian is the first on record who said that the souls of men were immortal, and he was a philosopher of great antiquity, in the reign of my namesake tullius. his disciple pythagoras greatly confirmed this opinion, who came into italy in the reign of tarquin the proud; and all that country which is called great greece was occupied by his school, and he himself was held in high honor, and had the greatest authority; and the pythagorean sect was for many ages after in such great credit, that all learning was believed to be confined to that name. xvii. but i return to the ancients. they scarcely ever gave any reason for their opinion but what could be explained by numbers or definitions. it is reported of plato that he came into italy to make himself acquainted with the pythagoreans; and that when there, among others, he made an acquaintance with archytas[ ] and timæus,[ ] and learned from them all the tenets of the pythagoreans; and that he not only was of the same opinion with pythagoras concerning the immortality of the soul, but that he also brought reasons in support of it; which, if you have nothing to say against it, i will pass over, and say no more at present about all this hope of immortality. _a._ what, will you leave me when you have raised my expectations so high? i had rather, so help me hercules! be mistaken with plato, whom i know how much you esteem, and whom i admire myself, from what you say of him, than be in the right with those others. _m._ i commend you; for, indeed, i could myself willingly be mistaken in his company. do we, then, doubt, as we do in other cases (though i think here is very little room for doubt in this case, for the mathematicians prove the facts to us), that the earth is placed in the midst of the world, being, as it were, a sort of point, which they call a [greek: kentron], surrounded by the whole heavens; and that such is the nature of the four principles which are the generating causes of all things, that they have equally divided among them the constituents of all bodies; moreover, that earthy and humid bodies are carried at equal angles by their own weight and ponderosity into the earth and sea; that the other two parts consist, one of fire, and the other of air? as the two former are carried by their gravity and weight into the middle region of the world, so these, on the other hand, ascend by right lines into the celestial regions, either because, owing to their intrinsic nature, they are always endeavoring to reach the highest place, or else because lighter bodies are naturally repelled by heavier; and as this is notoriously the case, it must evidently follow that souls, when once they have departed from the body, whether they are animal (by which term i mean capable of breathing) or of the nature of fire, must mount upward. but if the soul is some number, as some people assert, speaking with more subtlety than clearness, or if it is that fifth nature, for which it would be more correct to say that we have not given a name to than that we do not correctly understand it--still it is too pure and perfect not to go to a great distance from the earth. something of this sort, then, we must believe the soul to be, that we may not commit the folly of thinking that so active a principle lies immerged in the heart or brain; or, as empedocles would have it, in the blood. xviii. we will pass over dicæarchus,[ ] with his contemporary and fellow-disciple aristoxenus,[ ] both indeed men of learning. one of them seems never even to have been affected with grief, as he could not perceive that he had a soul; while the other is so pleased with his musical compositions that he endeavors to show an analogy betwixt them and souls. now, we may understand harmony to arise from the intervals of sounds, whose various compositions occasion many harmonies; but i do not see how a disposition of members, and the figure of a body without a soul, can occasion harmony. he had better, learned as he is, leave these speculations to his master aristotle, and follow his own trade as a musician. good advice is given him in that greek proverb, apply your talents where you best are skill'd. i will have nothing at all to do with that fortuitous concourse of individual light and round bodies, notwithstanding democritus insists on their being warm and having breath, that is to say, life. but this soul, which is compounded of either of the four principles from which we assert that all things are derived, is of inflamed air, as seems particularly to have been the opinion of panætius, and must necessarily mount upward; for air and fire have no tendency downward, but always ascend; so should they be dissipated that must be at some distance from the earth; but should they remain, and preserve their original state, it is clearer still that they must be carried heavenward, and this gross and concrete air, which is nearest the earth, must be divided and broken by them; for the soul is warmer, or rather hotter, than that air, which i just now called gross and concrete: and this may be made evident from this consideration--that our bodies, being compounded of the earthy class of principles, grow warm by the heat of the soul. xix. we may add, that the soul can the more easily escape from this air, which i have often named, and break through it, because nothing is swifter than the soul; no swiftness is comparable to the swiftness of the soul, which, should it remain uncorrupt and without alteration, must necessarily be carried on with such velocity as to penetrate and divide all this atmosphere, where clouds, and rain, and winds are formed, which, in consequence of the exhalations from the earth, is moist and dark: but, when the soul has once got above this region, and falls in with, and recognizes, a nature like its own, it then rests upon fires composed of a combination of thin air and a moderate solar heat, and does not aim at any higher flight; for then, after it has attained a lightness and heat resembling its own, it moves no more, but remains steady, being balanced, as it were, between two equal weights. that, then, is its natural seat where it has penetrated to something like itself, and where, wanting nothing further, it may be supported and maintained by the same aliment which nourishes and maintains the stars. now, as we are usually incited to all sorts of desires by the stimulus of the body, and the more so as we endeavor to rival those who are in possession of what we long for, we shall certainly be happy when, being emancipated from that body, we at the same time get rid of these desires and this rivalry. and that which we do at present, when, dismissing all other cares, we curiously examine and look into anything, we shall then do with greater freedom; and we shall employ ourselves entirely in the contemplation and examination of things; because there is naturally in our minds a certain insatiable desire to know the truth, and the very region itself where we shall arrive, as it gives us a more intuitive and easy knowledge of celestial things, will raise our desires after knowledge. for it was this beauty of the heavens, as seen even here upon earth, which gave birth to that national and hereditary philosophy (as theophrastus calls it), which was thus excited to a desire of knowledge. but those persons will in a most especial degree enjoy this philosophy, who, while they were only inhabitants of this world and enveloped in darkness, were still desirous of looking into these things with the eye of their mind. xx. for if those men now think that they have attained something who have seen the mouth of the pontus, and those straits which were passed by the ship called argo, because, from argos she did chosen men convey, bound to fetch back the golden fleece, their prey; or those who have seen the straits of the ocean, where the swift waves divide the neighboring shores of europe, and of afric; what kind of sight do you imagine that will be when the whole earth is laid open to our view? and that, too, not only in its position, form, and boundaries, nor those parts of it only which are habitable, but those also that lie uncultivated, through the extremities of heat and cold to which they are exposed; for not even now is it with our eyes that we view what we see, for the body itself has no senses; but (as the naturalists, ay, and even the physicians assure us, who have opened our bodies, and examined them) there are certain perforated channels from the seat of the soul to the eyes, ears, and nose; so that frequently, when either prevented by meditation, or the force of some bodily disorder, we neither hear nor see, though our eyes and ears are open and in good condition; so that we may easily apprehend that it is the soul itself which sees and hears, and not those parts which are, as it were, but windows to the soul, by means of which, however, she can perceive nothing, unless she is on the spot, and exerts herself. how shall we account for the fact that by the same power of thinking we comprehend the most different things--as color, taste, heat, smell, and sound--which the soul could never know by her five messengers, unless every thing were referred to her, and she were the sole judge of all? and we shall certainly discover these things in a more clear and perfect degree when the soul is disengaged from the body, and has arrived at that goal to which nature leads her; for at present, notwithstanding nature has contrived, with the greatest skill, those channels which lead from the body to the soul, yet are they, in some way or other, stopped up with earthy and concrete bodies; but when we shall be nothing but soul, then nothing will interfere to prevent our seeing everything in its real substance and in its true character. xxi. it is true, i might expatiate, did the subject require it, on the many and various objects with which the soul will be entertained in those heavenly regions; when i reflect on which, i am apt to wonder at the boldness of some philosophers, who are so struck with admiration at the knowledge of nature as to thank, in an exulting manner, the first inventor and teacher of natural philosophy, and to reverence him as a god; for they declare that they have been delivered by his means from the greatest tyrants, a perpetual terror, and a fear that molested them by night and day. what is this dread--this fear? what old woman is there so weak as to fear these things, which you, forsooth, had you not been acquainted with natural philosophy, would stand in awe of? the hallow'd roofs of acheron, the dread of orcus, the pale regions of the dead. and does it become a philosopher to boast that he is not afraid of these things, and that he has discovered them to be false? and from this we may perceive how acute these men were by nature, who, if they had been left without any instruction, would have believed in these things. but now they have certainly made a very fine acquisition in learning that when the day of their death arrives, they will perish entirely. and if that really is the case--for i say nothing either way--what is there agreeable or glorious in it? not that i see any reason why the opinion of pythagoras and plato may not be true; but even although plato were to have assigned no reason for his opinion (observe how much i esteem the man), the weight of his authority would have borne me down; but he has brought so many reasons, that he appears to me to have endeavored to convince others, and certainly to have convinced himself. xxii. but there are many who labor on the other side of the question, and condemn souls to death, as if they were criminals capitally convicted; nor have they any other reason to allege why the immortality of the soul appears to them to be incredible, except that they are not able to conceive what sort of thing the soul can be when disentangled from the body; just as if they could really form a correct idea as to what sort of thing it is, even when it is in the body; what its form, and size, and abode are; so that were they able to have a full view of all that is now hidden from them in a living body, they have no idea whether the soul would be discernible by them, or whether it is of so fine a texture that it would escape their sight. let those consider this, who say that they are unable to form any idea of the soul without the body, and then they will see whether they can form any adequate idea of what it is when it is in the body. for my own part, when i reflect on the nature of the soul, it appears to me a far more perplexing and obscure question to determine what is its character while it is in the body--a place which, as it were, does not belong to it--than to imagine what it is when it leaves it, and has arrived at the free æther, which is, if i may so say, its proper, its own habitation. for unless we are to say that we cannot apprehend the character or nature of anything which we have never seen, we certainly may be able to form some notion of god, and of the divine soul when released from the body. dicæarchus, indeed, and aristoxenus, because it was hard to understand the existence and substance and nature of the soul, asserted that there was no such thing as a soul at all. it is, indeed, the most difficult thing imaginable to discern the soul by the soul. and this, doubtless, is the meaning of the precept of apollo, which advises every one to know himself. for i do not apprehend the meaning of the god to have been that we should understand our members, our stature, and form; for we are not merely bodies; nor, when i say these things to you, am i addressing myself to your body: when, therefore, he says, "know yourself," he says this, "inform yourself of the nature of your soul;" for the body is but a kind of vessel, or receptacle of the soul, and whatever your soul does is your own act. to know the soul, then, unless it had been divine, would not have been a precept of such excellent wisdom as to be attributed to a god; but even though the soul should not know of what nature itself is, will you say that it does not even perceive that it exists at all, or that it has motion? on which is founded that reason of plato's, which is explained by socrates in the phædrus, and inserted by me, in my sixth book of the republic. xxiii. "that which is always moved is eternal; but that which gives motion to something else, and is moved itself by some external cause, when that motion ceases, must necessarily cease to exist. that, therefore, alone, which is self-moved, because it is never forsaken by itself, can never cease to be moved. besides, it is the beginning and principle of motion to everything else; but whatever is a principle has no beginning, for all things arise from that principle, and it cannot itself owe its rise to anything else; for then it would not be a principle did it proceed from anything else. but if it has no beginning, it never will have any end; for a principle which is once extinguished cannot itself be restored by anything else, nor can it produce anything else from itself; inasmuch as all things must necessarily arise from some first cause. and thus it comes about that the first principle of motion must arise from that thing which is itself moved by itself; and that can neither have a beginning nor an end of its existence, for otherwise the whole heaven and earth would be overset, and all nature would stand still, and not be able to acquire any force by the impulse of which it might be first set in motion. seeing, then, that it is clear that whatever moves itself is eternal, can there be any doubt that the soul is so? for everything is inanimate which is moved by an external force; but everything which is animate is moved by an interior force, which also belongs to itself. for this is the peculiar nature and power of the soul; and if the soul be the only thing in the whole world which has the power of self-motion, then certainly it never had a beginning, and therefore it is eternal." now, should all the lower order of philosophers (for so i think they may be called who dissent from plato and socrates and that school) unite their force, they never would be able to explain anything so elegantly as this, nor even to understand how ingeniously this conclusion is drawn. the soul, then, perceives itself to have motion, and at the same time that it gets that perception, it is sensible that it derives that motion from its own power, and not from the agency of another; and it is impossible that it should ever forsake itself. and these premises compel you to allow its eternity, unless you have something to say against them. _a._ i should myself be very well pleased not to have even a thought arise in my mind against them, so much am i inclined to that opinion. xxiv. _m._ well, then, i appeal to you, if the arguments which prove that there is something divine in the souls of men are not equally strong? but if i could account for the origin of these divine properties, then i might also be able to explain how they might cease to exist; for i think i can account for the manner in which the blood, and bile, and phlegm, and bones, and nerves, and veins, and all the limbs, and the shape of the whole body, were put together and made; ay, and even as to the soul itself, were there nothing more in it than a principle of life, then the life of a man might be put upon the same footing as that of a vine or any other tree, and accounted for as caused by nature; for these things, as we say, live. besides, if desires and aversions were all that belonged to the soul, it would have them only in common with the beasts; but it has, in the first place, memory, and that, too, so infinite as to recollect an absolute countless number of circumstances, which plato will have to be a recollection of a former life; for in that book which is inscribed menon, socrates asks a child some questions in geometry, with reference to measuring a square; his answers are such as a child would make, and yet the questions are so easy, that while answering them, one by one, he comes to the same point as if he had learned geometry. from whence socrates would infer that learning is nothing more than recollection; and this topic he explains more accurately in the discourse which he held the very day he died; for he there asserts that, any one, who seeming to be entirely illiterate, is yet able to answer a question well that is proposed to him, does in so doing manifestly show that he is not learning it then, but recollecting it by his memory. nor is it to be accounted for in any other way, how children come to have notions of so many and such important things as are implanted, and, as it were, sealed up, in their minds (which the greeks call [greek: ennoiai]), unless the soul, before it entered the body, had been well stored with knowledge. and as it had no existence at all (for this is the invariable doctrine of plato, who will not admit anything to have a real existence which has a beginning and an end, and who thinks that that alone does really exist which is of such a character as what he calls [greek: eidea], and we species), therefore, being shut up in the body, it could not while in the body discover what it knows; but it knew it before, and brought the knowledge with it, so that we are no longer surprised at its extensive and multifarious knowledge. nor does the soul clearly discover its ideas at its first resort to this abode to which it is so unaccustomed, and which is in so disturbed a state; but after having refreshed and recollected itself, it then by its memory recovers them; and, therefore, to learn implies nothing more than to recollect. but i am in a particular manner surprised at memory. for what is that faculty by which we remember? what is its force? what its nature? i am not inquiring how great a memory simonides[ ] may be said to have had, or theodectes,[ ] or that cineas[ ] who was sent to rome as ambassador from pyrrhus; or, in more modern times, charmadas;[ ] or, very lately, metrodorus[ ] the scepsian, or our own contemporary hortensius[ ]: i am speaking of ordinary memory, and especially of those men who are employed in any important study or art, the great capacity of whose minds it is hard to estimate, such numbers of things do they remember. xxv. should you ask what this leads to, i think we may understand what that power is, and whence we have it. it certainly proceeds neither from the heart, nor from the blood, nor from the brain, nor from atoms; whether it be air or fire, i know not, nor am i, as those men are, ashamed, in cases where i am ignorant, to own that i am so. if in any other obscure matter i were able to assert anything positively, then i would swear that the soul, be it air or fire, is divine. just think, i beseech you: can you imagine this wonderful power of memory to be sown in or to be a part of the composition of the earth, or of this dark and gloomy atmosphere? though you cannot apprehend what it is, yet you see what kind of thing it is, or if you do not quite see that, yet you certainly see how great it is. what, then? shall we imagine that there is a kind of measure in the soul, into which, as into a vessel, all that we remember is poured? that indeed is absurd; for how shall we form any idea of the bottom, or of the shape or fashion of such a soul as that? and, again, how are we to conceive how much it is able to contain? shall we imagine the soul to receive impressions like wax, and memory to be marks of the impressions made on the soul? what are the characters of the words, what of the facts themselves? and what, again, is that prodigious greatness which can give rise to impressions of so many things? what, lastly, is that power which investigates secret things, and is called invention and contrivance? does that man seem to be compounded of this earthly, mortal, and perishing nature who first invented names for everything; which, if you will believe pythagoras, is the highest pitch of wisdom? or he who collected the dispersed inhabitants of the world, and united them in the bonds of social life? or he who confined the sounds of the voice, which used to seem infinite, to the marks of a few letters? or he who first observed the courses of the planets, their progressive motions, their laws? these were all great men. but they were greater still who invented food, and raiment, and houses; who introduced civilization among us, and armed us against the wild beasts; by whom we were made sociable and polished, and so proceeded from the necessaries of life to its embellishments. for we have provided great entertainments for the ears by inventing and modulating the variety and nature of sounds; we have learned to survey the stars, not only those that are fixed, but also those which are improperly called wandering; and the man who has acquainted himself with all their revolutions and motions is fairly considered to have a soul resembling the soul of that being who has created those stars in the heavens: for when archimedes described in a sphere the motions of the moon, sun, and five planets, he did the very same thing as plato's god, in his timæus, who made the world, causing one revolution to adjust motions differing as much as possible in their slowness and velocity. now, allowing that what we see in the world could not be effected without a god, archimedes could not have imitated the same motions in his sphere without a divine soul. xxvi. to me, indeed, it appears that even those studies which are more common and in greater esteem are not without some divine energy: so that i do not consider that a poet can produce a serious and sublime poem without some divine impulse working on his mind; nor do i think that eloquence, abounding with sonorous words and fruitful sentences, can flow thus without something beyond mere human power. but as to philosophy, that is the parent of all the arts: what can we call that but, as plato says, a gift, or, as i express it, an invention, of the gods? this it was which first taught us the worship of the gods; and then led us on to justice, which arises from the human race being formed into society; and after that it imbued us with modesty and elevation of soul. this it was which dispersed darkness from our souls, as it is dispelled from our eyes, enabling us to see all things that are above or below, the beginning, end, and middle of everything. i am convinced entirely that that which could effect so many and such great things must be a divine power. for what is memory of words and circumstances? what, too, is invention? surely they are things than which nothing greater can be conceived in a god! for i do not imagine the gods to be delighted with nectar and ambrosia, or with juventas presenting them with a cup; nor do i put any faith in homer, who says that ganymede was carried away by the gods on account of his beauty, in order to give jupiter his wine. too weak reasons for doing laomedon such injury! these were mere inventions of homer, who gave his gods the imperfections of men. i would rather that he had given men the perfections of the gods! those perfections, i mean, of uninterrupted health, wisdom, invention, memory. therefore the soul (which is, as i say, divine) is, as euripides more boldly expresses it, a god. and thus, if the divinity be air or fire, the soul of man is the same; for as that celestial nature has nothing earthly or humid about it, in like manner the soul of man is also free from both these qualities: but if it is of that fifth kind of nature, first introduced by aristotle, then both gods and souls are of the same. xxvii. as this is my opinion, i have explained it in these very words, in my book on consolation.[ ] the origin of the soul of man is not to be found upon earth, for there is nothing in the soul of a mixed or concrete nature, or that has any appearance of being formed or made out of the earth; nothing even humid, or airy, or fiery. for what is there in natures of that kind which has the power of memory, understanding, or thought? which can recollect the past, foresee the future, and comprehend the present? for these capabilities are confined to divine beings; nor can we discover any source from which men could derive them, but from god. there is therefore a peculiar nature and power in the soul, distinct from those natures which are more known and familiar to us. whatever, then, that is which thinks, and which has understanding, and volition, and a principle of life, is heavenly and divine, and on that account must necessarily be eternal; nor can god himself, who is known to us, be conceived to be anything else except a soul free and unembarrassed, distinct from all mortal concretion, acquainted with everything, and giving motion to everything, and itself endued with perpetual motion. xxviii. of this kind and nature is the intellect of man. where, then, is this intellect seated, and of what character is it? where is your own, and what is its character? are you able to tell? if i have not faculties for knowing all that i could desire to know, will you not even allow me to make use of those which i have? the soul has not sufficient capacity to comprehend itself; yet, the soul, like the eye, though it has no distinct view of itself, sees other things: it does not see (which is of least consequence) its own shape; perhaps not, though it possibly may; but we will pass that by: but it certainly sees that it has vigor, sagacity, memory, motion, and velocity; these are all great, divine, eternal properties. what its appearance is, or where it dwells, it is not necessary even to inquire. as when we behold, first of all, the beauty and brilliant appearance of the heavens; secondly, the vast velocity of its revolutions, beyond power of our imagination to conceive; then the vicissitudes of nights and days, the fourfold division of the seasons, so well adapted to the ripening of the fruits of the earth, and the temperature of our bodies: and after that we look up to the sun, the moderator and governor of all these things; and view the moon, by the increase and decrease of its light, marking, as it were, and appointing our holy days; and see the five planets, borne on in the same circle, divided into twelve parts, preserving the same course with the greatest regularity, but with utterly dissimilar motions among themselves; and the nightly appearance of the heaven, adorned on all sides with stars; then, the globe of the earth, raised above the sea, and placed in the centre of the universe, inhabited and cultivated in its two opposite extremities, one of which, the place of our habitation, is situated towards the north pole, under the seven stars: where the cold northern blasts, with horrid sound, harden to ice the snowy cover'd ground; the other, towards the south pole, is unknown to us, but is called by the greeks [greek: antichthona]: the other parts are uncultivated, because they are either frozen with cold, or burned up with heat; but where we dwell, it never fails, in its season, to yield a placid sky, to bid the trees assume the lively verdure of their leaves: the vine to bud, and, joyful, in its shoots, foretell the approaching vintage of its fruits: the ripen'd corn to sing, while all around full riv'lets glide; and flowers deck the ground: then the multitude of cattle, fit part for food, part for tilling the ground, others for carrying us, or for clothing us; and man himself, made, as it were, on purpose to contemplate the heavens and the gods, and to pay adoration to them: lastly, the whole earth, and wide extending seas, given to man's use. when we view these and numberless other things, can we doubt that they have some being who presides over them, or has made them (if, indeed, they have been made, as is the opinion of plato, or if, as aristotle thinks, they are eternal), or who at all events is the regulator of so immense a fabric and so great a blessing to men? thus, though you see not the soul of man, as you see not the deity, yet, as by the contemplation of his works you are led to acknowledge a god, so you must own the divine power of the soul, from its remembering things, from its invention, from the quickness of its motion, and from all the beauty of virtue. where, then, is it seated, you will say? xxix. in my opinion, it is seated in the head, and i can bring you reasons for my adopting that opinion. at present, let the soul reside where it will, you certainly have one in you. should you ask what its nature is? it has one peculiarly its own; but admitting it to consist of fire, or air, it does not affect the present question. only observe this, that as you are convinced there is a god, though you are ignorant where he resides, and what shape he is of; in like manner you ought to feel assured that you have a soul, though you cannot satisfy yourself of the place of its residence, nor its form. in our knowledge of the soul, unless we are grossly ignorant of natural philosophy, we cannot but be satisfied that it has nothing but what is simple, unmixed, uncompounded, and single; and if this is admitted, then it cannot be separated, nor divided, nor dispersed, nor parted, and therefore it cannot perish; for to perish implies a parting-asunder, a division, a disunion, of those parts which, while it subsisted, were held together by some band. and it was because he was influenced by these and similar reasons that socrates neither looked out for anybody to plead for him when he was accused, nor begged any favor from his judges, but maintained a manly freedom, which was the effect not of pride, but of the true greatness of his soul; and on the last day of his life he held a long discourse on this subject; and a few days before, when he might have been easily freed from his confinement, he refused to be so; and when he had almost actually hold of that deadly cup, he spoke with the air of a man not forced to die, but ascending into heaven. xxx. for so indeed he thought himself, and thus he spoke: "that there were two ways, and that the souls of men, at their departure from the body, took different roads; for those which were polluted with vices that are common to men, and which had given themselves up entirely to unclean desires, and had become so blinded by them as to have habituated themselves to all manner of debauchery and profligacy, or to have laid detestable schemes for the ruin of their country, took a road wide of that which led to the assembly of the gods; but they who had preserved themselves upright and chaste, and free from the slightest contagion of the body, and had always kept themselves as far as possible at a distance from it, and while on earth had proposed to themselves as a model the life of the gods, found the return to those beings from whom they had come an easy one." therefore, he argues, that all good and wise men should take example from the swans, who are considered sacred to apollo, not without reason, but particularly because they seem to have received the gift of divination from him, by which, foreseeing how happy it is to die, they leave this world with singing and joy. nor can any one doubt of this, unless it happens to us who think with care and anxiety about the soul (as is often the case with those who look earnestly at the setting sun), to lose the sight of it entirely; and so the mind's eye, viewing itself, sometimes grows dull, and for that reason we become remiss in our contemplation. thus our reasoning is borne about, harassed with doubts and anxieties, not knowing how to proceed, but measuring back again those dangerous tracts which it has passed, like a boat tossed about on the boundless ocean. but these reflections are of long standing, and borrowed from the greeks. but cato left this world in such a manner as if he were delighted that he had found an opportunity of dying; for that god who presides in us forbids our departure hence without his leave. but when god himself has given us a just cause, as formerly he did to socrates, and lately to cato, and often to many others--in such a case, certainly every man of sense would gladly exchange this darkness for that light: not that he would forcibly break from the chains that held him, for that would be against the law; but, like a man released from prison by a magistrate or some lawful authority, so he too would walk away, being released and discharged by god. for the whole life of a philosopher is, as the same philosopher says, a meditation on death. xxxi. for what else is it that we do, when we call off our minds from pleasure, that is to say, from our attention to the body, from the managing our domestic estate, which is a sort of handmaid and servant of the body, or from duties of a public nature, or from all other serious business whatever? what else is it, i say, that we do, but invite the soul to reflect on itself? oblige it to converse with itself, and, as far as possible, break off its acquaintance with the body? now, to separate the soul from the body, is to learn to die, and nothing else whatever. wherefore take my advice; and let us meditate on this, and separate ourselves as far as possible from the body, that is to say, let us accustom ourselves to die. this will be enjoying a life like that of heaven even while we remain on earth; and when we are carried thither and released from these bonds, our souls will make their progress with more rapidity; for the spirit which has always been fettered by the bonds of the body, even when it is disengaged, advances more slowly, just as those do who have worn actual fetters for many years: but when we have arrived at this emancipation from the bonds of the body, then indeed we shall begin to live, for this present life is really death, which i could say a good deal in lamentation for if i chose. _a._ you have lamented it sufficiently in your book on consolation; and when i read that, there is nothing which i desire more than to leave these things; but that desire is increased a great deal by what i have just heard. _m._ the time will come, and that soon, and with equal certainty, whether you hang back or press forward; for time flies. but death is so far from being an evil, as it lately appeared to you, that i am inclined to suspect, not that there is no other thing which is an evil to man, but rather that there is nothing else which is a real good to him; if, at least, it is true that we become thereby either gods ourselves, or companions of the gods. however, this is not of so much consequence, as there are some of us here who will not allow this. but i will not leave off discussing this point till i have convinced you that death can, upon no consideration whatever, be an evil. _a._ how can it, after what i now know? _m._ do you ask how it can? there are crowds of arguers who contradict this; and those not only epicureans, whom i regard very little, but, somehow or other, almost every man of letters; and, above all, my favorite dicæarchus is very strenuous in opposing the immortality of the soul: for he has written three books, which are entitled lesbiacs, because the discourse was held at mitylene, in which he seeks to prove that souls are mortal. the stoics, on the other hand, allow us as long a time for enjoyment as the life of a raven; they allow the soul to exist a great while, but are against its eternity. xxxii. are you willing to hear then why, even allowing this, death cannot be an evil. _a._ as you please; but no one shall drive me from my belief in mortality. _m._ i commend you, indeed, for that; though we should not be too confident in our belief of anything; for we are frequently disturbed by some subtle conclusion. we give way and change our opinions even in things that are more evident than this; for in this there certainly is some obscurity. therefore, should anything of this kind happen, it is well to be on our guard. _a._ you are right in that; but i will provide against any accident. _m._ have you any objection to our dismissing our friends the stoics--those, i mean, who allow that the souls exist after they have left the body, but yet deny that they exist forever? _a._ we certainly may dismiss the consideration of those men who admit that which is the most difficult point in the whole question, namely, that a soul can exist independently of the body, and yet refuse to grant that which is not only very easy to believe, but which is even the natural consequence of the concession which they have made--that if they can exist for a length of time; they most likely do so forever. _m._ you take it right; that is the very thing. shall we give, therefore, any credit to pauæstius, when he dissents from his master, plato? whom he everywhere calls divine, the wisest, the holiest of men, the homer of philosophers, and whom he opposes in nothing except this single opinion of the soul's immortality: for he maintains what nobody denies, that everything which has been generated will perish, and that even souls are generated, which he thinks appears from their resemblance to those of the men who begot them; for that likeness is as apparent in the turn of their minds as in their bodies. but he brings another reason--that there is nothing which is sensible of pain which is not also liable to disease; but whatever is liable to disease must be liable to death. the soul is sensible of pain, therefore it is liable to perish. xxxiii. these arguments may be refuted; for they proceed from his not knowing that, while discussing the subject of the immortality of the soul, he is speaking of the intellect, which is free from all turbid motion; but not of those parts of the mind in which those disorders, anger and lust, have their seat, and which he whom he is opposing, when he argues thus, imagines to be distinct and separate from the mind. now this resemblance is more remarkable in beasts, whose souls are void of reason. but the likeness in men consists more in the configuration of the bodies: and it is of no little consequence in what bodies the soul is lodged; for there are many things which depend on the body that give an edge to the soul, many which blunt it. aristotle, indeed, says that all men of great genius are melancholy; so that i should not have been displeased to have been somewhat duller than i am. he instances many, and, as if it were matter of fact, brings his reasons for it. but if the power of those things that proceed from the body be so great as to influence the mind (for they are the things, whatever they are, that occasion this likeness), still that does not necessarily prove why a similitude of souls should be generated. i say nothing about cases of unlikeness. i wish panætius could be here: he lived with africanus. i would inquire of him which of his family the nephew of africanus's brother was like? possibly he may in person have resembled his father; but in his manners he was so like every profligate, abandoned man, that it was impossible to be more so. whom did the grandson of p. crassus, that wise and eloquent and most distinguished man, resemble? or the relations and sons of many other excellent men, whose names there is no occasion to mention? but what are we doing? have we forgotten that our purpose was, when we had sufficiently spoken on the subject of the immortality of the soul, to prove that, even if the soul did perish, there would be, even then, no evil in death? _a._ i remembered it very well; but i had no dislike to your digressing a little from your original design, while you were talking of the soul's immortality. _m._ i perceive you have sublime thoughts, and are eager to mount up to heaven. xxxiv. i am not without hopes myself that such may be our fate. but admit what they assert--that the soul does not continue to exist after death. _a._ should it be so, i see that we are then deprived of the hopes of a happier life. _m._ but what is there of evil in that opinion? for let the soul perish as the body: is there any pain, or indeed any feeling at all, in the body after death? no one, indeed asserts that; though epicurus charges democritus with saying so; but the disciples of democritus deny it. no sense, therefore, remains in the soul; for the soul is nowhere. where, then, is the evil? for there is nothing but these two things. is it because the mere separation of the soul and body cannot be effected without pain? but even should that be granted, how small a pain must that be! yet i think that it is false, and that it is very often unaccompanied by any sensation at all, and sometimes even attended with pleasure; but certainly the whole must be very trifling, whatever it is, for it is instantaneous. what makes us uneasy, or rather gives us pain, is the leaving all the good things of life. but just consider if i might not more properly say, leaving the evils of life; only there is no reason for my now occupying myself in bewailing the life of man, and yet i might, with very good reason. but what occasion is there, when what i am laboring to prove is that no one is miserable after death, to make life more miserable by lamenting over it? i have done that in the book which i wrote, in order to comfort myself as well as i could. if, then, our inquiry is after truth, death withdraws us from evil, not from good. this subject is indeed so copiously handled by hegesias, the cyrenaic philosopher, that he is said to have been forbidden by ptolemy from delivering his lectures in the schools, because some who heard him made away with themselves. there is, too, an epigram of callimachus[ ] on cleombrotus of ambracia, who, without any misfortune having befallen him, as he says, threw himself from a wall into the sea, after he had read a book of plato's. the book i mentioned of that hegesias is called [greek: apokarterterôn], or "a man who starves himself," in which a man is represented as killing himself by starvation, till he is prevented by his friends, in reply to whom he reckons up all the miseries of human life. i might do the same, though not so fully as he, who thinks it not worth any man's while to live. i pass over others. was it even worth my while to live, for, had i died before i was deprived of the comforts of my own family, and of the honors which i received for my public services, would not death have taken me from the evils of life rather than from its blessings? xxxv. mention, therefore, some one, who never knew distress; who never received any blow from fortune. the great metellus had four distinguished sons; but priam had fifty, seventeen of whom were born to him by his lawful wife. fortune had the same power over both, though she exercised it but on one; for metellus was laid on his funeral pile by a great company of sons and daughters, grandsons, and granddaughters; but priam fell by the hand of an enemy, after having fled to the altar, and having seen himself deprived of all his numerous progeny. had he died before the death of his sons and the ruin of his kingdom, with all his mighty wealth elate, under rich canopies of state; would he then have been taken from good or from evil? it would indeed, at that time, have appeared that he was being taken away from good; yet surely it would have turned out advantageous for him; nor should we have had these mournful verses, lo! these all perish'd in one flaming pile; the foe old priam did of life beguile, and with his blood, thy altar, jove, defile. as if anything better could have happened to him at that time than to lose his life in that manner; but yet, if it had befallen him sooner, it would have prevented all those consequences; but even as it was, it released him from any further sense of them. the case of our friend pompey[ ] was something better: once, when he had been very ill at naples, the neapolitans, on his recovery, put crowns on their heads, as did those of puteoli; the people flocked from the country to congratulate him--it is a grecian custom, and a foolish one; still it is a sign of good fortune. but the question is, had he died, would he have been taken from good, or from evil? certainly from evil. he would not have been engaged in a war with his father-in-law;[ ] he would not have taken up arms before he was prepared; he would not have left his own house, nor fled from italy; he would not, after the loss of his army, have fallen unarmed into the hands of slaves, and been put to death by them; his children would not have been destroyed; nor would his whole fortune have come into the possession of the conquerors. did not he, then, who, if he had died at that time, would have died in all his glory, owe all the great and terrible misfortunes into which he subsequently fell to the prolongation of his life at that time? xxxvi. these calamities are avoided by death, for even though they should never happen, there is a possibility that they may; but it never occurs to a man that such a disaster may befall him himself. every one hopes to be as happy as metellus: as if the number of the happy exceeded that of the miserable; or as if there were any certainty in human affairs; or, again, as if there were more rational foundation for hope than fear. but should we grant them even this, that men are by death deprived of good things; would it follow that the dead are therefore in need of the good things of life, and are miserable on that account? certainly they must necessarily say so. can he who does not exist be in need of anything? to be in need of has a melancholy sound, because it in effect amounts to this--he had, but he has not; he regrets, he looks back upon, he wants. such are, i suppose, the distresses of one who is in need of. is he deprived of eyes? to be blind is misery. is he destitute of children? not to have them is misery. these considerations apply to the living, but the dead are neither in need of the blessings of life, nor of life itself. but when i am speaking of the dead, i am speaking of those who have no existence. but would any one say of us, who do exist, that we want horns or wings? certainly not. should it be asked, why not? the answer would be, that not to have what neither custom nor nature has fitted you for would not imply a want of them, even though you were sensible that you had them not. this argument should be pressed over and over again, after that point has once been established, which, if souls are mortal, there can be no dispute about--i mean, that the destruction of them by death is so entire as to remove even the least suspicion of any sense remaining. when, therefore, this point is once well grounded and established, we must correctly define what the term to want means; that there may be no mistake in the word. to want, then, signifies this: to be without that which you would be glad to have; for inclination for a thing is implied in the word want, excepting when we use the word in an entirely different sense, as we do when we say that a fever is wanting to any one. for it admits of a different interpretation, when you are without a certain thing, and are sensible that you are without it, but yet can easily dispense with having it. "to want," then, is an expression which you cannot apply to the dead; nor is the mere fact of wanting something necessarily lamentable. the proper expression ought to be, "that they want a good," and that is an evil. but a living man does not want a good, unless he is distressed without it; and yet, we can easily understand how any man alive can be without a kingdom. but this cannot be predicated of you with any accuracy: it might have been asserted of tarquin, when he was driven from his kingdom. but when such an expression is used respecting the dead, it is absolutely unintelligible. for to want implies to be sensible; but the dead are insensible: therefore, the dead can be in no want. xxxvii. but what occasion is there to philosophize here in a matter with which we see that philosophy is but little concerned? how often have not only our generals but whole armies, rushed on certain death! but if it had been a thing to be feared, l. brutus would never have fallen in fight, to prevent the return of that tyrant whom he had expelled; nor would decius the father have been slain in fighting with the latins; nor would his son, when engaged with the etruscans, nor his grandson with pyrrhus have exposed themselves to the enemy's darts. spain would never have seen, in one campaign, the scipios fall fighting for their country; nor would the plains of cannæ have witnessed the death of paulus and geminus, or venusia that of marcellus; nor would the latins have beheld the death of albinus, nor the leucanians that of gracchus. but are any of these miserable now? nay, they were not so even at the first moment after they had breathed their last; nor can any one be miserable after he has lost all sensation. oh, but the mere circumstance of being without sensation is miserable. it might be so if being without sensation were the same thing as wanting it; but as it is evident there can be nothing of any kind in that which has no existence, what can there be afflicting to that which can neither feel want nor be sensible of anything? we might be said to have repeated this over too often, only that here lies all that the soul shudders at from the fear of death. for whoever can clearly apprehend that which is as manifest as the light--that when both soul and body are consumed, and there is a total destruction, then that which was an animal becomes nothing--will clearly see that there is no difference between a hippocentaur, which never had existence, and king agamemnon, and that m. camillus is no more concerned about this present civil war than i was at the sacking of rome, when he was living. xxxviii. why, then, should camillus be affected with the thoughts of these things happening three hundred and fifty years after his time? and why should i be uneasy it i were to expect that some nation might possess itself of this city ten thousand years hence? because so great is our regard for our country, as not to be measured by our own feeling, but by its own actual safety. death, then, which threatens us daily from a thousand accidents, and which, by reason of the shortness of life, can never be far off, does not deter a wise man from making such provision for his country and his family as he hopes may last forever; and from regarding posterity, of which he can never have any real perception, as belonging to himself. wherefore a man may act for eternity, even though he be persuaded that his soul is mortal; not, indeed, from a desire of glory, which he will be insensible of, but from a principle of virtue, which glory will inevitably attend, though that is not his object. the process, indeed, of nature is this: that just in the same manner as our birth was the beginning of things with us, so death will be the end; and as we were noways concerned with anything before we were born, so neither shall we be after we are dead. and in this state of things where can the evil be, since death has no connection with either the living or the dead? the one have no existence at all, the other are not yet affected by it. they who make the least of death consider it as having a great resemblance to sleep; as if any one would choose to live ninety years on condition that, at the expiration of sixty, he should sleep out the remainder. the very swine would not accept of life on those terms, much less i. endymion, indeed, if you listen to fables, slept once on a time on latmus, a mountain of caria, and for such a length of time that i imagine he is not as yet awake. do you think that he is concerned at the moon's being in difficulties, though it was by her that he was thrown into that sleep, in order that she might kiss him while sleeping. for what should he be concerned for who has not even any sensation? you look on sleep as an image of death, and you take that on you daily; and have you, then, any doubt that there is no sensation in death, when you see there is none in sleep, which is its near resemblance? xxxix. away, then, with those follies, which are little better than the old women's dreams, such as that it is miserable to die before our time. what time do you mean? that of nature? but she has only lent you life, as she might lend you money, without fixing any certain time for its repayment. have you any grounds of complaint, then, that she recalls it at her pleasure? for you received it on these terms. they that complain thus allow that if a young child dies, the survivors ought to bear his loss with equanimity; that if an infant in the cradle dies, they ought not even to utter a complaint; and yet nature has been more severe with them in demanding back what she gave. they answer by saying that such have not tasted the sweets of life; while the other had begun to conceive hopes of great happiness, and, indeed, had begun to realize them. men judge better in other things, and allow a part to be preferable to none. why do they not admit the same estimate in life? though callimachus does not speak amiss in saying that more tears had flowed from priam than his son; yet they are thought happier who die after they have reached old age. it would be hard to say why; for i do not apprehend that any one, if a longer life were granted to him, would find it happier. there is nothing more agreeable to a man than prudence, which old age most certainly bestows on a man, though it may strip him of everything else. but what age is long, or what is there at all long to a man? does not old age, though unregarded, still attend on childhood's pastimes, as the cares of men? but because there is nothing beyond old age, we call that long: all these things are said to be long or short, according to the proportion of time they were given us for. artistotle saith there is a kind of insect near the river hypanis, which runs from a certain part of europe into the pontus, whose life consists but of one day; those that die at the eighth hour die in full age; those who die when the sun sets are very old, especially when the days are at the longest. compare our longest life with eternity, and we shall be found almost as short-lived as those little animals. xl. let us, then, despise all these follies--for what softer name can i give to such levities?--and let us lay the foundation of our happiness in the strength and greatness of our minds, in a contempt and disregard of all earthly things, and in the practice of every virtue. for at present we are enervated by the softness of our imaginations, so that, should we leave this world before the promises of our fortune-tellers are made good to us, we should think ourselves deprived of some great advantages, and seem disappointed and forlorn. but if, through life, we are in continual suspense, still expecting, still desiring, and are in continual pain and torture, good gods! how pleasant must that journey be which ends in security and ease! how pleased am i with theramenes! of how exalted a soul does he appear! for, although we never read of him without tears, yet that illustrious man is not to be lamented in his death, who, when he had been imprisoned by the command of the thirty tyrants, drank off, at one draught, as if he had been thirsty, the poisoned cup, and threw the remainder out of it with such force that it sounded as it fell; and then, on hearing the sound of the drops, he said, with a smile, "i drink this to the most excellent critias," who had been his most bitter enemy; for it is customary among the greeks, at their banquets, to name the person to whom they intend to deliver the cup. this celebrated man was pleasant to the last, even when he had received the poison into his bowels, and truly foretold the death of that man whom he named when he drank the poison, and that death soon followed. who that thinks death an evil could approve of the evenness of temper in this great man at the instant of dying? socrates came, a few years after, to the same prison and the same cup by as great iniquity on the part of his judges as the tyrants displayed when they executed theramenes. what a speech is that which plato makes him deliver before his judges, after they had condemned him to death! xli. "i am not without hopes, o judges, that it is a favorable circumstance for me that i am condemned to die; for one of these two things must necessarily happen--either that death will deprive me entirely of all sense, or else that, by dying, i shall go from hence into some other place; wherefore, if all sense is utterly extinguished, and if death is like that sleep which sometimes is so undisturbed as to be even without the visions of dreams--in that case, o ye good gods! what gain is it to die? or what length of days can be imagined which would be preferable to such a night? and if the constant course of future time is to resemble that night, who is happier than i am? but if on the other hand, what is said be true, namely, that death is but a removal to those regions where the souls of the departed dwell, then that state must be more happy still to have escaped from those who call themselves judges, and to appear before such as are truly so--minos, rhadamanthus, Æacus, triptolemus--and to meet with those who have lived with justice and probity![ ] can this change of abode appear otherwise than great to you? what bounds can you set to the value of conversing with orpheus, and musæus, and homer, and hesiod? i would even, were it possible, willingly die often, in order to prove the certainty of what i speak of. what delight must it be to meet with palamedes, and ajax, and others, who have been betrayed by the iniquity of their judges! then, also, should i experience the wisdom of even that king of kings, who led his vast troops to troy, and the prudence of ulysses and sisyphus: nor should i then be condemned for prosecuting my inquiries on such subjects in the same way in which i have done here on earth. and even you, my judges, you, i mean, who have voted for my acquittal, do not you fear death, for nothing bad can befall a good man, whether he be alive or dead; nor are his concerns ever overlooked by the gods; nor in my case either has this befallen me by chance; and i have nothing to charge those men with who accused or condemned me but the fact that they believed that they were doing me harm." in this manner he proceeded. there is no part of his speech which i admire more than his last words: "but it is time," says he, "for me now to go hence, that i may die; and for you, that you may continue to live. which condition of the two is the best, the immortal gods know; but i do not believe that any mortal man does." xlii. surely i would rather have had this man's soul than all the fortunes of those who sat in judgment on him; although that very thing which he says no one except the gods know, namely, whether life or death is most preferable, he knows himself, for he had previously stated his opinion on it; but he maintained to the last that favorite maxim of his, of affirming nothing. and let us, too, adhere to this rule of not thinking anything an evil which is a general provision of nature; and let us assure ourselves, that if death is an evil, it is an eternal evil, for death seems to be the end of a miserable life; but if death is a misery, there can be no end of that. but why do i mention socrates, or theramenes, men distinguished by the glory of virtue and wisdom? when a certain lacedæmomian, whose name is not so much as known, held death in such contempt, that, when led to it by the ephori, he bore a cheerful and pleasant countenance; and, when he was asked by one of his enemies whether he despised the laws of lycurgus, "on the contrary," answered he, "i am greatly obliged to him, for he has amerced me in a fine which i can pay without borrowing, or taking up money at interest." this was a man worthy of sparta. and i am almost persuaded of his innocence because of the greatness of his soul. our own city has produced many such. but why should i name generals, and other men of high rank, when cato could write that legions have marched with alacrity to that place from whence they never expected to return? with no less greatness of soul fell the lacedæmonians at thermopylæ, on whom simonides wrote the following epitaph: go, stranger, tell the spartans, here we lie, who to support their laws durst boldly die.[ ] what was it that leonidas, their general, said to them? "march on with courage, my lacedæmonians. to-night, perhaps, we shall sup in the regions below." this was a brave nation while the laws of lycurgus were in force. one of them, when a persian had said to him in conversation, "we shall hide the sun from your sight by the number of our arrows and darts," replied, "we shall fight, then in the shade." do i talk of their men? how great was that lacedæmonian woman, who had sent her son to battle, and when she heard that he was slain, said, "i bore him for that purpose, that you might have a man who durst die for his country!" however, it is a matter of notoriety that the spartans were bold and hardy, for the discipline of a republic has great influence. xliii. what, then, have we not reason to admire theodorus the cyrenean, a philosopher of no small distinction, who, when lysimachus threatened to crucify him, bade him keep those menaces for his courtiers? "to theodorus it makes no difference whether he rot in the air or underground." by which saying of the philosopher i am reminded to say something of the custom of funerals and sepulture, and of funeral ceremonies, which is, indeed, not a difficult subject, especially if we recollect what has been before said about insensibility. the opinion of socrates respecting this matter is clearly stated in the book which treats of his death, of which we have already said so much; for when he had discussed the immortality of the soul, and when the time of his dying was approaching rapidly, being asked by criton how he would be buried, "i have taken a great deal of pains," saith he, "my friends, to no purpose, for i have not convinced our criton that i shall fly from hence, and leave no part of me behind. notwithstanding, criton, if you can overtake me, wheresoever you get hold of me, bury me as you please: but believe me, none of you will be able to catch me when i have flown away from hence." that was excellently said, inasmuch as he allows his friend to do as he pleased, and yet shows his indifference about anything of this kind. diogenes was rougher, though of the same opinion; but in his character of a cynic he expressed himself in a somewhat harsher manner; he ordered himself to be thrown anywhere without being buried. and when his friends replied, "what! to the birds and beasts?" "by no means," saith he; "place my staff near me, that i may drive them away." "how can you do that," they answer, "for you will not perceive them?" "how am i then injured by being torn by those animals, if i have no sensation?" anaxagoras, when he was at the point of death at lampsacus, and was asked by his friends, whether, if anything should happen to him, he would not choose to be carried to clazomenæ, his country, made this excellent answer, "there is," says he, "no occasion for that, for all places are at an equal distance from the infernal regions." there is one thing to be observed with respect to the whole subject of burial, that it relates to the body, whether the soul live or die. now, with regard to the body, it is clear that, whether the soul live or die, that has no sensation. xliv. but all things are full of errors. achilles drags hector, tied to his chariot; he thinks, i suppose, he tears his flesh, and that hector feels the pain of it; therefore, he avenges himself on him, as he imagines. but hecuba bewails this as a sore misfortune: i saw (a dreadful sight) great hector slain, dragg'd at achilles' car along the plain. what hector? or how long will he be hector? accius is better in this, and achilles, too, is sometimes reasonable: i hector's body to his sire convey'd, hector i sent to the infernal shade. it was not hector that you dragged along, but a body that had been hector's. here another starts from underground, and will not suffer his mother to sleep: to thee i call, my once-loved parent, hear, nor longer with thy sleep relieve thy care; thine eye which pities not is closed--arise; ling'ring i wait the unpaid obsequies. when these verses are sung with a slow and melancholy tune, so as to affect the whole theatre with sadness, one can scarce help thinking those unhappy that are unburied: ere the devouring dogs and hungry vultures... he is afraid he shall not have the use of his limbs so well if they are torn to pieces, but is under no such apprehensions if they are burned: nor leave my naked bones, my poor remains, to shameful violence and bloody stains. i do not understand what he could fear who could pour forth such excellent verses to the sound of the flute. we must, therefore, adhere to this, that nothing is to be regarded after we are dead, though many people revenge themselves on their dead enemies. thyestes pours forth several curses in some good lines of ennius, praying, first of all, that atreus may perish by a shipwreck, which is certainly a very terrible thing, for such a death is not free from very grievous sensations. then follow these unmeaning expressions: may on the sharp rock his mangled carcass lie, his entrails torn, to hungry birds a prey! may he convulsive writhe his bleeding side, and with his clotted gore the stones be dyed! the rocks themselves were not more destitute of feeling than he who was hanging to them by his side; though thyestes imagines he is wishing him the greatest torture. it would be torture, indeed, if he were sensible; but as he is not, it can be none; then how very unmeaning is this: let him, still hovering o'er the stygian wave, ne'er reach the body's peaceful port, the grave! you see under what mistaken notions all this is said. he imagines the body has its haven, and that the dead are at rest in their graves. pelops was greatly to blame in not having informed and taught his son what regard was due to everything. xlv. but what occasion is there to animadvert on the opinions of individuals, when we may observe whole nations to fall into all sorts of errors? the egyptians embalm their dead, and keep them in their houses; the persians dress them over with wax, and then bury them, that they may preserve their bodies as long as possible. it is customary with the magi to bury none of their order, unless they have been first torn by wild beasts. in hyrcania, the people maintain dogs for the public use; the nobles have their own--and we know that they have a good breed of dogs; but every one, according to his ability, provides himself with some, in order to be torn by them; and they hold that to be the best kind of interment. chrysippus, who is curious in all kinds of historical facts, has collected many other things of this kind; but some of them are so offensive as not to admit of being related. all that has been said of burying is not worth our regard with respect to ourselves, though it is not to be neglected as to our friends, provided we are thoroughly aware that the dead are insensible. but the living, indeed, should consider what is due to custom and opinion; only they should at the same time consider that the dead are noways interested in it. but death truly is then met with the greatest tranquillity when the dying man can comfort himself with his own praise. no one dies too soon who has finished the course of perfect virtue. i myself have known many occasions when i have seemed in danger of immediate death; oh! how i wish it had come to me! for i have gained nothing by the delay. i had gone over and over again the duties of life; nothing remained but to contend with fortune. if reason, then, cannot sufficiently fortify us to enable us to feel a contempt for death, at all events let our past life prove that we have lived long enough, and even longer than was necessary; for notwithstanding the deprivation of sense, the dead are not without that good which peculiarly belongs to them, namely, the praise and glory which they have acquired, even though they are not sensible of it. for although there be nothing in glory to make it desirable, yet it follows virtue as its shadow; and the genuine judgment of the multitude on good men, if ever they form any, is more to their own praise than of any real advantage to the dead. yet i cannot say, however it may be received, that lycurgus and solon have no glory from their laws, and from the political constitution which they established in their country; or that themistocles and epaminondas have not glory from their martial virtue. xlvi. for neptune shall sooner bury salamis itself with his waters than the memory of the trophies gained there; and the boeotian leuctra shall perish sooner than the glory of that great battle. and longer still shall fame be before it deserts curius, and fabricius, and calatinus, and the two scipios, and the two africani, and maximus, and marcellus, and paulus, and cato, and lælius, and numberless other heroes; and whoever has caught any resemblance of them, not estimating it by common fame, but by the real applause of good men, may with confidence, when the occasion requires, approach death, on which we are sure that even if the chief good is not continued, at least no evil is. such a man would even wish to die while in prosperity; for all the favors that could be heaped on him would not be so agreeable to him as the loss of them would be painful. that speech of the lacedæmonian seems to have the same meaning, who, when diagoras the rhodian, who had himself been a conqueror at the olympic games, saw two of his own sons conquerors there on the same day, approached the old man, and, congratulating him, said, "you should die now, diagoras, for no greater happiness can possibly await you." the greeks look on these as great things; perhaps they think too highly of them, or, rather, they did so then. and so he who said this to diagoras, looking on it as something very glorious, that three men out of one family should have been conquerors there, thought it could answer no purpose to him to continue any longer in life, where he could only be exposed to a reverse of fortune. i might have given you a sufficient answer, as it seems to me, on this point, in a few words, as you had allowed the dead were not exposed to any positive evil; but i have spoken at greater length on the subject for this reason, because this is our greatest consolation in the losing and bewailing of our friends. for we ought to bear with moderation any grief which arises from ourselves, or is endured on our own account, lest we should seem to be too much influenced by self-love. but should we suspect our departed friends to be under those evils, which they are generally imagined to be, and to be sensible of them, then such a suspicion would give us intolerable pain; and accordingly i wished, for my own sake, to pluck up this opinion by the roots, and on that account i have been perhaps somewhat more prolix than was necessary. xlvii. _a._ more prolix than was necessary? certainty not, in my opinion. for i was induced, by the former part of your speech, to wish to die; but, by the latter, sometimes not to be unwilling, and at others to be wholly indifferent about it. but the effect of your whole argument is, that i am convinced that death ought not to be classed among the evils. _m._ do you, then, expect that i am to give you a regular peroration, like the rhetoricians, or shall i forego that art? _a._ i would not have you give over an art which you have set off to such advantage; and you were in the right to do so, for, to speak the truth, it also has set you off. but what is that peroration? for i should be glad to hear it, whatever it is. _m._ it is customary, in the schools, to produce the opinions of the immortal gods on death; nor are these opinions the fruits of the imagination alone of the lecturers, but they have the authority of herodotus and many others. cleobis and biton are the first they mention, sons of the argive priestess; the story is a well-known one. as it was necessary that she should be drawn in a chariot to a certain annual sacrifice, which was solemnized at a temple some considerable distance from the town, and the cattle that were to draw the chariot had not arrived, those two young men whom i have just mentioned, pulling off their garments, and anointing their bodies with oil, harnessed themselves to the yoke. and in this manner the priestess was conveyed to the temple; and when the chariot had arrived at the proper place, she is said to have entreated the goddess to bestow on them, as a reward for their piety, the greatest gift that a god could confer on man. and the young men, after having feasted with their mother, fell asleep; and in the morning they were found dead. trophonius and agamedes are said to have put up the same petition, for they, having built a temple to apollo at delphi, offered supplications to the god, and desired of him some extraordinary reward for their care and labor, particularizing nothing, but asking for whatever was best for men. accordingly, apollo signified to them that he would bestow it on them in three days, and on the third day at daybreak they were found dead. and so they say that this was a formal decision pronounced by that god to whom the rest of the deities have assigned the province of divining with an accuracy superior to that of all the rest. xlviii. there is also a story told of silenus, who, when taken prisoner by midas, is said to have made him this present for his ransom--namely, that he informed him[ ] that never to have been born was by far the greatest blessing that could happen to man; and that the next best thing was to die very soon; which very opinion euripides makes use of in his cresphontes, saying, when man is born, 'tis fit, with solemn show, we speak our sense of his approaching woe; with other gestures and a different eye, proclaim our pleasure when he's bid to die.[ ] there is something like this in crantor's consolation; for he says that terinæsus of elysia, when he was bitterly lamenting the loss of his son, came to a place of divination to be informed why he was visited with so great affliction, and received in his tablet these three verses: thou fool, to murmur at euthynous' death! the blooming youth to fate resigns his breath: the fate, whereon your happiness depends, at once the parent and the son befriends.[ ] on these and similar authorities they affirm that the question has been determined by the gods. nay, more; alcidamas, an ancient rhetorician of the very highest reputation, wrote even in praise of death, which he endeavored to establish by an enumeration of the evils of life; and his dissertation has a great deal of eloquence in it; but he was unacquainted with the more refined arguments of the philosophers. by the orators, indeed, to die for our country is always considered not only as glorious, but even as happy: they go back as far as erechtheus,[ ] whose very daughters underwent death, for the safety of their fellow-citizens: they instance codrus, who threw himself into the midst of his enemies, dressed like a common man, that his royal robes might not betray him, because the oracle had declared the athenians conquerors, if their king was slain. menoeceus[ ] is not overlooked by them, who, in compliance with the injunctions of an oracle, freely shed his blood for his country. iphigenia ordered herself to be conveyed to aulis, to be sacrificed, that her blood might be the cause of spilling that of her enemies. xlix. from hence they proceed to instances of a fresher date. harmodius and aristogiton are in everybody's mouth; the memory of leonidas the lacedæmonian and epaminondas the theban is as fresh as ever. those philosophers were not acquainted with the many instances in our country--to give a list of whom would take up too much time--who, we see, considered death desirable as long as it was accompanied with honor. but, notwithstanding this is the correct view of the case, we must use much persuasion, speak as if we were endued with some higher authority, in order to bring men to begin to wish to die, or cease to be afraid of death. for if that last day does not occasion an entire extinction, but a change of abode only, what can be more desirable? and if it, on the other hand, destroys, and absolutely puts an end to us, what can be preferable to the having a deep sleep fall on us, in the midst of the fatigues of life, and being thus overtaken, to sleep to eternity? and, should this really be the case, then ennius's language is more consistent with wisdom than solon's; for our ennius says, let none bestow upon my passing bier one needless sigh or unavailing tear. but the wise solon says, let me not unlamented die, but o'er my bier burst forth the tender sigh, the friendly tear.[ ] but let us, if indeed it should be our fate to know the time which is appointed by the gods for us to die, prepare ourselves for it with a cheerful and grateful mind, thinking ourselves like men who are delivered from a jail, and released from their fetters, for the purpose of going back to our eternal habitation, which may be more emphatically called our own; or else to be divested of all sense and trouble. if, on the other hand, we should have no notice given us of this decree, yet let us cultivate such a disposition as to look on that formidable hour of death as happy for us, though shocking to our friends; and let us never imagine anything to be an evil which is an appointment of the immortal gods, or of nature, the common parent of all. for it is not by hazard or without design that we have been born and situated as we have. on the contrary, beyond all doubt there is a certain power which consults the happiness of human nature; and this would neither have produced nor provided for a being which, after having gone through the labors of life, was to fall into eternal misery by death. let us rather infer that we have a retreat and haven prepared for us, which i wish we could crowd all sail and arrive at; but though the winds should not serve, and we should be driven back, yet we shall to a certainty arrive at that point eventually, though somewhat later. but how can that be miserable for one which all must of necessity undergo? i have given you a peroration, that you might not think i had overlooked or neglected anything. _a._ i am persuaded you have not; and, indeed, that peroration has confirmed me. _m._ i am glad it has had that effect. but it is now time to consult our health. to-morrow, and all the time we continue in this tusculan villa, let us consider this subject; and especially those portions of it which may ease our pain, alleviate our fears, and lessen our desires, which is the greatest advantage we can reap from the whole of philosophy. * * * * * book ii. on bearing pain. i. neoptolemus, in ennius, indeed, says that the study of philosophy was expedient for him; but that it required limiting to a few subjects, for that to give himself up entirely to it was what he did not approve of. and for my part, brutus, i am perfectly persuaded that it is expedient for me to philosophize; for what can i do better, especially as i have no regular occupation? but i am not for limiting my philosophy to a few subjects, as he does; for philosophy is a matter in which it is difficult to acquire a little knowledge without acquainting yourself with many, or all its branches, nor can you well take a few subjects without selecting them out of a great number; nor can any one, who has acquired the knowledge of a few points, avoid endeavoring with the same eagerness to understand more. but still, in a busy life, and in one mainly occupied with military matters, such as that of neoptolemus was at that time, even that limited degree of acquaintance with philosophy may be of great use, and may yield fruit, not perhaps so plentiful as a thorough knowledge of the whole of philosophy, but yet such as in some degree may at times deliver us from the dominion of our desires, our sorrows, and our fears; just as the effect of that discussion which we lately maintained in my tusculan villa seemed to be that a great contempt of death was engendered, which contempt is of no small efficacy towards delivering the mind from fear; for whoever dreads what cannot be avoided can by no means live with a quiet and tranquil mind. but he who is under no fear of death, not only because it is a thing absolutely inevitable but also because he is persuaded that death itself hath nothing terrible in it, provides himself with a very great resource towards a happy life. however, i am not tolerant that many will argue strenuously against us; and, indeed, that is a thing which can never be avoided, except by abstaining from writing at all. for if my orations, which were addressed to the judgment and approbation of the people (for that is a popular art, and the object of oratory is popular applause), have been criticised by some people who are inclined to withhold their praise from everything but what they are persuaded they can attain to themselves, and who limit their ideas of good speaking by the hopes which they conceive of what they themselves may attain to, and who declare, when they are overwhelmed with a flow of words and sentences, that they prefer the utmost poverty of thought and expression to that plenty and copiousness (from which arose the attic kind of oratory, which they who professed it were strangers to, though they have now been some time silenced, and laughed out of the very courts of justice), what may i not expect, when at present i cannot have the least countenance from the people by whom i used to be upheld before? for philosophy is satisfied with a few judges, and of her own accord industriously avoids the multitude, who are jealous of it, and utterly displeased with it; so that, should any one undertake to cry down the whole of it, he would have the people on his side; while, if he should attack that school which i particularly profess, he would have great assistance from those of the other philosophers. ii. but i have answered the detractors of philosophy in general, in my hortensius. and what i had to say in favor of the academics, is, i think, explained with sufficient accuracy in my four books of the academic question. but yet i am so far from desiring that no one should write against me, that it is what i most earnestly wish; for philosophy would never have been in such esteem in greece itself, if it had not been for the strength which it acquired from the contentions and disputations of the most learned men; and therefore i recommend all men who have abilities to follow my advice to snatch this art also from declining greece, and to transport it to this city; as our ancestors by their study and industry have imported all their other arts which were worth having. thus the praise of oratory, raised from a low degree, is arrived at such perfection that it must now decline, and, as is the nature of all things, verge to its dissolution in a very short time. let philosophy, then, derive its birth in latin language from this time, and let us lend it our assistance, and bear patiently to be contradicted and refuted; and although those men may dislike such treatment who are bound and devoted to certain predetermined opinions, and are under such obligations to maintain them that they are forced, for the sake of consistency, to adhere to them even though they do not themselves wholly approve of them; we, on the other hand, who pursue only probabilities, and who cannot go beyond that which seems really likely, can confute others without obstinacy, and are prepared to be confuted ourselves without resentment. besides, if these studies are ever brought home to us, we shall not want even greek libraries, in which there is an infinite number of books, by reason of the multitude of authors among them; for it is a common practice with many to repeat the same things which have been written by others, which serves no purpose but to stuff their shelves; and this will be our case, too, if many apply themselves to this study. iii. but let us excite those, if possible, who have had a liberal education, and are masters of an elegant style, and who philosophize with reason and method. for there is a certain class of them who would willingly be called philosophers, whose books in our language are said to be numerous, and which i do not despise; for, indeed, i never read them: but still, because the authors themselves declare that they write without any regularity, or method, or elegance, or ornament, i do not care to read what must be so void of entertainment. there is no one in the least acquainted with literature who does not know the style and sentiments of that school; wherefore, since they are at no pains to express themselves well, i do not see why they should be read by anybody except by one another. let them read them, if they please, who are of the same opinions; for in the same manner as all men read plato and the other socratics, with those who sprung from them, even those who do not agree with their opinions, or are very indifferent about them; but scarcely any one except their own disciples take epicurus or metrodorus into their hands; so they alone read these latin books who think that the arguments contained in them are sound. but, in my opinion, whatever is published should be recommended to the reading of every man of learning; and though we may not succeed in this ourselves, yet nevertheless we must be sensible that this ought to be the aim of every writer. and on this account i have always been pleased with the custom of the peripatetics and academics, of disputing on both sides of the question; not solely from its being the only method of discovering what is probable on every subject, but also because it affords the greatest scope for practising eloquence; a method that aristotle first made use of, and afterward all the aristotelians; and in our own memory plilo, whom we have often heard, appointed one time to treat of the precepts of the rhetoricians, and another for philosophical discussion, to which custom i was brought to conform by my friends at my tusculum; and accordingly our leisure time was spent in this manner. and therefore, as yesterday before noon we applied ourselves to speaking, and in the afternoon went down into the academy, the discussions which were held there i have acquainted you with, not in the manner of a narration, but in almost the very same words which were employed in the debate. iv. the discourse, then, was introduced in this manner while we were walking, and it was commenced by some such an opening as this: _a._ it is not to be expressed how much i was delighted, or rather edified, by your discourse of yesterday. for although i am conscious to myself that i have never been too fond of life, yet at times, when i have considered that there would be an end to this life, and that i must some time or other part with all its good things, a certain dread and uneasiness used to intrude itself on my thoughts; but now, believe me, i am so freed from that kind of uneasiness that there is nothing that i think less worth any regard. _m._ i am not at all surprised at that, for it is the effect of philosophy, which is the medicine of our souls; it banishes all groundless apprehensions, frees us from desires, and drives away fears: but it has not the same influence over all men; it is of very great influence when it falls in with a disposition well adapted to it. for not only does fortune, as the old proverb says, assist the bold, but reason does so in a still greater degree; for it, by certain precepts, as it were, strengthens even courage itself. you were born naturally great and soaring, and with a contempt for all things which pertain to man alone; therefore a discourse against death took easy possession of a brave soul. but do you imagine that these same arguments have any force with those very persons who have invented, and canvassed, and published them, excepting indeed some very few particular persons? for how few philosophers will you meet with whose life and manners are conformable to the dictates of reason! who look on their profession, not as a means of displaying their learning, but as a rule for their own practice! who follow their own precepts, and comply with their own decrees! you may see some of such levity and such vanity, that it would have been better for them to have been ignorant; some covetous of money, some others eager for glory, many slaves to their lusts; so that their discourses and their actions are most strangely at variance; than which nothing in my opinion can be more unbecoming: for just as if one who professed to teach grammar should speak with impropriety, or a master of music sing out of tune, such conduct has the worst appearance in these men, because they blunder in the very particular with which they profess that they are well acquainted. so a philosopher who errs in the conduct of his life is the more infamous because he is erring in the very thing which he pretends to teach, and, while he lays down rules to regulate life by, is irregular in his own life. v. _a._ should this be the case, is it not to be feared that you are dressing up philosophy in false colors? for what stronger argument can there be that it is of little use than that some very profound philosophers live in a discreditable manner? _m._ that, indeed, is no argument at all, for as all the fields which are cultivated are not fruitful (and this sentiment of accius is false, and asserted without any foundation, the ground you sow on is of small avail; to yield a crop good seed can never fail), it is not every mind which has been properly cultivated that produces fruit; and, to go on with the comparison, as a field, although it may be naturally fruitful, cannot produce a crop without dressing, so neither can the mind without education; such is the weakness of either without the other. whereas philosophy is the culture of the mind: this it is which plucks up vices by the roots; prepares the mind for the receiving of seeds; commits them to it, or, as i may say, sows them, in the hope that, when come to maturity, they may produce a plentiful harvest. let us proceed, then, as we began. say, if you please, what shall be the subject of our disputation. _a._ i look on pain to be the greatest of all evils. _m._ what, even greater than infamy? _a._ i dare not indeed assert that; and i blush to think i am so soon driven from my ground. _m._ you would have had greater reason for blushing had you persevered in it; for what is so unbecoming--what can appear worse to you, than disgrace, wickedness, immorality? to avoid which, what pain is there which we ought not (i will not say to avoid shirking, but even) of our own accord to encounter, and undergo, and even to court? _a._ i am entirely of that opinion; but, notwithstanding that pain is not the greatest evil, yet surely it is an evil. _m._ do you perceive, then, how much of the terror of pain you have given up on a small hint? _a._ i see that plainly; but i should be glad to give up more of it. _m._ i will endeavor to make you do so; but it is a great undertaking, and i must have a disposition on your part which is not inclined to offer any obstacles. _a._ you shall have such: for as i behaved yesterday, so now i will follow reason wherever she leads. vi. _m._ first, then, i will speak of the weakness of many philosophers, and those, too, of various sects; the head of whom, both in authority and antiquity, was aristippus, the pupil of socrates, who hesitated not to say that pain was the greatest of all evils. and after him epicurus easily gave in to this effeminate and enervated doctrine. after him hieronymus the rhodian said, that to be without pain was the chief good, so great an evil did pain appear to him to be. the rest, with the exceptions of zeno, aristo, pyrrho, were pretty much of the same opinion that you were of just now--that it was indeed an evil, but that there were many worse. when, then, nature herself, and a certain generous feeling of virtue, at once prevents you from persisting in the assertion that pain is the chief evil, and when you were driven from such an opinion when disgrace was contrasted with pain, shall philosophy, the preceptress of life, cling to this idea for so many ages? what duty of life, what praise, what reputation, would be of such consequence that a man should be desirous of gaining it at the expense of submitting to bodily pain, when he has persuaded himself that pain is the greatest evil? on the other side, what disgrace, what ignominy, would he not submit to that he might avoid pain, when persuaded that it was the greatest of evils? besides, what person, if it be only true that pain is the greatest of evils, is not miserable, not only when he actually feels pain, but also whenever he is aware that it may befall him. and who is there whom pain may not befall? so that it is clear that there is absolutely no one who can possibly be happy. metrodorus, indeed, thinks that man perfectly happy whose body is free from all disorders, and who has an assurance that it will always continue so; but who is there who can be assured of that? vii. but epicurus, indeed, says such things that it should seem that his design was only to make people laugh; for he affirms somewhere that if a wise man were to be burned or put to the torture--you expect, perhaps, that he is going to say he would bear it, he would support himself under it with resolution, he would not yield to it (and that by hercules! would be very commendable, and worthy of that very hercules whom i have just invoked): but even this will not satisfy epicurus, that robust and hardy man! no; his wise man, even if he were in phalaris's bull, would say, how sweet it is! how little do i regard it! what, sweet? is it not sufficient, if it is not disagreeable? but those very men who deny pain to be an evil are not in the habit of saying that it is agreeable to any one to be tormented; they rather say that it is cruel, or hard to bear, afflicting, unnatural, but still not an evil: while this man who says that it is the only evil, and the very worst of all evils, yet thinks that a wise man would pronounce it sweet. i do not require of you to speak of pain in the same words which epicurus uses--a man, as you know, devoted to pleasure: he may make no difference, if he pleases, between phalaris's bull and his own bed; but i cannot allow the wise man to be so indifferent about pain. if he bears it with courage, it is sufficient: that he should rejoice in it, i do not expect; for pain is, beyond all question, sharp, bitter, against nature, hard to submit to and to bear. observe philoctetes: we may allow him to lament, for he saw hercules himself groaning loudly through extremity of pain on mount oeta. the arrows with which hercules presented him were then no consolation to him, when the viper's bite, impregnating his veins with poison, rack'd him with its bitter pains. and therefore he cries out, desiring help, and wishing to die, oh that some friendly hand its aid would lend, my body from this rock's vast height to send into the briny deep! i'm all on fire, and by this fatal wound must soon expire. it is hard to say that the man who was obliged to cry out in this manner was not oppressed with evil, and great evil too. viii. but let us observe hercules himself, who was subdued by pain at the very time when he was on the point of attaining immortality by death. what words does sophocles here put in his mouth, in his trachiniæ? who, when deianira had put upon him a tunic dyed in the centaur's blood, and it stuck to his entrails, says, what tortures i endure no words can tell, far greater these, than those which erst befell from the dire terror of thy consort, jove-- e'en stern eurystheus' dire command above; this of thy daughter, oeneus, is the fruit, beguiling me with her envenom'd suit, whose close embrace doth on my entrails prey, consuming life; my lungs forbid to play; the blood forsakes my veins; my manly heart forgets to beat; enervated, each part neglects its office, while my fatal doom proceeds ignobly from the weaver's loom. the hand of foe ne'er hurt me, nor the fierce giant issuing from his parent earth. ne'er could the centaur such a blow enforce, no barbarous foe, nor all the grecian force; this arm no savage people could withstand, whose realms i traversed to reform the land. thus, though i ever bore a manly heart, i fall a victim to a woman's art. ix. assist, my son, if thou that name dost hear, my groans preferring to thy mother's tear: convey her here, if, in thy pious heart, thy mother shares not an unequal part: proceed, be bold, thy father's fate bemoan, nations will join, you will not weep alone. oh, what a sight is this same briny source, unknown before, through all my labors' course! that virtue, which could brave each toil but late, with woman's weakness now bewails its fate. approach, my son; behold thy father laid, a wither'd carcass that implores thy aid; let all behold: and thou, imperious jove, on me direct thy lightning from above: now all its force the poison doth assume, and my burnt entrails with its flame consume. crestfallen, unembraced, i now let fall listless, those hands that lately conquer'd all; when the nemæan lion own'd their force, and he indignant fell a breathless corse; the serpent slew, of the lernean lake, as did the hydra of its force partake: by this, too, fell the erymanthian boar: e'en cerberus did his weak strength deplore. this sinewy arm did overcome with ease that dragon, guardian of the golden fleece. my many conquests let some others trace; it's mine to say, i never knew disgrace.[ ] can we then, despise pain, when we see hercules himself giving vent to his expressions of agony with such impatience? x. let us see what Æschylus says, who was not only a poet but a pythagorean philosopher also, for that is the account which you have received of him; how doth he make prometheus bear the pain he suffered for the lemnian theft, when he clandestinely stole away the celestial fire, and bestowed it on men, and was severely punished by jupiter for the theft. fastened to mount caucasus, he speaks thus: thou heav'n-born race of titans here fast bound, behold thy brother! as the sailors sound with care the bottom, and their ships confine to some safe shore, with anchor and with line; so, by jove's dread decree, the god of fire confines me here the victim of jove's ire. with baneful art his dire machine he shapes; from such a god what mortal e'er escapes? when each third day shall triumph o'er the night, then doth the vulture, with his talons light, seize on my entrails; which, in rav'nous guise, he preys on! then with wing extended flies aloft, and brushes with his plumes the gore: but when dire jove my liver doth restore, back he returns impetuous to his prey, clapping his wings, he cuts th' ethereal way. thus do i nourish with my blood this pest, confined my arms, unable to contest; entreating only that in pity jove would take my life, and this cursed plague remove. but endless ages past unheard my moan, sooner shall drops dissolve this very stone.[ ] and therefore it scarcely seems possible to avoid calling a man who is suffering, miserable; and if he is miserable, then pain is an evil. xi. _a._ hitherto you are on my side; i will see to that by-and-by; and, in the mean while, whence are those verses? i do not remember them. _m._ i will inform you, for you are in the right to ask. do you see that i have much leisure? _a._ what, then? _m._ i imagine, when you were at athens, you attended frequently at the schools of the philosophers. _a._ yes, and with great pleasure. _m._ you observed, then, that though none of them at that time were very eloquent, yet they used to mix verses with their harangues. _a._ yes, and particularly dionysius the stoic used to employ a great many. _m._ you say right; but they were quoted without any appropriateness or elegance. but our friend philo used to give a few select lines and well adapted; and in imitation of him, ever since i took a fancy to this kind of elderly declamation, i have been very fond of quoting our poets; and where i cannot be supplied from them, i translate from the greek, that the latin language may not want any kind of ornament in this kind of disputation. but, do you not see how much harm is done by poets? they introduce the bravest men lamenting over their misfortunes: they soften our minds; and they are, besides, so entertaining, that we do not only read them, but get them by heart. thus the influence of the poets is added to our want of discipline at home, and our tender and delicate manner of living, so that between them they have deprived virtue of all its vigor and energy. plato, therefore, was right in banishing them from his commonwealth, where he required the best morals, and the best form of government. but we, who have all our learning from greece, read and learn these works of theirs from our childhood; and look on this as a liberal and learned education. xii. but why are we angry with the poets? we may find some philosophers, those masters of virtue, who have taught that pain was the greatest of evils. but you, young man, when you said but just now that it appeared so to you, upon being asked by me what appeared greater than infamy, gave up that opinion at a word. suppose i ask epicurus the same question. he will answer that a trifling degree of pain is a greater evil than the greatest infamy; for that there is no evil in infamy itself, unless attended with pain. what pain, then, attends epicurus, when he says that very thing, that pain is the greatest evil! and yet nothing can be a greater disgrace to a philosopher than to talk thus. therefore, you allowed enough when you admitted that infamy appeared to you to be a greater evil than pain. and if you abide by this admission, you will see how far pain should be resisted; and that our inquiry should be not so much whether pain be an evil, as how the mind may be fortified for resisting it. the stoics infer from some petty quibbling arguments that it is no evil, as if the dispute were about a word, and not about the thing itself. why do you impose upon me, zeno? for when you deny what appears very dreadful to me to be an evil, i am deceived, and am at a loss to know why that which appears to me to be a most miserable thing should be no evil. the answer is, that nothing is an evil but what is base and vicious. you return to your trifling, for you do not remove what made me uneasy. i know that pain is not vice--you need not inform me of that: but show me that it makes no difference to me whether i am in pain or not. it has never anything to do, say you, with a happy life, for that depends upon virtue alone; but yet pain is to be avoided. if i ask, why? it is disagreeable, against nature, hard to bear, woful and afflicting. xiii. here are many words to express that by so many different forms which we call by the single word evil. you are defining pain, instead of removing it, when you say, it is disagreeable, unnatural, scarcely possible to be endured or borne, nor are you wrong in saying so: but the man who vaunts himself in such a manner should not give way in his conduct, if it be true that nothing is good but what is honest, and nothing evil but what is disgraceful. this would be wishing, not proving. this argument is a better one, and has more truth in it--that all things which nature abhors are to be looked upon as evil; that those which she approves of are to be considered as good: for when this is admitted, and the dispute about words removed, that which they with reason embrace, and which we call honest, right, becoming, and sometimes include under the general name of virtue, appears so far superior to everything else that all other things which are looked upon as the gifts of fortune, or the good things of the body, seem trifling and insignificant; and no evil whatever, nor all the collective body of evils together, appears to be compared to the evil of infamy. wherefore, if, as you granted in the beginning, infamy is worse than pain, pain is certainly nothing; for while it appears to you base and unmanly to groan, cry out, lament, or faint under pain; while you cherish notions of probity, dignity, honor, and, keeping your eye on them, refrain yourself, pain will certainly yield to virtue, and, by the influence of imagination, will lose its whole force.--for you must either admit that there is no such thing as virtue, or you must despise every kind of pain. will you allow of such a virtue as prudence, without which no virtue whatever can even be conceived? what, then? will that suffer you to labor and take pains to no purpose? will temperance permit you to do anything to excess? will it be possible for justice to be maintained by one who through the force of pain discovers secrets, or betrays his confederates, or deserts many duties of life? will you act in a manner consistently with courage, and its attendants, greatness of soul, resolution, patience, and contempt for all worldly things? can you hear yourself called a great man when you lie grovelling, dejected, and deploring your condition with a lamentable voice; no one would call you even a man while in such a condition. you must therefore either abandon all pretensions to courage, or else pain must be put out of the question. xiv. you know very well that, even though part of your corinthian furniture were gone, the remainder might be safe without that; but if you lose one virtue (though virtue in reality cannot be lost), still if, i say, you should acknowledge that you were deficient in one, you would be stripped of all. can you, then, call yourself a brave man, of a great soul, endued with patience and steadiness above the frowns of fortune? or philoctetes? for i choose to instance him, rather than yourself, for he certainly was not a brave man, who lay in his bed, which was watered with his tears, whose groans, bewailings, and whose bitter cries, with grief incessant rent the very skies. i do not deny pain to be pain--for were that the case, in what would courage consist?--but i say it should be assuaged by patience, if there be such a thing as patience: if there be no such thing, why do we speak so in praise of philosophy? or why do we glory in its name? does pain annoy us? let it sting us to the heart: if you are without defensive armor, bare your throat to it; but if you are secured by vulcanian armor, that is to say by resolution, resist it. should you fail to do so, that guardian of your honor, your courage, will forsake and leave you.--by the laws of lycurgus, and by those which were given to the cretans by jupiter, or which minos established under the direction of jupiter, as the poets say, the youths of the state are trained by the practice of hunting, running, enduring hunger and thirst, cold and heat. the boys at sparta are scourged so at the altars that blood follows the lash in abundance; nay, sometimes, as i used to hear when i was there, they are whipped even to death; and yet not one of them was ever heard to cry out, or so much as groan. what, then? shall men not be able to bear what boys do? and shall custom have such great force, and reason none at all? xv. there is some difference between labor and pain; they border upon one another, but still there is a certain difference between them. labor is a certain exercise of the mind or body, in some employment or undertaking of serious trouble and importance; but pain is a sharp motion in the body, disagreeable to our senses.--both these feelings, the greeks, whose language is more copious than ours, express by the common name of [greek: ponos]: therefore they call industrious men painstaking, or, rather, fond of labor; we, more conveniently, call them laborious; for laboring is one thing, and enduring pain another. you see, o greece! your barrenness of words, sometimes, though you think you are always so rich in them. i say, then, that there is a difference between laboring and being in pain. when caius marius had an operation performed for a swelling in his thigh, he felt pain; when he headed his troops in a very hot season, he labored. yet these two feelings bear some resemblance to one another; for the accustoming ourselves to labor makes the endurance of pain more easy to us. and it was because they were influenced by this reason that the founders of the grecian form of government provided that the bodies of their youth should be strengthened by labor, which custom the spartans transferred even to their women, who in other cities lived more delicately, keeping within the walls of their houses; but it was otherwise with the spartans. the spartan women, with a manly air, fatigues and dangers with their husbands share; they in fantastic sports have no delight, partners with them in exercise and fight. and in these laborious exercises pain interferes sometimes. they are thrown down, receive blows, have bad falls, and are bruised, and the labor itself produces a sort of callousness to pain. xvi. as to military service (i speak of our own, not of that of the spartans, for they used to march slowly to the sound of the flute, and scarce a word of command was given without an anapæst), you may see, in the first place, whence the very name of an army (_exercitus_[ ]) is derived; and, secondly, how great the labor is of an army on its march: then consider that they carry more than a fortnight's provision, and whatever else they may want; that they carry the burden of the stakes,[ ] for as to shield, sword, or helmet, they look on them as no more encumbrance than their own limbs, for they say that arms are the limbs of a soldier, and those, indeed, they carry so commodiously that, when there is occasion, they throw down their burdens, and use their arms as readily as their limbs. why need i mention the exercises of the legions? and how great the labor is which is undergone in the running, encounters, shouts! hence it is that their minds are worked up to make so light of wounds in action. take a soldier of equal bravery, but undisciplined, and he will seem a woman. why is it that there is this sensible difference between a raw recruit and a veteran soldier? the age of the young soldiers is for the most part in their favor; but it is practice only that enables men to bear labor and despise wounds. moreover, we often see, when the wounded are carried off the field, the raw, untried soldier, though but slightly wounded, cries out most shamefully; but the more brave, experienced veteran only inquires for some one to dress his wounds, and says, patroclus, to thy aid i must appeal ere worse ensue, my bleeding wounds to heal; the sons of Æsculapius are employ'd, no room for me, so many are annoy'd. xvii. this is certainly eurypylus himself. what an experienced man!--while his friend is continually enlarging on his misfortunes, you may observe that he is so far from weeping that he even assigns a reason why he should bear his wounds with patience. who at his enemy a stroke directs, his sword to light upon himself expects. patroclus, i suppose, will lead him off to his chamber to bind up his wounds, at least if he be a man: but not a word of that; he only inquires how the battle went: say how the argives bear themselves in fight? and yet no words can show the truth as well as those, your deeds and visible sufferings. peace! and my wounds bind up; but though eurypylus could bear these afflictions, Æsopus could not, where hector's fortune press'd our yielding troops; and he explains the rest, though in pain. so unbounded is military glory in a brave man! shall, then, a veteran soldier be able to behave in this manner, and shall a wise and learned man not be able? surely the latter might be able to bear pain better, and in no small degree either. at present, however, i am confining myself to what is engendered by practice and discipline. i am not yet come to speak of reason and philosophy. you may often hear of old women living without victuals for three or four days; but take away a wrestler's provisions but for one day, and he will implore the aid of jupiter olympius, the very god for whom he exercises himself: he will cry out that he cannot endure it. great is the force of custom! sportsmen will continue whole nights in the snow; they will bear being almost frozen upon the mountains. from practice boxers will not so much as utter a groan, however bruised by the cestus. but what do you think of those to whom a victory in the olympic games seemed almost on a par with the ancient consulships of the roman people? what wounds will the gladiators bear, who are either barbarians, or the very dregs of mankind! how do they, who are trained to it, prefer being wounded to basely avoiding it! how often do they prove that they consider nothing but the giving satisfaction to their masters or to the people! for when covered with wounds, they send to their masters to learn their pleasure: if it is their will, they are ready to lie down and die. what gladiator, of even moderate reputation, ever gave a sigh? who ever turned pale? who ever disgraced himself either in the actual combat, or even when about to die? who that had been defeated ever drew in his neck to avoid the stroke of death? so great is the force of practice, deliberation, and custom! shall this, then, be done by a samnite rascal, worthy of his trade; and shall a man born to glory have so soft a part in his soul as not to be able to fortify it by reason and reflection? the sight of the gladiators' combats is by some looked on as cruel and inhuman, and i do not know, as it is at present managed, but it may be so; but when the guilty fought, we might receive by our ears perhaps (but certainly by our eyes we could not) better training to harden us against pain and death. xviii. i have now said enough about the effects of exercise, custom, and careful meditation. proceed we now to consider the force of reason, unless you have something to reply to what has been said. _a._ that i should interrupt you! by no means; for your discourse has brought me over to your opinion. let the stoics, then, think it their business to determine whether pain be an evil or not, while they endeavor to show by some strained and trifling conclusions, which are nothing to the purpose, that pain is no evil. my opinion is, that whatever it is, it is not so great as it appears; and i say, that men are influenced to a great extent by some false representations and appearance of it, and that all which is really felt is capable of being endured. where shall i begin, then? shall i superficially go over what i said before, that my discourse may have a greater scope? this, then, is agreed upon by all, and not only by learned men, but also by the unlearned, that it becomes the brave and magnanimous--those that have patience and a spirit above this world--not to give way to pain. nor has there ever been any one who did not commend a man who bore it in this manner. that, then, which is expected from a brave man, and is commended when it is seen, it must surely be base in any one to be afraid of at its approach, or not to bear when it comes. but i would have you consider whether, as all the right affections of the soul are classed under the name of virtues, the truth is that this is not properly the name of them all, but that they all have their name from that leading virtue which is superior to all the rest: for the name "virtue" comes from _vir_, a man, and courage is the peculiar distinction of a man: and this virtue has two principal duties, to despise death and pain. we must, then, exert these, if we would be men of virtue, or, rather, if we would be men, because virtue (_virtus_) takes its very name from _vir_, man. xix. you may inquire, perhaps, how? and such an inquiry is not amiss, for philosophy is ready with her assistance. epicurus offers himself to you, a man far from a bad--or, i should rather say, a very good man: he advises no more than he knows. "despise pain," says he. who is it saith this? is it the same man who calls pain the greatest of all evils? it is not, indeed, very consistent in him. let us hear what he says: "if the pain is excessive, it must needs be short." i must have that over again, for i do not apprehend what you mean exactly by "excessive" or "short." that is excessive than which nothing can be greater; that is short than which nothing is shorter. i do not regard the greatness of any pain from which, by reason of the shortness of its continuance, i shall be delivered almost before it reaches me. but if the pain be as great as that of philoctetes, it will appear great indeed to me, but yet not the greatest that i am capable of bearing; for the pain is confined to my foot. but my eye may pain me, i may have a pain in the head, or sides, or lungs, or in every part of me. it is far, then, from being excessive. therefore, says he, pain of a long continuance has more pleasure in it than uneasiness. now, i cannot bring myself to say so great a man talks nonsense; but i imagine he is laughing at us. my opinion is that the greatest pain (i say the greatest, though it may be ten atoms less than another) is not therefore short, because acute. i could name to you a great many good men who have been tormented many years with the acutest pains of the gout. but this cautious man doth not determine the measure of that greatness or of duration, so as to enable us to know what he calls excessive with regard to pain, or short with respect to its continuance. let us pass him by, then, as one who says just nothing at all; and let us force him to acknowledge, notwithstanding he might behave himself somewhat boldly under his colic and his strangury, that no remedy against pain can be had from him who looks on pain as the greatest of all evils. we must apply, then, for relief elsewhere, and nowhere better (if we seek for what is most consistent with itself) than to those who place the chief good in honesty, and the greatest evil in infamy. you dare not so much as groan, or discover the least uneasiness in their company, for virtue itself speaks to you through them. xx. will you, when you may observe children at lacedæmon, and young men at olympia, and barbarians in the amphitheatre, receive the severest wounds, and bear them without once opening their mouths--will you, i say, if any pain should by chance attack you, cry out like a woman? will you not rather bear it with resolution and constancy? and not cry, it is intolerable; nature cannot bear it! i hear what you say: boys bear this because they are led thereto by glory; some bear it through shame, many through fear, and yet are we afraid that nature cannot bear what is borne by many, and in such different circumstances? nature not only bears it, but challenges it, for there is nothing with her preferable, nothing which she desires more than credit, and reputation, and praise, and honor, and glory. i choose here to describe this one thing under many names, and i have used many that you may have the clearer idea of it; for what i mean to say is, that whatever is desirable of itself, proceeding from virtue, or placed in virtue, and commendable on its own account (which i would rather agree to call the only good than deny it to be the chief good) is what men should prefer above all things. and as we declare this to be the case with respect to honesty, so we speak in the contrary manner of infamy; nothing is so odious, so detestable, nothing so unworthy of a man. and if you are thoroughly convinced of this (for, at the beginning of this discourse, you allowed that there appeared to you more evil in infamy than in pain), it follows that you ought to have the command over yourself, though i scarcely know how this expression may seem an accurate one, which appears to represent man as made up of two natures, so that one should be in command and the other be subject to it. xxi. yet this division does not proceed from ignorance; for the soul admits of a twofold division, one of which partakes of reason, the other is without it. when, therefore, we are ordered to give a law to ourselves, the meaning is, that reason should restrain our rashness. there is in the soul of every man something naturally soft, low, enervated in a manner, and languid. were there nothing besides this, men would be the greatest of monsters; but there is present to every man reason, which presides over and gives laws to all; which, by improving itself, and making continual advances, becomes perfect virtue. it behooves a man, then, to take care that reason shall have the command over that part which is bound to practise obedience. in what manner? you will say. why, as a master has over his slave, a general over his army, a father over his son. if that part of the soul which i have called soft behaves disgracefully, if it gives itself up to lamentations and womanish tears, then let it be restrained, and committed to the care of friends and relations, for we often see those persons brought to order by shame whom no reasons can influence. therefore, we should confine those feelings, like our servants, in safe custody, and almost with chains. but those who have more resolution, and yet are not utterly immovable, we should encourage with our exhortations, as we would good soldiers, to recollect themselves, and maintain their honor. that wisest man of all greece, in the niptræ, does not lament too much over his wounds, or, rather, he is moderate in his grief: move slow, my friends; your hasty speed refrain, lest by your motion you increase my pain. pacuvius is better in this than sophocles, for in the one ulysses bemoans his wounds too vehemently; for the very people who carried him after he was wounded, though his grief was moderate, yet, considering the dignity of the man, did not scruple to say, and thou, ulysses, long to war inured, thy wounds, though great, too feebly hast endured. the wise poet understood that custom was no contemptible instructor how to bear pain. but the same hero complains with more decency, though in great pain: assist, support me, never leave me so; unbind my wounds, oh! execrable woe! he begins to give way, but instantly checks himself: away! begone! but cover first the sore; for your rude hands but make my pains the more. do you observe how he constrains himself? not that his bodily pains were less, but because he checks the anguish of his mind. therefore, in the conclusion of the niptræ, he blames others, even when he himself is dying: complaints of fortune may become the man, none but a woman will thus weeping stand. and so that soft place in his soul obeys his reason, just as an abashed soldier does his stern commander. xxii. the man, then, in whom absolute wisdom exists (such a man, indeed, we have never as yet seen, but the philosophers have described in their writings what sort of man he will be, if he should exist); such a man, or at least that perfect and absolute reason which exists in him, will have the same authority over the inferior part as a good parent has over his dutiful children: he will bring it to obey his nod without any trouble or difficulty. he will rouse himself, prepare and arm himself, to oppose pain as he would an enemy. if you inquire what arms he will provide himself with, they will be contention, encouragement, discourse with himself. he will say thus to himself: take care that you are guilty of nothing base, languid, or unmanly. he will turn over in his mind all the different kinds of honor. zeno of elea will occur to him, who suffered everything rather than betray his confederates in the design of putting an end to the tyranny. he will reflect on anaxarchus, the pupil of democritus, who, having fallen into the hands of nicocreon, king of cyprus, without the least entreaty for mercy or refusal, submitted to every kind of torture. calanus the indian will occur to him, an ignorant man and a barbarian, born at the foot of mount caucasus, who committed himself to the flames by his own free, voluntary act. but we, if we have the toothache, or a pain in the foot, or if the body be anyways affected, cannot bear it. for our sentiments of pain as well as pleasure are so trifling and effeminate, we are so enervated and relaxed by luxuries, that we cannot bear the sting of a bee without crying out. but caius marius, a plain countryman, but of a manly soul, when he had an operation performed on him, as i mentioned above, at first refused to be tied down; and he is the first instance of any one's having had an operation performed on him without being tied down. why, then, did others bear it afterward? why, from the force of example. you see, then, that pain exists more in opinion than in nature; and yet the same marius gave a proof that there is something very sharp in pain for he would not submit to have the other thigh cut. so that he bore his pain with resolution as a man; but, like a reasonable person, he was not willing to undergo any greater pain without some necessary reason. the whole, then, consists in this--that you should have command over yourself. i have already told you what kind of command this is; and by considering what is most consistent with patience, fortitude, and greatness of soul, a man not only restrains himself, but, somehow or other, mitigates even pain itself. xxiii. even as in a battle the dastardly and timorous soldier throws away his shield on the first appearance of an enemy, and runs as fast as he can, and on that account loses his life sometimes, though he has never received even one wound, when he who stands his ground has nothing of the sort happen to him, so they who cannot bear the appearance of pain throw themselves away, and give themselves up to affliction and dismay. but they that oppose it, often come off more than a match for it. for the body has a certain resemblance to the soul: as burdens are more easily borne the more the body is exerted, while they crush us if we give way, so the soul by exerting itself resists the whole weight that would oppress it; but if it yields, it is so pressed that it cannot support itself. and if we consider things truly, the soul should exert itself in every pursuit, for that is the only security for its doing its duty. but this should be principally regarded in pain, that we must not do anything timidly, or dastardly, or basely, or slavishly, or effeminately, and, above all things, we must dismiss and avoid that philoctetean sort of outcry. a man is allowed sometimes to groan, but yet seldom; but it is not permissible even in a woman to howl; for such a noise as this is forbidden, by the twelve tables, to be used even at funerals. nor does a wise or brave man ever groan, unless when he exerts himself to give his resolution greater force, as they who run in the stadium make as much noise as they can. the wrestlers, too, do the same when they are training; and the boxers, when they aim a blow with the cestus at their adversary, give a groan, not because they are in pain, or from a sinking of their spirits, but because their whole body is put upon the stretch by the throwing-out of these groans, and the blow comes the stronger. xxiv. what! they who would speak louder than ordinary are they satisfied with working their jaws, sides, or tongue or stretching the common organs of speech and utterance? the whole body and every muscle is at full stretch if i may be allowed the expression; every nerve is exerted to assist their voice. i have actually seen the knees of marcus antonius touch the ground when he was speaking with vehemence for himself, with relation to the varian law. for, as the engines you throw stones or darts with throw them out with the greater force the more they are strained and drawn back; so it is in speaking, running, or boxing--the more people strain themselves, the greater their force. since, therefore, this exertion has so much influence--if in a moment of pain groans help to strengthen the mind, let us use them; but if they be groans of lamentation, if they be the expression of weakness or abjectness, or unmanly weeping, then i should scarcely call him a man who yielded to them. for even supposing that such groaning could give any ease, it still should be considered whether it were consistent with a brave and resolute man. but if it does not ease our pain, why should we debase ourselves to no purpose? for what is more unbecoming in a man than to cry like a woman? but this precept which is laid down with respect to pain is not confined to it. we should apply this exertion of the soul to everything else. is anger inflamed? is lust excited? we must have recourse to the same citadel, and apply to the same arms. but since it is pain which we are at present discussing, we will let the other subjects alone. to bear pain, then, sedately and calmly, it is of great use to consider with all our soul, as the saying is, how noble it is to do so, for we are naturally desirous (as i said before, but it cannot be too often repeated) and very much inclined to what is honorable, of which, if we discover but the least glimpse, there is nothing which we are not prepared to undergo and suffer to attain it. from this impulse of our minds, this desire for genuine glory and honorable conduct, it is that such dangers are supported in war, and that brave men are not sensible of their wounds in action, or, if they are sensible of them, prefer death to the departing but the least step from their honor. the decii saw the shining swords of their enemies when they were rushing into the battle. but the honorable character and the glory of the death which they were seeking made all fear of death of little weight. do you imagine that epaminondas groaned when he perceived that his life was flowing out with his blood? no; for he left his country triumphing over the lacedæmonians, whereas he had found it in subjection to them. these are the comforts, these are the things that assuage the greatest pain. xxv. you may ask, how the case is in peace? what is to be done at home? how we are to behave in bed? you bring me back to the philosophers, who seldom go to war. among these, dionysius of heraclea, a man certainly of no resolution, having learned fortitude of zeno, quitted it on being in pain; for, being tormented with a pain in his kidneys, in bewailing himself he cried out that those things were false which he had formerly conceived of pain. and when his fellow-disciple, cleanthes, asked him why he had changed his opinion, he answered, "that the case of any man who had applied so much time to philosophy, and yet was unable to bear pain, might be a sufficient proof that pain is an evil; that he himself had spent many years at philosophy, and yet could not bear pain: it followed, therefore, that pain was an evil." it is reported that cleanthes on that struck his foot on the ground, and repeated a verse out of the epigonæ: amphiaraus, hear'st thou this below? he meant zeno: he was sorry the other had degenerated from him. but it was not so with our friend posidonius, whom i have often seen myself; and i will tell you what pompey used to say of him: that when he came to rhodes, after his departure from syria, he had a great desire to hear posidonius, but was informed that he was very ill of a severe fit of the gout; yet he had great inclination to pay a visit to so famous a philosopher. accordingly, when he had seen him, and paid his compliments, and had spoken with great respect of him, he said he was very sorry that he could not hear him lecture. "but indeed you may," replied the other, "nor will i suffer any bodily pain to occasion so great a man to visit me in vain." on this pompey relates that, as he lay on his bed, he disputed with great dignity and fluency on this very subject: that nothing was good but what was honest; and that in his paroxysms he would often say, "pain, it is to no purpose; notwithstanding you are troublesome, i will never acknowledge you an evil." and in general all celebrated and notorious afflictions become endurable by disregarding them. xxvi. do we not observe that where those exercises called gymnastic are in esteem, those who enter the lists never concern themselves about dangers? that where the praise of riding and hunting is highly esteemed, they who practice these arts decline no pain? what shall i say of our own ambitious pursuits or desire of honors? what fire have not candidates run through to gain a single vote? therefore africanus had always in his hands xenophon, the pupil of socrates, being particularly pleased with his saying, that the same labors were not equally heavy to the general and to the common man, because the honor itself made the labor lighter to the general. but yet, so it happens, that even with the illiterate vulgar an idea of honor is of great influence, though they cannot understand what it is. they are led by report and common opinion to look on that as honorable which has the general voice. not that i would have you, should the multitude be ever so fond of you, rely on their judgment, nor approve of everything which they think right: you must use your own judgment. if you are satisfied with yourself when you have approved of what is right, you will not only have the mastery over yourself (which i recommended to you just now), but over everybody, and everything. lay this down, then, as a rule, that a great capacity, and lofty elevation of soul, which distinguishes itself most by despising and looking down with contempt on pain, is the most excellent of all things, and the more so if it does not depend on the people and does not aim at applause, but derives its satisfaction from itself. besides, to me, indeed, everything seems the more commendable the less the people are courted, and the fewer eyes there are to see it. not that you should avoid the public, for every generous action loves the public view; yet no theatre for virtue is equal to a consciousness of it. xxvii. and let this be principally considered: that this bearing of pain, which i have often said is to be strengthened by an exertion of the soul, should be the same in everything. for you meet with many who, through a desire of victory, or for glory, or to maintain their rights, or their liberty, have boldly received wounds, and borne themselves up under them; and yet those very same persons, by relaxing that intenseness of their minds, were unequal to bearing the pain of a disease; for they did not support themselves under their former sufferings by reason or philosophy, but by inclination and glory. therefore some barbarians and savage people are able to fight very stoutly with the sword, but cannot bear sickness like men; but the grecians, men of no great courage, but as wise as human nature will admit of, cannot look an enemy in the face, yet the same will bear to be visited with sickness tolerably, and with a sufficiently manly spirit; and the cimbrians and celtiberians are very alert in battle, but bemoan themselves in sickness. for nothing can be consistent which has not reason for its foundation. but when you see those who are led by inclination or opinion, not retarded by pain in their pursuits, nor hindered by it from succeeding in them, you may conclude, either that pain is no evil, or that, notwithstanding you may choose to call an evil whatever is disagreeable and contrary to nature, yet it is so very trifling an evil that it may so effectually be got the better of by virtue as quite to disappear. and i would have you think of this night and day; for this argument will spread itself, and take up more room some time or other, and not be confined to pain alone; for if the motives to all our actions are to avoid disgrace and acquire honor, we may not only despise the stings of pain, but the storms of fortune, especially if we have recourse to that retreat which was pointed out in our yesterday's discussion; for, as if some god had advised a man who was pursued by pirates to throw himself overboard, saying, "there is something at hand to receive you; either a dolphin will take you up, as it did arion of methymna; or those horses sent by neptune to pelops (who are said to have carried chariots so rapidly as to be borne up by the waves) will receive you, and convey you wherever you please. cast away all fear." so, though your pains be ever so sharp and disagreeable, if the case is not such that it is worth your while to endure them, you see whither you may betake yourself. i think this will do for the present. but perhaps you still abide by your opinion. _a._ not in the least, indeed; and i hope i am freed by these two days' discourses from the fear of two things that i greatly dreaded. _m._ to-morrow, then, for rhetoric, as we were saying. but i see we must not drop our philosophy. _a._ no, indeed; we will have the one in the forenoon, and this at the usual time. _m._ it shall be so, and i will comply with your very laudable inclinations. * * * * * book iii. on grief of mind. i. what reason shall i assign, o brutus, why, as we consist of mind and body, the art of curing and preserving the body should be so much sought after, and the invention of it, as being so useful, should be ascribed to the immortal gods; but the medicine of the mind should not have been so much the object of inquiry while it was unknown, nor so much attended to and cultivated after its discovery, nor so well received or approved of by some, and accounted actually disagreeable, and looked upon with an envious eye by many? is it because we, by means of the mind, judge of the pains and disorders of the body, but do not, by means of the body, arrive at any perception of the disorders of the mind? hence it comes that the mind only judges of itself when that very faculty by which it is judged is in a bad state. had nature given us faculties for discerning and viewing herself, and could we go through life by keeping our eye on her--our best guide--there would be no reason certainly why any one should be in want of philosophy or learning; but, as it is, she has furnished us only with some feeble rays of light, which we immediately extinguish so completely by evil habits and erroneous opinions that the light of nature is nowhere visible. the seeds of virtues are natural to our constitutions, and, were they suffered to come to maturity, would naturally conduct us to a happy life; but now, as soon as we are born and received into the world, we are instantly familiarized with all kinds of depravity and perversity of opinions; so that we may be said almost to suck in error with our nurse's milk. when we return to our parents, and are put into the hands of tutors and governors, we are imbued with so many errors that truth gives place to falsehood, and nature herself to established opinion. ii. to these we may add the poets; who, on account of the appearance they exhibit of learning and wisdom, are heard, read, and got by heart, and make a deep impression on our minds. but when to these are added the people, who are, as it were, one great body of instructors, and the multitude, who declare unanimously for what is wrong, then are we altogether overwhelmed with bad opinions, and revolt entirely from nature; so that they seem to deprive us of our best guide who have decided that there is nothing better for man, nothing more worthy of being desired by him, nothing more excellent, than honors and commands, and a high reputation with the people; which indeed every excellent man aims at; but while he pursues that only true honor which nature has in view above all other objects, he finds himself busied in arrant trifles, and in pursuit of no conspicuous form of virtue, but only some shadowy representation of glory. for glory is a real and express substance, not a mere shadow. it consists in the united praise of good men, the free voice of those who form a true judgment of pre-eminent virtue; it is, as it were, the very echo of virtue; and being generally the attendant on laudable actions, should not be slighted by good men. but popular fame, which would pretend to imitate it, is hasty and inconsiderate, and generally commends wicked and immoral actions, and throws discredit upon the appearance and beauty of honesty by assuming a resemblance of it. and it is owing to their not being able to discover the difference between them that some men ignorant of real excellence, and in what it consists, have been the destruction of their country and of themselves. and thus the best men have erred, not so much in their intentions as by a mistaken conduct. what? is no cure to be attempted to be applied to those who are carried away by the love of money, or the lust of pleasures, by which they are rendered little short of madmen, which is the case of all weak people? or is it because the disorders of the mind are less dangerous than those of the body? or because the body will admit of a cure, while there is no medicine whatever for the mind? iii. but there are more disorders of the mind than of the body, and they are of a more dangerous nature; for these very disorders are the more offensive because they belong to the mind and disturb it; and the mind, when disordered, is, as ennius says, in a constant error: it can neither bear nor endure anything, and is under the perpetual influence of desires. now, what disorders can be worse to the body than these two distempers of the mind (for i overlook others), weakness and desire? but how, indeed, can it be maintained that the mind cannot prescribe for itself, when she it is who has invented the medicines for the body, when, with regard to bodily cures, constitution and nature have a great share, nor do all who suffer themselves to be cured find that effect instantly; but those minds which are disposed to be cured, and submit to the precepts of the wise, may undoubtedly recover a healthy state? philosophy is certainly the medicine of the soul, whose assistance we do not seek from abroad, as in bodily disorders, but we ourselves are bound to exert our utmost energy and power in order to effect our cure. but as to philosophy in general, i have, i think, in my hortensius, sufficiently spoken of the credit and attention which it deserves: since that, indeed, i have been continually either disputing or writing on its most material branches; and i have laid down in these books all the discussions which took place between myself and my particular friends at my tusculan villa. but as i have spoken in the two former of pain and death, this book shall be devoted to the account of the third day of our disputations. we came down into the academy when the day was already declining towards afternoon, and i asked one of those who were present to propose a subject for us to discourse on; and then the business was carried on in this manner: iv. _a._ my opinion is, that a wise man is subject to grief. _m._ what, and to the other perturbations of mind, as fears, lusts, anger? for these are pretty much like what the greeks call [greek: pathê]. i might call them diseases, and that would be a literal translation, but it is not agreeable to our way of speaking. for envy, delight, and pleasure are all called by the greeks diseases, being affections of the mind not in subordination to reason; but we, i think, are right in calling the same motions of a disturbed soul perturbations, and in very seldom using the term diseases; though, perhaps, it appears otherwise to you. _a._ i am of your opinion. _m._ and do you think a wise man subject to these? _a._ entirely, i think. _m._ then that boasted wisdom is but of small account, if it differs so little from madness? _a._ what? does every commotion of the mind seem to you to be madness? _m._ not to me only; but i apprehend, though i have often been surprised at it, that it appeared so to our ancestors many ages before socrates; from whom is derived all that philosophy which relates to life and morals. _a._ how so? _m._ because the name madness[ ] implies a sickness of the mind and disease; that is to say, an unsoundness and an unhealthiness of mind, which they call madness. but the philosophers call all perturbations of the soul diseases, and their opinion is that no fool is ever free from these; but all that are diseased are unsound; and the minds of all fools are diseased; therefore all fools are mad. for they held that soundness of the mind depends on a certain tranquillity and steadiness; and a mind which was destitute of these qualities they called insane, because soundness was inconsistent with a perturbed mind just as much as with a disordered body. v. nor were they less ingenious in calling the state of the soul devoid of the light of the mind, "a being out of one's mind," "a being beside one's self." from whence we may understand that they who gave these names to things were of the same opinion with socrates, that all silly people were unsound, which the stoics have carefully preserved as being derived from him; for whatever mind is distempered (and, as i just now said, the philosophers call all perturbed motions of the mind distempers) is no more sound than a body is when in a fit of sickness. hence it is that wisdom is the soundness of the mind, folly a sort of unsoundness, which is insanity, or a being out of one's mind: and these are much better expressed by the latin words than the greek, which you will find the case also in many other topics. but we will discuss that point elsewhere: let us now attend to our present subject. the very meaning of the word describes the whole thing about which we are inquiring, both as to its substance and character. for we must necessarily understand by "sound" those whose minds are under no perturbation from any motion as if it were a disease. they who are differently affected we must necessarily call "unsound." so that nothing is better than what is usual in latin, to say that they who are run away with by their lust or anger have quitted the command over themselves; though anger includes lust, for anger is defined to be the lust of revenge. they, then, who are said not to be masters of themselves, are said to be so because they are not under the government of reason, to which is assigned by nature the power over the whole soul. why the greeks should call this mania, i do not easily apprehend; but we define it much better than they, for we distinguish this madness (_insania_), which, being allied to folly, is more extensive, from what we call _furor_, or raving. the greeks, indeed, would do so too, but they have no one word that will express it: what we call _furor_, they call [greek: melancholia], as if the reason were affected only by a black bile, and not disturbed as often by a violent rage, or fear, or grief. thus we say athamas, alcmæon, ajax, and orestes were raving (_furere_); because a person affected in this manner was not allowed by the twelve tables to have the management of his own affairs; therefore the words are not, if he is mad (_insanus_), but if he begins to be raving (_furiosus_). for they looked upon madness to be an unsettled humor that proceeded from not being of sound mind; yet such a person might perform his ordinary duties, and discharge the usual and customary requirements of life: but they considered one that was raving as afflicted with a total blindness of the mind, which, notwithstanding it is allowed to be greater than madness, is nevertheless of such a nature that a wise man may be subject to raving (_furor_), but cannot possibly be afflicted by insanity (_insania_). but this is another question: let us now return to our original subject. vi. i think you said that it was your opinion that a wise man was liable to grief. _a._ and so, indeed, i think. _m._ it is natural enough to think so, for we are not the offspring of flints; but we have by nature something soft and tender in our souls, which may be put into a violent motion by grief, as by a storm; nor did that crantor, who was one of the most distinguished men that our academy has ever produced, say this amiss: "i am by no means of their opinion who talk so much in praise of i know not what insensibility, which neither can exist, nor ought to exist. "i would choose," says he, "never to be ill; but should i be so, still i should choose to retain my sensation, whether there was to be an amputation or any other separation of anything from my body. for that insensibility cannot be but at the expense of some unnatural ferocity of mind, or stupor of body." but let us consider whether to talk in this manner be not allowing that we are weak, and yielding to our softness. notwithstanding, let us be hardy enough, not only to lop off every arm of our miseries, but even to pluck up every fibre of their roots. yet still something, perhaps, may be left behind, so deep does folly strike its roots: but whatever may be left it will be no more than is necessary. but let us be persuaded of this, that unless the mind be in a sound state, which philosophy alone can effect, there can be no end of our miseries. wherefore, as we began, let us submit ourselves to it for a cure; we shall be cured if we choose to be. i shall advance something further. i shall not treat of grief alone, though that indeed is the principal thing; but, as i originally proposed, of every perturbation of the mind, as i termed it; disorder, as the greeks call it: and first, with your leave, i shall treat it in the manner of the stoics, whose method is to reduce their arguments into a very small space; afterward i shall enlarge more in my own way. vii. a man of courage is also full of faith. i do not use the word confident, because, owing to an erroneous custom of speaking, that word has come to be used in a bad sense, though it is derived from confiding, which is commendable. but he who is full of faith is certainly under no fear; for there is an inconsistency between faith and fear. now, whoever is subject to grief is subject to fear; for whatever things we grieve at when present we dread when hanging over us and approaching. thus it comes about that grief is inconsistent with courage: it is very probable, therefore, that whoever is subject to grief is also liable to fear, and to a broken kind of spirits and sinking. now, whenever these befall a man, he is in a servile state, and must own that he is overpowered; for whoever admits these feelings, must admit timidity and cowardice. but these cannot enter into the mind of a man of courage; neither, therefore, can grief: but the man of courage is the only wise man; therefore grief cannot befall the wise man. it is, besides, necessary that whoever is brave should be a man of great soul; that whoever is a man of a great soul should be invincible; whoever is invincible looks down with contempt on all things here, and considers them, beneath him. but no one can despise those things on account of which he may be affected with grief; from whence it follows that a wise man is never affected with grief: for all wise men are brave; therefore a wise man is not subject to grief. and as the eye, when disordered, is not in a good condition for performing its office properly; and as the other parts, and the whole body itself, when unsettled, cannot perform their office and business; so the mind, when disordered, is but ill-fitted to perform its duty. the office of the mind is to use its reason well; but the mind of a wise man is always in condition to make the best use of his reason, and therefore is never out of order. but grief is a disorder of the mind; therefore a wise man will be always free from it. viii. and from these considerations we may get at a very probable definition of the temperate man, whom the greeks call [greek: sôphrôn]: and they call that virtue [greek: sôphrosynên], which i at one time call temperance, at another time moderation, and sometimes even modesty; but i do not know whether that virtue may not be properly called frugality, which has a more confined meaning with the greeks; for they call frugal men [greek: chrêsimous], which implies only that they are useful; but our name has a more extensive meaning: for all abstinence, all innocency (which the greeks have no ordinary name for, though they might use the word [greek: ablabeia], for innocency is that disposition of mind which would offend no one) and several other virtues are comprehended under frugality; but if this quality were of less importance, and confined in as small a compass as some imagine, the surname of piso[ ] would not have been in so great esteem. but as we allow him not the name of a frugal man (_frugi_), who either quits his post through fear, which is cowardice; or who reserves to his own use what was privately committed to his keeping, which is injustice; or who fails in his military undertakings through rashness, which is folly--for that reason the word frugality takes in these three virtues of fortitude, justice, and prudence, though it is indeed common to all virtues, for they are all connected and knit together. let us allow, then, frugality itself to be another and fourth virtue; for its peculiar property seems to be, to govern and appease all tendencies to too eager a desire after anything, to restrain lust, and to preserve a decent steadiness in everything. the vice in contrast to this is called prodigality (_nequitia_). frugality, i imagine, is derived from the word _fruge_, the best thing which the earth produces; _nequitia_ is derived (though this is perhaps rather more strained; still, let us try it; we shall only be thought to have been trifling if there is nothing in what we say) from the fact of everything being to no purpose (_nequicquam_) in such a man; from which circumstance he is called also _nihil_, nothing. whoever is frugal, then, or, if it is more agreeable to you, whoever is moderate and temperate, such a one must of course be consistent; whoever is consistent, must be quiet; the quiet man must be free from all perturbation, therefore from grief likewise: and these are the properties of a wise man; therefore a wise man must be free from grief. ix. so that dionysius of heraclea is right when, upon this complaint of achilles in homer, well hast thou spoke, but at the tyrant's name my rage rekindles, and my soul's in flame: 'tis just resentment, and becomes the brave, disgraced, dishonor'd like the vilest slave[ ]-- he reasons thus: is the hand as it should be, when it is affected with a swelling? or is it possible for any other member of the body, when swollen or enlarged, to be in any other than a disordered state? must not the mind, then, when it is puffed up, or distended, be out of order? but the mind of a wise man is always free from every kind of disorder: it never swells, never is puffed up; but the mind when in anger is in a different state. a wise man, therefore, is never angry; for when he is angry, he lusts after something; for whoever is angry naturally has a longing desire to give all the pain he can to the person who he thinks has injured him; and whoever has this earnest desire must necessarily be much pleased with the accomplishment of his wishes; hence he is delighted with his neighbor's misery; and as a wise man is not capable of such feelings as these, he is therefore not capable of anger. but should a wise man be subject to grief, he may likewise be subject to anger; for as he is free from anger, he must likewise be free from grief. again, could a wise man be subject to grief, he might also be liable to pity, or even might be open to a disposition towards envy (_invidentia_); i do not say to envy (_invidia_), for that can only exist by the very act of envying: but we may fairly form the word _invidentia_ from _invidendo_, and so avoid the doubtful name _invidia;_ for this word is probably derived from _in_ and _video_, looking too closely into another's fortune; as it is said in the melanippus, who envies me the flower of my children? where the latin is _invidit florem._ it may appear not good latin, but it is very well put by accius; for as _video_ governs an accusative case, so it is more correct to say _invideo florem_ than _flori._ we are debarred from saying so by common usage. the poet stood in his own right, and expressed himself with more freedom. x. therefore compassion and envy are consistent in the same man; for whoever is uneasy at any one's adversity is also uneasy at another's prosperity: as theophrastus, while he laments the death of his companion callisthenes, is at the same time disturbed at the success of alexander; and therefore he says that callisthenes met with man of the greatest power and good fortune, but one who did not know how to make use of his good fortune. and as pity is an uneasiness which arises from the misfortunes of another, so envy is an uneasiness that proceeds from the good success of another: therefore whoever is capable of pity is capable of envy. but a wise man is incapable of envy, and consequently incapable of pity. but were a wise man used to grieve, to pity also would be familiar to him; therefore to grieve is a feeling which cannot affect a wise man. now, though these reasonings of the stoics, and their conclusions, are rather strained and distorted, and ought to be expressed in a less stringent and narrow manner, yet great stress is to be laid on the opinions of those men who have a peculiarly bold and manly turn of thought and sentiment. for our friends the peripatetics, notwithstanding all their erudition, gravity, and fluency of language, do not satisfy me about the moderation of these disorders and diseases of the soul which they insist upon; for every evil, though moderate, is in its nature great. but our object is to make out that the wise man is free from all evil; for as the body is unsound if it is ever so slightly affected, so the mind under any moderate disorder loses its soundness; therefore the romans have, with their usual accuracy of expression, called trouble, and anguish, and vexation, on account of the analogy between a troubled mind and a diseased body, disorders. the greeks call all perturbation of mind by pretty nearly the same name; for they name every turbid motion of the soul [greek: pathos], that is to say, a distemper. but we have given them a more proper name; for a disorder of the mind is very like a disease of the body. but lust does not resemble sickness; neither does immoderate joy, which is an elated and exulting pleasure of the mind. fear, too, is not very like a distemper, though it is akin to grief of mind, but properly, as is also the case with sickness of the body, so too sickness of mind has no name separated from pain. and therefore i must explain the origin of this pain, that is to say, the cause that occasions this grief in the mind, as if it were a sickness of the body. for as physicians think they have found out the cure when they have discovered the cause of the distemper, so we shall discover the method of curing melancholy when the cause of it is found out. xi. the whole cause, then, is in opinion; and this observation applies not to this grief alone, but to every other disorder of the mind, which are of four sorts, but consisting of many parts. for as every disorder or perturbation is a motion of the mind, either devoid of reason, or in despite of reason, or in disobedience to reason, and as that motion is excited by an opinion of either good or evil; these four perturbations are divided equally into two parts: for two of them proceed from an opinion of good, one of which is an exulting pleasure, that is to say, a joy elated beyond measure, arising from an opinion of some present great good; the other is a desire which may fairly be called even a lust, and is an immoderate inclination after some conceived great good without any obedience to reason. therefore these two kinds, the exulting pleasure and the lust, have their rise from an opinion of good, as the other two, fear and grief, have from an opinion of evil. for fear is an opinion of some great evil impending over us, and grief is an opinion of some great evil present; and, indeed, it is a freshly conceived opinion of an evil so great that to grieve at it seems right: it is of that kind that he who is uneasy at it thinks he has good reason to be so. now we should exert, our utmost efforts to oppose these perturbations--which are, as it were, so many furies let loose upon us and urged on by folly--if we are desirous to pass this share of life that is allotted to us with ease and satisfaction. but of the other feelings i shall speak elsewhere: our business at present is to drive away grief if we can, for that shall be the object of our present discussion, since you have said that it was your opinion that a wise man might be subject to grief, which i can by no means allow of; for it is a frightful, miserable, and detestable thing, which we should fly from with our utmost efforts--with all our sails and oars, as i may say. xii. that descendant of tantalus, how does he appear to you--he who sprung from pelops, who formerly stole hippodamia from her father-in-law, king oenomaus, and married her by force?--he who was descended from jupiter himself, how broken-hearted and dispirited does he not seem! stand off, my friends, nor come within my shade, that no pollutions your sound hearts pervade, so foul a stain my body doth partake. will you condemn yourself, thyestes, and deprive yourself of life, on account of the greatness of another's crime? what do you think of that son of phoebus? do you not look upon him as unworthy of his own father's light? hollow his eyes, his body worn away, his furrow'd cheeks his frequent tears betray; his beard neglected, and his hoary hairs rough and uncomb'd, bespeak his bitter cares. o foolish Æetes! these are evils which you yourself have been the cause of, and are not occasioned by any accidents with which chance has visited you; and you behaved as you did, even after you had been inured to your distress, and after the first swelling of the mind had subsided!--whereas grief consists (as i shall show) in the notion of some recent evil--but your grief, it is very plain, proceeded from the loss of your kingdom, not of your daughter, for you hated her, and perhaps with reason, but you could not calmly bear to part with your kingdom. but surely it is an impudent grief which preys upon a man for not being able to command those that are free. dionysius, it is true, the tyrant of syracuse, when driven from his country, taught a school at corinth; so incapable was he of living without some authority. but what could be more impudent than tarquin, who made war upon those who could not bear his tyranny; and, when he could not recover his kingdom by the aid of the forces of the veientians and the latins, is said to have betaken himself to cuma, and to have died in that city of old age and grief! xiii. do you, then, think that it can befall a wise man to be oppressed with grief, that is to say, with misery? for, as all perturbation is misery, grief is the rack itself. lust is attended with heat, exulting joy with levity, fear with meanness, but grief with something greater than these; it consumes, torments, afflicts, and disgraces a man; it tears him, preys upon his mind, and utterly destroys him: if we do not so divest ourselves of it as to throw it completely off, we cannot be free from misery. and it is clear that there must be grief where anything has the appearance of a present sore and oppressing evil. epicurus is of opinion that grief arises naturally from the imagination of any evil; so that whosoever is eye-witness of any great misfortune, if he conceives that the like may possibly befall himself, becomes sad instantly from such an idea. the cyrenaics think that grief is not engendered by every kind of evil, but only by unexpected, unforeseen evil; and that circumstance is, indeed, of no small effect on the heightening of grief; for whatsoever comes of a sudden appears more formidable. hence these lines are deservedly commended: i knew my son, when first he drew his breath, destined by fate to an untimely death; and when i sent him to defend the greeks, war was his business, not your sportive freaks. xiv. therefore, this ruminating beforehand upon future evils which you see at a distance makes their approach more tolerable; and on this account what euripides makes theseus say is much commended. you will give me leave to translate them, as is usual with me: i treasured up what some learn'd sage did tell, and on my future misery did dwell; i thought of bitter death, of being drove far from my home by exile, and i strove with every evil to possess my mind, that, when they came, i the less care might find.[ ] but euripides says that of himself, which theseus said he had heard from some learned man, for the poet had been a pupil of anaxagoras, who, as they relate, on hearing of the death of his son, said, "i knew that my son was mortal;" which speech seems to intimate that such things afflict those men who have not thought on them before. therefore, there is no doubt but that all those things which are considered evils are the heavier from not being foreseen. though, notwithstanding this is not the only circumstance which occasions the greatest grief, still, as the mind, by foreseeing and preparing for it, has great power to make all grief the less, a man should at all times consider all the events that may befall him in this life; and certainly the excellence and divine nature of wisdom consists in taking a near view of, and gaining a thorough acquaintance with, all human affairs, in not being surprised when anything happens, and in thinking, before the event, that there is nothing but what may come to pass. wherefore ev'ry man, when his affairs go on most swimmingly, e'en then it most behooves to arm himself against the coming storm: loss, danger, exile, returning ever, let him look to meet; his son in fault, wife dead, or daughter sick; all common accidents, and may have happen'd that nothing shall seem new or strange. but if aught has fall'n out beyond his hopes, all that let him account clear gain.[ ] xv. therefore, as terence has so well expressed what he borrowed from philosophy, shall not we, from whose fountains he drew it, say the same thing in a better manner, and abide by it with more steadiness? hence came that steady countenance, which, according to xantippe, her husband socrates always had; so that she said that she never observed any difference in his looks when he went out and when he came home. yet the look of that old roman, m. crassus, who, as lucilius says, never smiled but once in his lifetime, was not of this kind, but placid and serene, for so we are told. he, indeed, might well have had the same look at all times who never changed his mind, from which the countenance derives its expression. so that i am ready to borrow of the cyrenaics those arms against the accidents and events of life by means of which, by long premeditation, they break the force of all approaching evils; and at the same time i think that those very evils themselves arise more from opinion than nature, for if they were real, no forecast could make them lighter. but i shall speak more particularly on these matters after i have first considered epicurus's opinion, who thinks that all people must necessarily be uneasy who believe themselves to be in any evils, let them be either foreseen and expected, or habitual to them; for with him evils are not the less by reason of their continuance, nor the lighter for having been foreseen; and it is folly to ruminate on evils to come, or such as, perhaps, never may come: every evil is disagreeable enough when it does come; but he who is constantly considering that some evil may befall him is loading himself with a perpetual evil; and even should such evil never light on him, he voluntarily takes upon himself unnecessary misery, so that he is under constant uneasiness, whether he actually suffers any evil, or only thinks of it. but he makes the alleviation of grief depend on two things--a ceasing to think on evil, and a turning to the contemplation of pleasure. for he thinks that the mind may possibly be under the power of reason, and follow her directions: he forbids us, therefore, to mind trouble, and calls us off from sorrowful reflections; he throws a mist over our eyes to hinder us from the contemplation of misery. having sounded a retreat from this statement, he drives our thoughts on again, and encourages them to view and engage the whole mind in the various pleasures with which he thinks the life of a wise man abounds, either from reflecting on the past, or from the hope of what is to come. i have said these things in my own way; the epicureans have theirs. however, let us examine what they say; how they say it is of little consequence. xvi. in the first place, they are wrong in forbidding men to premeditate on futurity and blaming their wish to do so; for there is nothing that breaks the edge of grief and lightens it more than considering, during one's whole life, that there is nothing which it is impossible should happen, or than, considering what human nature is, on what conditions life was given, and how we may comply with them. the effect of which is that we are always grieving, but that we never do so; for whoever reflects on the nature of things, the various turns of life, and the weakness of human nature, grieves, indeed, at that reflection; but while so grieving he is, above all other times, behaving as a wise man, for he gains these two things by it: one, that while he is considering the state of human nature he is performing the especial duties of philosophy, and is provided with a triple medicine against adversity--in the first place, because he has long reflected that such things might befall him, and this reflection by itself contributes much towards lessening and weakening all misfortunes; and, secondly, because he is persuaded that we should bear all the accidents which can happen to man with the feelings and spirit of a man; and, lastly, because he considers that what is blamable is the only evil. but it is not your fault that something has happened to you which it was impossible for man to avoid. for that withdrawing of our thoughts which he recommends when he calls us off from contemplating our misfortunes is an imaginary action; for it is not in our power to dissemble or to forget those evils which lie heavy on us; they tear, vex, and sting us--they burn us up, and leave no breathing time. and do you order us to forget them (for such forgetfulness is contrary to nature), and at the same time deprive us of the only assistance which nature affords, the being accustomed to them? for that, though it is but a slow medicine (i mean that which is brought by lapse of time), is still a very effectual one. you order me to employ my thoughts on something good, and forget my misfortunes. you would say something worthy a great philosopher if you thought those things good which are best suited to the dignity of human nature. xvii. should pythagoras, socrates, or plato say to me, why are you dejected or sad? why do you faint, and yield to fortune, which, perhaps, may have power to harass and disturb you, but should not quite unman you? there is great power in the virtues; rouse them, if they chance to droop. take fortitude for your guide, which will give you such spirits that you will despise everything that can befall man, and look on it as a trifle. add to this temperance, which is moderation, and which was just now called frugality, which will not suffer you to do anything base or bad--for what is worse or baser than an effeminate man? not even justice will suffer you to act in this manner, though she seems to have the least weight in this affair; but still, notwithstanding, even she will inform you that you are doubly unjust when you both require what does not belong to you, inasmuch as though you who have been born mortal demand to be placed in the condition of the immortals, and at the same time you take it much to heart that you are to restore what was lent you. what answer will you make to prudence, who informs you that she is a virtue sufficient of herself both to teach you a good life and also to secure you a happy one? and, indeed, if she were fettered by external circumstances, and dependent on others, and if she did not originate in herself and return to herself, and also embrace everything in herself, so as to seek no adventitious aid from any quarter, i cannot imagine why she should appear deserving of such lofty panegyrics, or of being sought after with such excessive eagerness. now, epicurus, if you call me back to such goods as these, i will obey you, and follow you, and use you as my guide, and even forget, as you order me, all my misfortunes; and i will do this the more readily from a persuasion that they are not to be ranked among evils at all. but you are for bringing my thoughts over to pleasure. what pleasures? pleasures of the body, i imagine, or such as are recollected or imagined on account of the body. is this all? do i explain your opinion rightly? for your disciples are used to deny that we understand at all what epicurus means. this is what he says, and what that subtle fellow, old zeno, who is one of the sharpest of them, used, when i was attending lectures at athens, to enforce and talk so loudly of; saying that he alone was happy who could enjoy present pleasure, and who was at the same time persuaded that he should enjoy it without pain, either during the whole or the greatest part of his life; or if, should any pain interfere, if it was very sharp, then it must be short; should it be of longer continuance, it would have more of what was sweet than bitter in it; that whosoever reflected on these things would be happy, especially if satisfied with the good things which he had already enjoyed, and if he were without fear of death or of the gods. xviii. you have here a representation of a happy life according to epicurus, in the words of zeno, so that there is no room for contradiction in any point. what, then? can the proposing and thinking of such a life make thyestes's grief the less, or Æetes's, of whom i spoke above, or telamon's, who was driven from his country to penury and banishment? in wonder at whom men exclaimed thus: is this the man surpassing glory raised? is this that telamon so highly praised by wondering greece, at whose sight, like the sun, all others with diminish'd lustre shone? now, should any one, as the same author says, find his spirits sink with the loss of his fortune, he must apply to those grave philosophers of antiquity for relief, and not to these voluptuaries: for what great abundance of good do they promise? suppose that we allow that to be without pain is the chief good? yet that is not called pleasure. but it is not necessary at present to go through the whole: the question is, to what point are we to advance in order to abate our grief? grant that to be in pain is the greatest evil: whosoever, then, has proceeded so far as not to be in pain, is he, therefore, in immediate possession of the greatest good? why, epicurus, do we use any evasions, and not allow in our own words the same feeling to be pleasure which you are used to boast of with such assurance? are these your words or not? this is what you say in that book which contains all the doctrine of your school; for i will perform on this occasion the office of a translator, lest any one should imagine that i am inventing anything. thus you speak: "nor can i form any notion of the chief good, abstracted from those pleasures which are perceived by taste, or from what depends on hearing music, or abstracted from ideas raised by external objects visible to the eye, or by agreeable motions, or from those other pleasures which are perceived by the whole man by means of any of his senses; nor can it possibly be said that the pleasures of the mind are excited only by what is good, for i have perceived men's minds to be pleased with the hopes of enjoying those things which i mentioned above, and with the idea that it should enjoy them without any interruption from pain." and these are his exact words, so that any one may understand what were the pleasures with which epicurus was acquainted. then he speaks thus, a little lower down: "i have often inquired of those who have been called wise men what would be the remaining good if they should exclude from consideration all these pleasures, unless they meant to give us nothing but words. i could never learn anything from them; and unless they choose that all virtue and wisdom should vanish and come to nothing, they must say with me that the only road to happiness lies through those pleasures which i mentioned above." what follows is much the same, and his whole book on the chief good everywhere abounds with the same opinions. will you, then, invite telamon to this kind of life to ease his grief? and should you observe any one of your friends under affliction, would you rather prescribe him a sturgeon than a treatise of socrates? or advise him to listen to the music of a water organ rather than to plato? or lay before him the beauty and variety of some garden, put a nosegay to his nose, burn perfumes before him, and bid him crown himself with a garland of roses and woodbines? should you add one thing more, you would certainly wipe out all his grief. xix. epicurus must admit these arguments, or he must take out of his book what i just now said was a literal translation; or, rather, he must destroy his whole book, for it is crammed full of pleasures. we must inquire, then, how we can ease him of his grief who speaks in this manner: my present state proceeds from fortune's stings; by birth i boast of a descent from kings; hence may you see from what a noble height i'm sunk by fortune to this abject plight. what! to ease his grief, must we mix him a cup of sweet wine, or something of that kind? lo! the same poet presents us with another sentiment somewhere else: i, hector, once so great, now claim your aid. we should assist her, for she looks out for help: where shall i now apply, where seek support? where hence betake me, or to whom resort?" no means remain of comfort or of joy, in flames my palace, and in ruins troy; each wall, so late superb, deformed nods, and not an altar's left t' appease the gods. you know what should follow, and particularly this: of father, country, and of friends bereft, not one of all these sumptuous temples left; which, while the fortune of our house did stand, with rich wrought ceilings spoke the artist's hand. o excellent poet! though despised by those who sing the verses of euphorion. he is sensible that all things which come on a sudden are harder to be borne. therefore, when he had set off the riches of priam to the best advantage, which had the appearance of a long continuance, what does he add? lo! these all perish'd in one blazing pile; the foe old priam of his life beguiled, and with his blood, thy altar, jove, defiled. admirable poetry! there is something mournful in the subject, as well as in the words and measure. we must drive away this grief of hers: how is that to be done? shall we lay her on a bed of down; introduce a singer; shall we burn cedar, or present here with some pleasant liquor, and provide her something to eat? are these the good things which remove the most afflicting grief? for you but just now said you knew of no other good. i should agree with epicurus that we ought to be called off from grief to contemplate good things, if we could only agree upon what was good. xx. it may be said, what! do you imagine epicurus really meant this, and that he maintained anything so sensual? indeed i do not imagine so, for i am sensible that he has uttered many excellent things and sentiments, and delivered maxims of great weight. therefore, as i said before, i am speaking of his acuteness, not of his morals. though he should hold those pleasures in contempt which he just now commended, yet i must remember wherein he places the chief good. for he was not contented with barely saying this, but he has explained what he meant: he says that taste, and embraces, and sports, and music, and those forms which affect the eyes with pleasure, are the chief good. have i invented this? have i misrepresented him? i should be glad to be confuted; for what am i endeavoring at but to clear up truth in every question? well, but the same man says that pleasure is at its height where pain ceases, and that to be free from all pain is the very greatest pleasure. here are three very great mistakes in a very few words. one is, that he contradicts himself; for, but just now, he could not imagine anything good unless the senses were in a manner tickled with some pleasure; but now he says that to be free from pain is the highest pleasure. can any one contradict himself more? the next mistake is, that where there is naturally a threefold division--the first, to be pleased; next, to be in pain; the last, to be affected neither by pleasure nor pain--he imagines the first and the last to be the same, and makes no difference between pleasure and a cessation of pain. the last mistake he falls into in common with some others, which is this: that as virtue is the most desirable thing, and as philosophy has been investigated with a view to the attainment of it, he has separated the chief good from virtue. but he commends virtue, and that frequently; and indeed c. gracchus, when he had made the largest distributions of the public money, and had exhausted the treasury, nevertheless spoke much of defending the treasury. what signifies what men say when we see what they do? that piso, who was surnamed frugal, had always harangued against the law that was proposed for distributing the corn; but when it had passed, though a man of consular dignity, he came to receive the corn. gracchus observed piso standing in the court, and asked him, in the hearing of the people, how it was consistent for him to take corn by a law he had himself opposed. "it was," said he, "against your distributing my goods to every man as you thought proper; but, as you do so, i claim my share." did not this grave and wise man sufficiently show that the public revenue was dissipated by the sempronian law? read gracchus's speeches, and you will pronounce him the advocate of the treasury. epicurus denies that any one can live pleasantly who does not lead a life of virtue; he denies that fortune has any power over a wise man; he prefers a spare diet to great plenty, and maintains that a wise man is always happy. all these things become a philosopher to say, but they are not consistent with pleasure. but the reply is, that he doth not mean _that_ pleasure: let him mean any pleasure, it must be such a one as makes no part of virtue. but suppose we are mistaken as to his pleasure; are we so, too, as to his pain? i maintain, therefore, the impropriety of language which that man uses, when talking of virtue, who would measure every great evil by pain. xxi. and indeed the epicureans, those best of men--for there is no order of men more innocent--complain that i take great pains to inveigh against epicurus. we are rivals, i suppose, for some honor or distinction. i place the chief good in the mind, he in the body; i in virtue, he in pleasure; and the epicureans are up in arms, and implore the assistance of their neighbors, and many are ready to fly to their aid. but as for my part, i declare that i am very indifferent about the matter, and that i consider the whole discussion which they are so anxious about at an end. for what! is the contention about the punic war? on which very subject, though m. cato and l. lentulus were of different opinions, still there was no difference between them. but these men behave with too much heat, especially as the opinions which they would uphold are no very spirited ones, and such as they dare not plead for either in the senate or before the assembly of the people, or before the army or the censors. but, however, i will argue with them another time, and with such a disposition that no quarrel shall arise between us; for i shall be ready to yield to their opinions when founded on truth. only i must give them this advice: that were it ever so true, that a wise man regards nothing but the body, or, to express myself with more decency, never does anything except what is expedient, and views all things with exclusive reference to his own advantage, as such things are not very commendable, they should confine them to their own breasts, and leave off talking with that parade of them. xxii. what remains is the opinion of the cyrenaics, who think that men grieve when anything happens unexpectedly. and that is indeed, as i said before, a great aggravation of a misfortune; and i know that it appeared so to chrysippus--"whatever falls out unexpected is so much the heavier." but the whole question does not turn on this; though the sudden approach of an enemy sometimes occasions more confusion than it would if you had expected him, and a sudden storm at sea throws the sailors into a greater fright than one which they have foreseen; and it is the same in many other cases. but when you carefully consider the nature of what was expected, you will find nothing more than that all things which come on a sudden appear greater; and this upon two accounts: first of all, because you have not time to consider how great the accident is; and, secondly, because you are probably persuaded that you could have guarded against it had you foreseen if, and therefore the misfortune, having been seemingly encountered by your own fault, makes your grief the greater. that it is so, time evinces; which, as it advances, brings with it so much mitigation that though the same misfortunes continue, the grief not only becomes the less, but in some cases is entirely removed. many carthaginians were slaves at rome, and many macedonians, when perseus their king was taken prisoner. i saw, too, when i was a young man, some corinthians in the peloponnesus. they might all have lamented with andromache, all these i saw......; but they had perhaps given over lamenting themselves, for by their countenances, and speech, and other gestures you might have taken them for argives or sicyonians. and i myself was more concerned at the ruined walls of corinth than the corinthians themselves were, whose minds by frequent reflection and time had become callous to such sights. i have read a book of clitomachus, which he sent to his fellow-citizens who were prisoners, to comfort them after the destruction of carthage. there is in it a treatise written by carneades, which, as clitomachus says, he had inserted into his book; the subject was, "that it appeared probable that a wise man would grieve at the state of subjection of his country," and all the arguments which carneades used against this proposition are set down in the book. there the philosopher applies such a strong medicine to a fresh grief as would be quite unnecessary in one of any continuance; nor, if this very book had been sent to the captives some years after, would it have found any wounds to cure, but only scars; for grief, by a gentle progress and slow degrees, wears away imperceptibly. not that the circumstances which gave rise to it are altered, or can be, but that custom teaches what reason should--that those things which before seemed to be of some consequence are of no such great importance, after all. xxiii. it may be said, what occasion is there to apply to reason, or to any sort of consolation such as we generally make use of, to mitigate the grief of the afflicted? for we have this argument always at hand, that nothing ought to appear unexpected. but how will any one be enabled to bear his misfortunes the better by knowing that it is unavoidable that such things should happen to man? saying this subtracts nothing from the sum of the grief: it only asserts that nothing has fallen out but what might have been anticipated; and yet this manner of speaking has some little consolation in it, though i apprehend not a great deal. therefore those unlooked-for things have not so much force as to give rise to all our grief; the blow perhaps may fall the heavier, but whatever happens does not appear the greater on that account. no, it is the fact of its having happened lately, and not of its having befallen us unexpectedly, that makes it seem the greater. there are two ways, then, of discerning the truth, not only of things that seem evil, but of those that have the appearance of good. for we either inquire into the nature of the thing, of what description, and magnitude, and importance it is--as sometimes with regard to poverty, the burden of which we may lighten when by our disputations we show how few things nature requires, and of what a trifling kind they are--or, without any subtle arguing, we refer them to examples, as here we instance a socrates, there a diogenes, and then again that line in cæcilius, wisdom is oft conceal'd in mean attire. for as poverty is of equal weight with all, what reason can be given why what was borne by fabricius should be spoken of by any one else as unsupportable when it falls upon themselves? of a piece with this is that other way of comforting, which consists in pointing out that nothing has happened but what is common to human nature; for this argument doth not only inform us what human nature is, but implies that all things are tolerable which others have borne and are bearing. xxiv. is poverty the subject? they tell you of many who have submitted to it with patience. is it the contempt of honors? they acquaint you with some who never enjoyed any, and were the happier for it; and of those who have preferred a private retired life to public employment, mentioning their names with respect; they tell you of the verse[ ] of that most powerful king who praises an old man, and pronounces him happy because he was unknown to fame and seemed likely to arrive at the hour of death in obscurity and without notice. thus, too, they have examples for those who are deprived of their children: they who are under any great grief are comforted by instances of like affliction; and thus the endurance of every misfortune is rendered more easy by the fact of others having undergone the same, and the fate of others causes what has happened to appear less important than it has been previously thought, and reflection thus discovers to us how much opinion had imposed on us. and this is what the telamon declares, "i, when my son was born," etc.; and thus theseus, "i on my future misery did dwell;" and anaxagoras, "i knew my son was mortal." all these men, by frequently reflecting on human affairs, had discovered that they were by no means to be estimated by the opinion of the multitude; and, indeed, it seems to me to be pretty much the same case with those who consider beforehand as with those who derive their remedies from time, excepting that a kind of reason cures the one, and the other remedy is provided by nature; by which we discover (and this contains the whole marrow of the matter) that what was imagined to be the greatest evil is by no means so great as to defeat the happiness of life. and the effect of this is, that the blow is greater by reason of its not having been foreseen, and not, as they suppose, that when similar misfortunes befall two different people, that man only is affected with grief whom this calamity has befallen unexpectedly. so that some persons, under the oppression of grief, are said to have borne it actually worse for hearing of this common condition of man, that we are born under such conditions as render it impossible for a man to be exempt from all evil. xxv. for this reason carneades, as i see our friend antiochus writes, used to blame chrysippus for commending these verses of euripides: man, doom'd to care, to pain, disease, and strife, walks his short journey thro' the vale of life: watchful attends the cradle and the grave, and passing generations longs to save: last, dies himself: yet wherefore should we mourn? for man must to his kindred dust return; submit to the destroying hand of fate, as ripen'd ears the harvest-sickle wait.[ ] he would not allow a speech of this kind to avail at all to the cure of our grief, for he said it was a lamentable case itself that we were fallen into the hands of such a cruel fate; and that a speech like that, preaching up comfort from the misfortunes of another, was a comfort adapted only to those of a malevolent disposition. but to me it appears far otherwise; for the necessity of bearing what is the common condition of humanity forbids your resisting the will of the gods, and reminds you that you are a man, which reflection greatly alleviates grief; and the enumeration of these examples is not produced with a view to please those of a malevolent disposition, but in order that any one in affliction may be induced to bear what he observes many others have previously borne with tranquillity and moderation. for they who are falling to pieces, and cannot hold together through the greatness of their grief, should be supported by all kinds of assistance. from whence chrysippus thinks that grief is called [greek: lypê], as it were [greek: lysis], that is to say, a dissolution of the whole man--the whole of which i think may be pulled up by the roots by explaining, as i said at the beginning, the cause of grief; for it is nothing else but an opinion and judgment formed of a present acute evil. and thus any bodily pain, let it be ever so grievous, may be endurable where any hopes are proposed of some considerable good; and we receive such consolation from a virtuous and illustrious life that they who lead such lives are seldom attacked by grief, or but slightly affected by it. xxvi. but as besides this opinion of great evil there is this other added also--that we ought to lament what has happened, that it is right so to do, and part of our duty, then is brought about that terrible disorder of mind, grief. and it is to this opinion that we owe all those various and horrid kinds of lamentation, that neglect of our persons, that womanish tearing of our cheeks, that striking on our thighs, breasts, and heads. thus agamemnon, in homer and in accius, tears in his grief his uncomb'd locks;[ ] from whence comes that pleasant saying of bion, that the foolish king in his sorrow tore away the hairs of his head, imagining that his grief would be alleviated by baldness. but men do all these things from being persuaded that they ought to do so. and thus Æschines inveighs against demosthenes for sacrificing within seven days after the death of his daughter. but with what eloquence, with what fluency, does he attack him! what sentiments does he collect! what words does he hurl against him! you may see by this that an orator may do anything; but nobody would approve of such license if it were not that we have an idea innate in our minds that every good man ought to lament the loss of a relation as bitterly as possible. and it is owing to this that some men, when in sorrow, betake themselves to deserts, as homer says of bellerophon: distracted in his mind, forsook by heaven, forsaking human kind, wide o'er the aleïan field he chose to stray, a long, forlorn, uncomfortable way![ ] and thus niobe is feigned to have been turned into stone, from her never speaking, i suppose, in her grief. but they imagine hecuba to have been converted into a bitch, from her rage and bitterness of mind. there are others who love to converse with solitude itself when in grief, as the nurse in ennius, fain would i to the heavens find earth relate medea's ceaseless woes and cruel fate.[ ] xxvii. now all these things are done in grief, from a persuasion of their truth and propriety and necessity; and it is plain that those who behave thus do so from a conviction of its being their duty; for should these mourners by chance drop their grief, and either act or speak for a moment in a more calm or cheerful manner, they presently check themselves and return to their lamentations again, and blame themselves for having been guilty of any intermissions from their grief; and parents and masters generally correct children not by words only, but by blows, if they show any levity by either word or deed when the family is under affliction, and, as it were, oblige them to be sorrowful. what! does it not appear, when you have ceased to mourn, and have discovered that your grief has been ineffectual, that the whole of that mourning was voluntary on your part? what does that man say in terence who punishes himself, the self-tormentor? i think i do my son less harm, o chremes, as long as i myself am miserable. he determines to be miserable: and can any one determine on anything against his will? i well might think that i deserved all evil. he would think he deserved any misfortune were he otherwise than miserable! therefore, you see, the evil is in opinion, not in nature. how is it when some things do of themselves prevent your grieving at them? as in homer, so many died and were buried daily that they had not leisure to grieve: where you find these lines-- the great, the bold, by thousands daily fall, and endless were the grief to weep for all. eternal sorrows what avails to shed? greece honors not with solemn fasts the dead: enough when death demands the brave to pay the tribute of a melancholy day. one chief with patience to the grave resign'd, our care devolves on others left behind.[ ] therefore it is in our own power to lay aside grief upon occasion; and is there any opportunity (seeing the thing is in our own power) that we should let slip of getting rid of care and grief? it was plain that the friends of cnæus pompeius, when they saw him fainting under his wounds, at the very moment of that most miserable and bitter sight were under great uneasiness how they themselves, surrounded by the enemy as they were, should escape, and were employed in nothing but encouraging the rowers and aiding their escape; but when they reached tyre, they began to grieve and lament over him. therefore, as fear with them, prevailed over grief, cannot reason and true philosophy have the same effect with a wise man? xxviii. but what is there more effectual to dispel grief than the discovery that it answers no purpose, and has been undergone to no account? therefore, if we can get rid of it, we need never have been subject to it. it must be acknowledged, then, that men take up grief wilfully and knowingly; and this appears from the patience of those who, after they have been exercised in afflictions and are better able to bear whatever befalls them, suppose themselves hardened against fortune; as that person in euripides, had this the first essay of fortune been, and i no storms thro' all my life had seen, wild as a colt i'd broke from reason's sway; but frequent griefs have taught me to obey.[ ] as, then, the frequent bearing of misery makes grief the lighter, we must necessarily perceive that the cause and original of it does not lie in the calamity itself. your principal philosophers, or lovers of wisdom, though they have not yet arrived at perfect wisdom, are not they sensible that they are in the greatest evil? for they are foolish, and foolishness is the greatest of all evils, and yet they lament not. how shall we account for this? because opinion is not fixed upon that kind of evil, it is not our opinion that it is right, meet, and our duty to be uneasy because we are not all wise men. whereas this opinion is strongly affixed to that uneasiness where mourning is concerned, which is the greatest of all grief. therefore aristotle, when he blames some ancient philosophers for imagining that by their genius they had brought philosophy to the highest perfection, says, they must be either extremely foolish or extremely vain; but that he himself could see that great improvements had been made therein in a few years, and that philosophy would in a little time arrive at perfection. and theophrastus is reported to have reproached nature at his death for giving to stags and crows so long a life, which was of no use to them, but allowing only so short a span to men, to whom length of days would have been of the greatest use; for if the life of man could have been lengthened, it would have been able to provide itself with all kinds of learning, and with arts in the greatest perfection. he lamented, therefore, that he was dying just when he had begun to discover these. what! does not every grave and distinguished philosopher acknowledge himself ignorant of many things, and confess that there are many things which he must learn over and over again? and yet, though these men are sensible that they are standing still in the very midway of folly, than which nothing can be worse, they are under no great affliction, because no opinion that it is their duty to lament is ever mingled with this knowledge. what shall we say of those who think it unbecoming in a man to grieve? among whom we may reckon q. maximus, when he buried his son that had been consul, and l. paulus, who lost two sons within a few days of one another. of the same opinion was m. cato, who lost his son just after he had been elected prætor, and many others, whose names i have collected in my book on consolation. now what made these men so easy, but their persuasion that grief and lamentation was not becoming in a man? therefore, as some give themselves up to grief from an opinion that it is right so to do, they refrained themselves, from an opinion that it was discreditable; from which we may infer that grief is owing more to opinion than nature. xxix. it may be said, on the other side, who is so mad as to grieve of his own accord? pain proceeds from nature, which you must submit to, say they, agreeably to what even your own crantor teaches, for it presses and gains upon you unavoidably, and cannot possibly be resisted. so that the very same oileus, in sophocles, who had before comforted telamon on the death of ajax, on hearing of the death of his own son, is broken-hearted. on this alteration of his mind we have these lines: show me the man so well by wisdom taught that what he charges to another's fault, when like affliction doth himself betide, true to his own wise counsel will abide.[ ] now, when they urge these things, their endeavor is to prove that nature is absolutely and wholly irresistible; and yet the same people allow that we take greater grief on ourselves than nature requires. what madness is it, then, in us to require the same from others? but there are many reasons for our taking grief on us. the first is from the opinion of some evil, on the discovery and certainty of which grief comes of course. besides, many people are persuaded that they are doing something very acceptable to the dead when they lament bitterly over them. to these may be added a kind of womanish superstition, in imagining that when they have been stricken by the afflictions sent by the gods, to acknowledge themselves afflicted and humbled by them is the readiest way of appeasing them. but most men appear to be unaware what contradictions these things are full of. they commend those who die calmly, but they blame those who can bear the loss of another with the same calmness, as if it were possible that it should be true, as is occasionally said in love speeches, that any one can love another more than himself. there is, indeed, something excellent in this, and, if you examine it, something no less just than true, that we love those who ought to be most dear to us as well as we love ourselves; but to love them more than ourselves is absolutely impossible; nor is it desirable in friendship that i should love my friend more than myself, or that he should love me so; for this would occasion much confusion in life, and break in upon all the duties of it. xxx. but we will speak of this another time: at present it is sufficient not to attribute our misery to the loss of our friends, nor to love them more than, if they themselves could be sensible of our conduct, they would approve of, or at least not more than we do ourselves. now as to what they say, that some are not at all appeased by our consolations; and, moreover, as to what they add, that the comforters themselves acknowledge they are miserable when fortune varies the attack and falls on them--in both these cases the solution is easy: for the fault here is not in nature, but in our own folly; and much may be said against folly. but men who do not admit of consolation seem to bespeak misery for themselves; and they who cannot bear their misfortunes with that temper which they recommend to others are not more faulty in this particular than most other persons; for we see that covetous men find fault with others who are covetous, as do the vainglorious with those who appear too wholly devoted to the pursuit of glory. for it is the peculiar characteristic of folly to perceive the vices of others, but to forget its own. but since we find that grief is removed by length of time, we have the greatest proof that the strength of it depends not merely on time, but on the daily consideration of it. for if the cause continues the same, and the man be the same, how can there be any alteration in the grief, if there is no change in what occasioned the grief, nor in him who grieves? therefore it is from daily reflecting that there is no real evil in the circumstance for which you grieve, and not from the length of time, that you procure a remedy for your grief. xxxi. here some people talk of moderate grief; but if such be natural, what occasion is there for consolation? for nature herself will determine, the measure of it: but if it depends on and is caused by opinion, the whole opinion should be destroyed. i think that it has been sufficiently said, that grief arises from an opinion of some present evil, which includes this belief, that it is incumbent on us to grieve. to this definition zeno has added, very justly, that the opinion of this present evil should be recent. now this word recent they explain thus: those are not the only recent things which happened a little while ago; but as long as there shall be any force, or vigor, or freshness in that imagined evil, so long it is entitled to the name of recent. take the case of artemisia, the wife of mausolus, king of caria, who made that noble sepulchre at halicarnassus; while she lived, she lived in grief, and died of it, being worn out by it, for that opinion was always recent with her: but you cannot call that recent which has already begun to decay through time. now the duty of a comforter is, to remove grief entirely, to quiet it, or draw it off as much as you can, or else to keep it under, and prevent its spreading any further, and to divert one's attention to other matters. there are some who think, with cleanthes, that the only duty of a comforter is to prove that what one is lamenting is by no means an evil. others, as the peripatetics, prefer urging that the evil is not great. others, with epicurus, seek to divert your attention from the evil to good: some think it sufficient to show that nothing has happened but what you had reason to expect; and this is the practice of the cyrenaics. but chrysippus thinks that the main thing in comforting is, to remove the opinion from the person who is grieving, that to grieve is his bounden duty. there are others who bring together all these various kinds of consolations, for people are differently affected; as i have done myself in my book on consolation; for as my own mind was much disordered, i have attempted in that book to discover every method of cure. but the proper season is as much to be attended to in the cure of the mind as of the body; as prometheus in Æschylus, on its being said to him, i think, prometheus, you this tenet hold, that all men's reason should their rage control? answers, yes, when one reason properly applies; ill-timed advice will make the storm but rise.[ ] xxxii. but the principal medicine to be applied in consolation is, to maintain either that it is no evil at all, or a very inconsiderable one: the next best to that is, to speak of the common condition of life, having a view, if possible, to the state of the person whom you comfort particularly. the third is, that it is folly to wear one's self out with grief which can avail nothing. for the comfort of cleanthes is suitable only for a wise man, who is in no need of any comfort at all; for could you persuade one in grief that nothing is an evil but what is base, you would not only cure him of grief, but folly. but the time for such precepts is not well chosen. besides, cleanthes does not seem to me sufficiently aware that affliction may very often proceed from that very thing which he himself allows to be the greatest misfortune. for what shall we say? when socrates had convinced alcibiades, as we are told, that he had no distinctive qualifications as a man different from other people, and that, in fact, there was no difference between him, though a man of the highest rank, and a porter; and when alcibiades became uneasy at this, and entreated socrates, with tears in his eyes, to make him a man of virtue, and to cure him of that mean position; what shall we say to this, cleanthes? was there no evil in what afflicted alcibiades thus? what strange things does lycon say? who, making light of grief, says that it arises from trifles, from things that affect our fortune or bodies, not from the evils of the mind. what, then? did not the grief of alcibiades proceed from the defects and evils of the mind? i have already said enough of epicurus's consolation. xxxiii. nor is that consolation much to be relied on, though it is frequently practised, and sometimes has some effect, namely, "that you are not alone in this." it has its effect, as i said, but not always, nor with every person, for some reject it; but much depends on the application of it; for you ought rather to show, not how men in general have been affected with such evils, but how men of sense have borne them. as to chrysippus's method, it is certainly founded in truth; but it is difficult to apply it in time of distress. it is a work of no small difficulty to persuade a person in affliction that he grieves merely because he thinks it right so to do. certainly, then, as in pleadings we do not state all cases alike (if i may adopt the language of lawyers for a moment), but adapt what we have to say to the time, to the nature of the subject under debate, and to the person; so, too, in alleviating grief, regard should be had to what kind of cure the party to be comforted can admit of. but, somehow or other, we have rambled from what you originally proposed. for your question was concerning a wise man, with whom nothing can have the appearance of evil that is not dishonorable; or at least, anything else would seem so small an evil that by his wisdom he would so overmatch it as to make it wholly disappear; and such a man makes no addition to his grief through opinion, and never conceives it right to torment himself above measure, nor to wear himself out with grief, which is the meanest thing imaginable. reason, however, it seems, has demonstrated (though it was not directly our object at the moment to inquire whether anything can be called an evil except what is base) that it is in our power to discern that all the evil which there is in affliction has nothing natural in it, but is contracted by our own voluntary judgment of it, and the error of opinion. xxxiv. but the kind of affliction of which i have treated is that which is the greatest; in order that when we have once got rid of that, it may appear a business of less consequence to look after remedies for the others. for there are certain things which are usually said about poverty; and also certain statements ordinarily applied to retired and undistinguished life. there are particular treatises on banishment, on the ruin of one's country, on slavery, on weakness, on blindness, and on every incident that can come under the name of an evil. the greeks divide these into different treatises and distinct books; but they do it for the sake of employment: not but that all such discussions are full of entertainment. and yet, as physicians, in curing the whole body, attend to even the most insignificant part of the body which is at all disordered, so does philosophy act, after it has removed grief in general; still, if any other deficiency exists--should poverty bite, should ignominy sting, should banishment bring a dark cloud over us, or should any of those things which i have just mentioned appear, there is for each its appropriate consolation, which you shall hear whenever you please. but we must have recourse again to the same original principle, that a wise man is free from all sorrow, because it is vain, because it answers no purpose, because it is not founded in nature, but on opinion and prejudice, and is engendered by a kind of invitation to grieve, when once men have imagined that it is their duty to do so. when, then, we have subtracted what is altogether voluntary, that mournful uneasiness will be removed; yet some little anxiety, some slight pricking, will still remain. they may indeed call this natural, provided they give it not that horrid, solemn, melancholy name of grief, which can by no means consist with wisdom. but how various and how bitter are the roots of grief! whatever they are, i propose, after having felled the trunk, to destroy them all; even if it should be necessary, by allotting a separate dissertation to each, for i have leisure enough to do so, whatever time it may take up. but the principle of every uneasiness is the same, though they may appear under different names. for envy is an uneasiness; so are emulation, detraction, anguish, sorrow, sadness, tribulation, lamentation, vexation, grief, trouble, affliction, and despair. the stoics define all these different feelings; and all those words which i have mentioned belong to different things, and do not, as they seem, express the same ideas; but they are to a certain extent distinct, as i shall make appear perhaps in another place. these are those fibres of the roots which, as i said at first, must be traced back and cut off and destroyed, so that not one shall remain. you say it is a great and difficult undertaking: who denies it? but what is there of any excellency which has not its difficulty? yet philosophy undertakes to effect it, provided we admit its superintendence. but enough of this. the other books, whenever you please, shall be ready for you here or anywhere else. * * * * * book iv. on other perturbations of the mind. i. i have often wondered, brutus, on many occasions, at the ingenuity and virtues of our countrymen; but nothing has surprised me more than their development in those studies, which, though they came somewhat late to us, have been transported into this city from greece. for the system of auspices, and religious ceremonies, and courts of justice, and appeals to the people, the senate, the establishment of an army of cavalry and infantry, and the whole military discipline, were instituted as early as the foundation of the city by royal authority, partly too by laws, not without the assistance of the gods. then with what a surprising and incredible progress did our ancestors advance towards all kind of excellence, when once the republic was freed from the regal power! not that this is a proper occasion to treat of the manners and customs of our ancestors, or of the discipline and constitution of the city; for i have elsewhere, particularly in the six books i wrote on the republic, given a sufficiently accurate account of them. but while i am on this subject, and considering the study of philosophy, i meet with many reasons to imagine that those studies were brought to us from abroad, and not merely imported, but preserved and improved; for they had pythagoras, a man of consummate wisdom and nobleness of character, in a manner, before their eyes, who was in italy at the time that lucius brutus, the illustrious founder of your nobility, delivered his country from tyranny. as the doctrine of pythagoras spread itself on all sides, it seems probable to me that it reached this city; and this is not only probable of itself, but it does really appear to have been the case from many remains of it. for who can imagine that, when it flourished so much in that part of italy which was called magna græcia, and in some of the largest and most powerful cities, in which, first the name of pythagoras, and then that of those men who were afterward his followers, was in so high esteem; who can imagine, i say, that our people could shut their ears to what was said by such learned men? besides, it is even my opinion that it was the great esteem in which the pythagoreans were held, that gave rise to that opinion among those who came after him, that king numa was a pythagorean. for, being acquainted with the doctrine and principles of pythagoras, and having heard from their ancestors that this king was a very wise and just man, and not being able to distinguish accurately between times and periods that were so remote, they inferred, from his being so eminent for his wisdom, that he had been a pupil of pythagoras. ii. so far we proceed on conjecture. as to the vestiges of the pythagoreans, though i might collect many, i shall use but a few; because they have no connection with our present purpose. for, as it is reported to have been a custom with them to deliver certain precepts in a more abstruse manner in verse, and to bring their minds from severe thought to a more composed state by songs and musical instruments; so cato, a writer of the very highest authority, says in his origins, that it was customary with our ancestors for the guests at their entertainments, every one in his turn, to celebrate the praises and virtues of illustrious men in song to the sound of the flute; from whence it is clear that poems and songs were then composed for the voice. and, indeed, it is also clear that poetry was in fashion from the laws of the twelve tables, wherein it is provided that no song should be made to the injury of another. another argument of the erudition of those times is, that they played on instruments before the shrines of their gods, and at the entertainments of their magistrates; but that custom was peculiar to the sect i am speaking of. to me, indeed, that poem of appius cæcus, which panætius commends so much in a certain letter of his which is addressed to quintus tubero, has all the marks of a pythagorean author. we have many things derived from the pythagoreans in our customs, which i pass over, that we may not seem to have learned that elsewhere which we look upon ourselves as the inventors of. but to return to our purpose. how many great poets as well as orators have sprung up among us! and in what a short time! so that it is evident that our people could arrive at any learning as soon as they had an inclination for it. but of other studies i shall speak elsewhere if there is occasion, as i have already often done. iii. the study of philosophy is certainly of long standing with us; but yet i do not find that i can give you the names of any philosopher before the age of lælius and scipio, in whose younger days we find that diogenes the stoic, and carneades the academic, were sent as ambassadors by the athenians to our senate. and as these had never been concerned in public affairs, and one of them was a cyrenean, the other a babylonian, they certainly would never have been forced from their studies, nor chosen for that employment, unless the study of philosophy had been in vogue with some of the great men at that time; who, though they might employ their pens on other subjects--some on civil law, others on oratory, others on the history of former times--yet promoted this most extensive of all arts, the principle of living well, even more by their life than by their writings. so that of that true and elegant philosophy (which was derived from socrates, and is still preserved by the peripatetics and by the stoics, though they express themselves differently in their disputes with the academics) there are few or no latin records; whether this proceeds from the importance of the thing itself, or from men's being otherwise employed, or from their concluding that the capacity of the people was not equal to the apprehension of them. but, during this silence, c. amafinius arose and took upon himself to speak; on the publishing of whose writings the people were moved, and enlisted themselves chiefly under this sect, either because the doctrine was more easily understood, or because they were invited thereto by the pleasing thoughts of amusement, or that, because there was nothing better, they laid hold of what was offered them. and after amafinius, when many of the same sentiments had written much about them, the pythagoreans spread over all italy: but that these doctrines should be so easily understood and approved of by the unlearned is a great proof that they were not written with any great subtlety, and they think their establishment to be owing to this. iv. but let every one defend his own opinion, for every one is at liberty to choose what he likes: i shall keep to my old custom; and, being under no restraint from the laws of any particular school, which in philosophy every one must necessarily confine himself to, i shall always inquire what has the most probability in every question, and this system, which i have often practised on other occasions, i have adhered closely to in my tusculan disputations. therefore, as i have acquainted you with the disputations of the three former days, this book shall conclude the discussion of the fourth day. when we had come down into the academy, as we had done the former days, the business was carried on thus: _m._ let any one say, who pleases, what he would wish to have discussed. _a._ i do not think a wise man can possibly be free from every perturbation of mind. _m._ he seemed by yesterday's discourse to be free from grief; unless you agreed with us only to avoid taking up time. _a._ not at all on that account, for i was extremely satisfied with your discourse. _m._ you do not think, then, that a wise man is subject to grief? _a._ no, by no means. _m._ but if that cannot disorder the mind of a wise man, nothing else can. for what--can such a man be disturbed by fear? fear proceeds from the same things when absent which occasion grief when present. take away grief, then, and you remove fear. the two remaining perturbations are, a joy elate above measure, and lust; and if a wise man is not subject to these, his mind will be always at rest. _a._ i am entirely of that opinion. _m._ which, then, shall we do? shall i immediately crowd all my sails? or shall i make use of my oars, as if i were just endeavoring to get clear of the harbor? _a._ what is it that you mean, for i do not exactly comprehend you? v. _m._ because, chrysippus and the stoics, when they discuss the perturbations of the mind, make great part of their debate to consist in definitions and distinctions; while they employ but few words on the subject of curing the mind, and preventing it from being disordered. whereas the peripatetics bring a great many things to promote the cure of it, but have no regard to their thorny partitions and definitions. my question, then, was, whether i should instantly unfold the sails of my eloquence, or be content for a while to make less way with the oars of logic? _a._ let it be so; for by the employment of both these means the subject of our inquiry will be more thoroughly discussed. _m._ it is certainly the better way; and should anything be too obscure, you may examine that afterward. _a._ i will do so; but those very obscure points you will, as usual, deliver with more clearness than the greeks. _m._ i will, indeed, endeavor to do so; but it well requires great attention, lest, by losing one word, the whole should escape you. what the greeks call [greek: pathê] we choose to name perturbations (or disorders) rather than diseases; in explaining which, i shall follow, first, that very old description of pythagoras, and afterward that of plato; for they both divide the mind into two parts, and make one of these partake of reason, and the other they represent without it. in that which partakes of reason they place tranquillity, that is to say, a placid and undisturbed constancy; to the other they assign the turbid motions of anger and desire, which are contrary and opposite to reason. let this, then, be our principle, the spring of all our reasonings. but notwithstanding, i shall use the partitions and definitions of the stoics in describing these perturbations; who seem to me to have shown very great acuteness on this question. vi. zeno's definition, then, is this: "a perturbation" (which he calls a [greek: pathos]) "is a commotion of the mind repugnant to reason, and against nature." some of them define it even more briefly, saying that a perturbation is a somewhat too vehement appetite; but by too vehement they mean an appetite that recedes further from the constancy of nature. but they would have the divisions of perturbations to arise from two imagined goods, and from two imagined evils; and thus they become four: from the good proceed lust and joy--joy having reference to some present good, and lust to some future one. they suppose fear and grief to proceed from evils: fear from something future, grief from something present; for whatever things are dreaded as approaching always occasion grief when present. but joy and lust depend on the opinion of good; as lust, being inflamed and provoked, is carried on eagerly towards what has the appearance of good; and joy is transported and exults on obtaining what was desired: for we naturally pursue those things that have the appearance of good, and avoid the contrary. wherefore, as soon as anything that has the appearance of good presents itself, nature incites us to endeavor to obtain it. now, where this strong desire is consistent and founded on prudence, it is by the stoics called [greek: boulêsis], and the name which we give it is volition; and this they allow to none but their wise man, and define it thus: volition is a reasonable desire; but whatever is incited too violently in opposition to reason, that is a lust, or an unbridled desire, which is discoverable in all fools. and, therefore, when we are affected so as to be placed in any good condition, we are moved in two ways; for when the mind is moved in a placid and calm motion, consistent with reason, that is called joy; but when it exults with a vain, wanton exultation, or immoderate joy, then that feeling may be called immoderate ecstasy or transport, which they define to be an elation of the mind without reason. and as we naturally desire good things, so in like manner we naturally seek to avoid what is evil; and this avoidance of which, if conducted in accordance with reason, is called caution; and this the wise man alone is supposed to have: but that caution which is not under the guidance of reason, but is attended with a base and low dejection, is called fear. fear is, therefore, caution destitute of reason. but a wise man is not affected by any present evil; while the grief of a fool proceeds from being affected with an imaginary evil, by which his mind is contracted and sunk, since it is not under the dominion of reason. this, then, is the first definition, which makes grief to consist in a shrinking of the mind contrary to the dictates of reason. thus, there are four perturbations, and but three calm rational emotions; for grief has no exact opposite. vii. but they insist upon it that all perturbations depend on opinion and judgment; therefore they define them more strictly, in order not only the better to show how blamable they are, but to discover how much they are in our power. grief, then, is a recent opinion of some present evil, in which it seems to be right that the mind should shrink and be dejected. joy is a recent opinion of a present good, in which it seems to be right that the mind should be elated. fear is an opinion of an impending evil which we apprehend will be intolerable. lust is an opinion of a good to come, which would be of advantage were it already come, and present with us. but however i have named the judgments and opinions of perturbations, their meaning is, not that merely the perturbations consist in them, but that the effects likewise of these perturbations do so; as grief occasions a kind of painful pricking, and fear engenders a recoil or sudden abandonment of the mind, joy gives rise to a profuse mirth, while lust is the parent of an unbridled habit of coveting. but that imagination, which i have included in all the above definitions, they would have to consist in assenting without warrantable grounds. now, every perturbation has many subordinate parts annexed to it of the same kind. grief is attended with enviousness (_invidentia_)--i use that word for instruction's sake, though it is not so common; because envy (_invidia_) takes in not only the person who envies, but the person, too, who is envied--emulation, detraction, pity, vexation, mourning, sadness, tribulation, sorrow, lamentation, solicitude, disquiet of mind, pain, despair, and many other similar feelings are so too. under fear are comprehended sloth, shame, terror, cowardice, fainting, confusion, astonishment. in pleasure they comprehend malevolence--that is, pleased at another's misfortune--delight, boastfulness, and the like. to lust they associate anger, fury, hatred, enmity, discord, wants, desire, and other feelings of that kind. but they define these in this manner: viii. enviousness (_invidentia_), they say, is a grief arising from the prosperous circumstances of another, which are in no degree injurious to the person who envies; for where any one grieves at the prosperity of another, by which he is injured, such a one is not properly said to envy--as when agamemnon grieves at hector's success; but where any one, who is in no way hurt by the prosperity of another, is in pain at his success, such a one envies indeed. now the name "emulation" is taken in a double sense, so that the same word may stand for praise and dispraise: for the imitation of virtue is called emulation (however, that sense of it i shall have no occasion for here, for that carries praise with it); but emulation is also a term applied to grief at another's enjoying what i desired to have, and am without. detraction (and i mean by that, jealousy) is a grief even at another's enjoying what i had a great inclination for. pity is a grief at the misery of another who suffers wrongfully; for no one is moved by pity at the punishment of a parricide or of a betrayer of his country. vexation is a pressing grief. mourning is a grief at the bitter death of one who was dear to you. sadness is a grief attended with tears. tribulation is a painful grief. sorrow, an excruciating grief. lamentation, a grief where we loudly bewail ourselves. solicitude, a pensive grief. trouble, a continued grief. affliction, a grief that harasses the body. despair, a grief that excludes all hope of better things to come. but those feelings which are included under fear, they define thus: there is sloth, which is a dread of some ensuing labor; shame and terror, which affect the body--hence blushing attends shame; a paleness, and tremor, and chattering of the teeth attend terror--cowardice, which is an apprehension of some approaching evil; dread, a fear that unhinges the mind, whence comes that line of ennius, then dread discharged all wisdom from my mind; fainting is the associate and constant attendant on dread; confusion, a fear that drives away all thought; alarm, a continued fear. ix. the different species into which they divide pleasure come under this description; so that malevolence is a pleasure in the misfortunes of another, without any advantage to yourself; delight, a pleasure that soothes the mind by agreeable impressions on the ear. what is said of the ear may be applied to the sight, to the touch, smell, and taste. all feelings of this kind are a sort of melting pleasure that dissolves the mind. boastfulness is a pleasure that consists in making an appearance, and setting off yourself with insolence.--the subordinate species of lust they define in this manner: anger is a lust of punishing any one who, as we imagine, has injured us without cause. heat is anger just forming and beginning to exist, which the greeks call [greek: thymôsis]. hatred is a settled anger. enmity is anger waiting for an opportunity of revenge. discord is a sharper anger conceived deeply in the mind and heart. want an insatiable lust. regret is when one eagerly wishes to see a person who is absent. now here they have a distinction; so that with them regret is a lust conceived on hearing of certain things reported of some one, or of many, which the greeks call [greek: katêgorêmata], or predicaments; as that they are in possession of riches and honors: but want is a lust for those very honors and riches. but these definers make intemperance the fountain of all these perturbations; which is an absolute revolt from the mind and right reason--a state so averse to all rules of reason that the appetites of the mind can by no means be governed and restrained. as, therefore, temperance appeases these desires, making them obey right reason, and maintains the well-weighed judgments of the mind, so intemperance, which is in opposition to this, inflames, confounds, and puts every state of the mind into a violent motion. thus, grief and fear, and every other perturbation of the mind, have their rise from intemperance. x. just as distempers and sickness are bred in the body from the corruption of the blood, and the too great abundance of phlegm and bile, so the mind is deprived of its health, and disordered with sickness, from a confusion of depraved opinions that are in opposition to one another. from these perturbations arise, first, diseases, which they call [greek: nosêmata]; and also those feelings which are in opposition to these diseases, and which admit certain faulty distastes or loathings; then come sicknesses, which are called [greek: arrhôstêmata] by the stoics, and these two have their opposite aversions. here the stoics, especially chrysippus, give themselves unnecessary trouble to show the analogy which the diseases of the mind have to those of the body: but, overlooking all that they say as of little consequence, i shall treat only of the thing itself. let us, then, understand perturbation to imply a restlessness from the variety and confusion of contradictory opinions; and that when this heat and disturbance of the mind is of any standing, and has taken up its residence, as it were, in the veins and marrow, then commence diseases and sickness, and those aversions which are in opposition to these diseases and sicknesses. xi. what i say here may be distinguished in thought, though they are in fact the same; inasmuch as they both have their rise from lust and joy. for should money be the object of our desire, and should we not instantly apply to reason, as if it were a kind of socratic medicine to heal this desire, the evil glides into our veins, and cleaves to our bowels, and from thence proceeds a distemper or sickness, which, when it is of any continuance, is incurable, and the name of this disease is covetousness. it is the same with other diseases; as the desire of glory, a passion for women, to which the greeks give the name of [greek: philogyneia]: and thus all other diseases and sicknesses are generated. but those feelings which are the contrary of these are supposed to have fear for their foundation, as a hatred of women, such as is displayed in the woman-hater of atilius; or the hatred of the whole human species, as timon is reported to have done, whom they call the misanthrope. of the same kind is inhospitality. and all these diseases proceed from a certain dread of such things as they hate and avoid. but they define sickness of mind to be an overweening opinion, and that fixed and deeply implanted in the heart, of something as very desirable which is by no means so. what proceeds from aversion, they define thus: a vehement idea of something to be avoided, deeply implanted, and inherent in our minds, when there is no reason for avoiding it; and this kind of opinion is a deliberate belief that one understands things of which one is wholly ignorant. now, sickness of the mind has all these subordinate divisions: avarice, ambition, fondness for women, obstinacy, gluttony, drunkenness, covetousness, and other similar vices. but avarice is a violent opinion about money, as if it were vehemently to be desired and sought after, which opinion is deeply implanted and inherent in our minds; and the definition of all the other similar feelings resembles these. but the definitions of aversions are of this sort: inhospitality is a vehement opinion, deeply implanted and inherent in your mind, that you should avoid a stranger. thus, too, the hatred of women, like that felt by hippolytus, is defined; and the hatred of the human species like that displayed by timon. xii. but to come to the analogy of the state of body and mind, which i shall sometimes make use of, though more sparingly than the stoics. some men are more inclined to particular disorders than others; and, therefore, we say that some people are rheumatic, others dropsical, not because they are so at present, but because they are often so: some are inclined to fear, others to some other perturbation. thus in some there is a continual anxiety, owing to which they are anxious; in some a hastiness of temper, which differs from anger, as anxiety differs from anguish: for all are not anxious who are sometimes vexed, nor are they who are anxious always uneasy in that manner: as there is a difference between being drunk and drunkenness; and it is one thing to be a lover, another to be given to women. and this disposition of particular people to particular disorders is very common: for it relates to all perturbations; it appears in many vices, though it has no name. some are, therefore, said to be envious, malevolent, spiteful, fearful, pitiful, from a propensity to those perturbations, not from their being always carried away by them. now this propensity to these particular disorders may be called a sickness from analogy with the body; meaning, that is to say, nothing more than a propensity towards sickness. but with regard to whatever is good, as some are more inclined to different good qualities than others, we may call this a facility or tendency: this tendency to evil is a proclivity or inclination to falling; but where anything is neither good nor bad, it may have the former name. xiii. even as there may be, with respect to the body, a disease, a sickness, and a defect, so it is with the mind. they call that a disease where the whole body is corrupted; they call that sickness where a disease is attended with a weakness, and that a defect where the parts of the body are not well compacted together; from whence it follows that the members are misshapen, crooked, and deformed. so that these two, a disease and sickness, proceed from a violent concussion and perturbation of the health of the whole body; but a defect discovers itself even when the body is in perfect health. but a disease of the mind is distinguishable only in thought from a sickness. but a viciousness is a habit or affection discordant and inconsistent with itself through life. thus it happens that, in the one case, a disease and sickness may arise from a corruption of opinions; in the other case, the consequence may be inconstancy and inconsistency. for every vice of the mind does not imply a disunion of parts; as is the case with those who are not far from being wise men. with them there is that affection which is inconsistent with itself while it is foolish; but it is not distorted, nor depraved. but diseases and sicknesses are parts of viciousness; but it is a question whether perturbations are parts of the same, for vices are permanent affections: perturbations are such as are restless; so that they cannot be parts of permanent ones. as there is some analogy between the nature of the body and mind in evil, so is there in good; for the distinctions of the body are beauty, strength, health, firmness, quickness of motion: the same may be said of the mind. the body is said to be in a good state when all those things on which health depends are consistent: the same may be said of the mind when its judgments and opinions are not at variance with one another. and this union is the virtue of the mind, which, according to some people, is temperance itself; others make it consist in an obedience to the precepts of temperance, and a compliance with them, not allowing it to be any distinct species of itself. but, be it one or the other, it is to be found only in a wise man. but there is a certain soundness of mind, which even a fool may have, when the perturbation of his mind is removed by the care and management of his physicians. and as what is called beauty arises from an exact proportion of the limbs, together with a certain sweetness of complexion, so the beauty of the mind consists in an equality and constancy of opinions and judgments, joined to a certain firmness and stability, pursuing virtue, or containing within itself the very essence of virtue. besides, we give the very same names to the faculties of the mind as we do to the powers of the body, the nerves, and other powers of action. thus the velocity of the body is called swiftness: a praise which we ascribe to the mind, from its running over in its thoughts so many things in so short a time. xiv. herein, indeed, the mind and body are unlike: that though the mind when in perfect health may be visited by sickness, as the body may, yet the body may be disordered without our fault; the mind cannot. for all the disorders and perturbations of the mind proceed from a neglect of reason; these disorders, therefore, are confined to men: the beasts are not subject to such perturbations, though they act sometimes as if they had reason. there is a difference, too, between ingenious and dull men; the ingenious, like the corinthian brass, which is long before it receives rust, are longer before they fall into these perturbations, and are recovered sooner: the case is different with the dull. nor does the mind of an ingenious man fall into every kind of perturbation, for it never yields to any that are brutish and savage; and some of their perturbations have at first even the appearance of humanity, as mercy, grief, and fear. but the sicknesses and diseases of the mind are thought to be harder to eradicate than those leading vices which are in opposition to virtues; for vices may be removed, though the diseases of the mind should continue, which diseases are not cured with that expedition with which vices are removed. i have now acquainted you with the arguments which the stoics put forth with such exactness; which they call logic, from their close arguing: and since my discourse has got clear of these rocks, i will proceed with the remainder of it, provided i have been sufficiently clear in what i have already said, considering the obscurity of the subject i have treated. _a._ clear enough; but should there be occasion for a more exact inquiry, i shall take another opportunity of asking you. i expect you now to hoist your sails, as you just now called them, and proceed on your course. xv. _m._ since i have spoken before of virtue in other places, and shall often have occasion to speak again (for a great many questions that relate to life and manners arise from the spring of virtue); and since, as i say, virtue consists in a settled and uniform affection of mind, making those persons praiseworthy who are possessed of her, she herself also, independent of anything else, without regard to any advantage, must be praiseworthy; for from her proceed good inclinations, opinions, actions, and the whole of right reason; though virtue may be defined in a few words to be right reason itself. the opposite to this is viciousness (for so i choose to translate what the greeks call [greek: kakia], rather than by perverseness; for perverseness is the name of a particular vice; but viciousness includes all), from whence arise those perturbations which, as i just now said, are turbid and violent motions of the mind, repugnant to reason, and enemies in a high degree to the peace of the mind and a tranquil life, for they introduce piercing and anxious cares, and afflict and debilitate the mind through fear; they violently inflame our hearts with exaggerated appetite, which is in reality an impotence of mind, utterly irreconcilable with temperance and moderation, which we sometimes call desire, and sometimes lust, and which, should it even attain the object of its wishes, immediately becomes so elated that it loses all its resolution, and knows not what to pursue; so that he was in the right who said "that exaggerated pleasure was the very greatest of mistakes." virtue, then, alone can effect the cure of these evils. xvi. for what is not only more miserable, but more base and sordid, than a man afflicted, weakened, and oppressed with grief? and little short of this misery is one who dreads some approaching evil, and who, through faintheartedness, is under continual suspense. the poets, to express the greatness of this evil, imagine a stone to hang over the head of tantalus, as a punishment for his wickedness, his pride, and his boasting. and this is the common punishment of folly; for there hangs over the head of every one whose mind revolts from reason some similar fear. and as these perturbations of the mind, grief and fear, are of a most wasting nature, so those two others, though of a more merry cast (i mean lust, which is always coveting something with eagerness, and empty mirth, which is an exulting joy), differ very little from madness. hence you may understand what sort of person he is whom we call at one time moderate, at another modest or temperate, at another constant and virtuous; while sometimes we include all these names in the word frugality, as the crown of all; for if that word did not include all virtues, it would never have been proverbial to say that a frugal man does everything rightly. but when the stoics apply this saying to their wise man, they seem to exalt him too much, and to speak of him with too much admiration. xvii. whoever, then, through moderation and constancy, is at rest in his mind, and in calm possession of himself, so as neither to pine with care, nor be dejected with fear, nor to be inflamed with desire, coveting something greedily, nor relaxed by extravagant mirth--such a man is that identical wise man whom we are inquiring for: he is the happy man, to whom nothing in this life seems intolerable enough to depress him; nothing exquisite enough to transport him unduly. for what is there in this life that can appear great to him who has acquainted himself with eternity and the utmost extent of the universe? for what is there in human knowledge, or the short span of this life, that can appear great to a wise man? whose mind is always so upon its guard that nothing can befall him which is unforeseen, nothing which is unexpected, nothing, in short, which is new. such a man takes so exact a survey on all sides of him, that he always knows the proper place and spot to live in free from all the troubles and annoyances of life, and encounters every accident that fortune can bring upon him with a becoming calmness. whoever conducts himself in this manner will be free from grief, and from every other perturbation; and a mind free from these feelings renders men completely happy; whereas a mind disordered and drawn off from right and unerring reason loses at once, not only its resolution, but its health.--therefore the thoughts and declarations of the peripatetics are soft and effeminate, for they say that the mind must necessarily be agitated, but at the same time they lay down certain bounds beyond which that agitation is not to proceed. and do you set bounds to vice? or is it no vice to disobey reason? does not reason sufficiently declare that there is no real good which you should desire too ardently, or the possession of which you should allow to transport you? and that there is no evil that should be able to overwhelm you, or the suspicion of which should distract you? and that all these things assume too melancholy or too cheerful an appearance through our own error? but if fools find this error lessened by time, so that, though the cause remains the same, they are not affected, in the same manner, after some time, as they were at first, why, surely a wise man ought not to be influenced at all by it. but what are those degrees by which we are to limit it? let us fix these degrees in grief, a difficult subject, and one much canvassed.--fannius writes that p. rutilius took it much to heart that his brother was refused the consulship; but he seems to have been too much affected by this disappointment, for it was the occasion of his death: he ought, therefore, to have borne it with more moderation. but let us suppose that while he was bearing this with moderation, the death of his children had intervened; here would have started a fresh grief, which, admitting it to be moderate in itself, yet still must have been a great addition to the other. now, to these let us add some acute pains of body, the loss of his fortune, blindness, banishment. supposing, then, each separate misfortune to occasion a separate additional grief, the whole would be too great to be supportable. xviii. the man who attempts to set bounds to vice acts like one who should throw himself headlong from leucate, persuaded that he could stop himself whenever he pleased. now, as that is impossible, so a perturbed and disordered mind cannot restrain itself, and stop where it pleases. certainly whatever is bad in its increase is bad in its birth. now grief and all other perturbations are doubtless baneful in their progress, and have, therefore, no small share of evil at the beginning; for they go on of themselves when once they depart from reason, for every weakness is self-indulgent, and indiscreetly launches out, and does not know where to stop. so that it makes no difference whether you approve of moderate perturbations of mind, or of moderate injustice, moderate cowardice, and moderate intemperance; for whoever prescribes bounds to vice admits a part of it, which, as it is odious of itself, becomes the more so as it stands on slippery ground, and, being once set forward, glides on headlong, and cannot by any means be stopped. xix. why should i say more? why should i add that the peripatetics say that these perturbations, which we insist upon it should be extirpated, are not only natural, but were given to men by nature for a good purpose? they usually talk in this manner. in the first place, they say much in praise of anger; they call it the whetstone of courage, and they say that angry men exert themselves most against an enemy or against a bad citizen: that those reasons are of little weight which are the motives of men who think thus, as--it is a just war; it becomes us to fight for our laws, our liberties, our country: they will allow no force to these arguments unless our courage is warmed by anger.--nor do they confine their argument to warriors; but their opinion is that no one can issue any rigid commands without some bitterness and anger. in short, they have no notion of an orator either accusing or even defending a client without he is spurred on by anger. and though this anger should not be real, still they think his words and gestures ought to wear the appearance of it, so that the action of the orator may excite the anger of his hearer. and they deny that any man has ever been seen who does not know what it is to be angry; and they name what we call lenity by the bad appellation of indolence. nor do they commend only this lust (for anger is, as i defined it above, the lust of revenge), but they maintain that kind of lust or desire to be given us by nature for very good purposes, saying that no one can execute anything well but what he is in earnest about. themistocles used to walk in the public places in the night because he could not sleep; and when asked the reason, his answer was, that miltiades's trophies kept him awake. who has not heard how demosthenes used to watch, who said that it gave him pain if any mechanic was up in a morning at his work before him? lastly, they urge that some of the greatest philosophers would never have made that progress in their studies without some ardent desire spurring them on.--we are informed that pythagoras, democritus, and plato visited the remotest parts of the world; for they thought that they ought to go wherever anything was to be learned. now, it is not conceivable that these things could be effected by anything but by the greatest ardor of mind. xx. they say that even grief, which we have already said ought to be avoided as a monstrous and fierce beast, was appointed by nature, not without some good purpose, in order that men should lament when they had committed a fault, well knowing they had exposed themselves to correction, rebuke, and ignominy; for they think that those who can bear ignominy and infamy without pain have acquired a complete impunity for all sorts of crimes; for with them reproach is a stronger check than conscience. from whence we have that scene in afranius borrowed from common life; for when the abandoned son saith, "wretched that i am!" the severe father replies, let him but grieve, no matter what the cause. and they say the other divisions of sorrow have their use; that pity incites us to hasten to the assistance of others, and to alleviate the calamities of men who have undeservedly fallen into them; that even envy and detraction are not without their use, as when a man sees that another person has attained what he cannot, or observes another to be equally successful with himself; that he who should take away fear would take away all industry in life, which those men exert in the greatest degree who are afraid of the laws and of the magistrates, who dread poverty, ignominy, death, and pain. but while they argue thus, they allow indeed of these feelings being retrenched, though they deny that they either can or should be plucked up by the roots; so that their opinion is that mediocrity is best in everything. when they reason in this manner, what think you--is what they say worth attending to or not? _a._ i think it is. i wait, therefore, to hear what you will say in reply to them. xxi. _m._ perhaps i may find something to say; but i will make this observation first: do you take notice with what modesty the academics behave themselves? for they speak plainly to the purpose. the peripatetics are answered by the stoics; they have my leave to fight it out, who think myself no otherwise concerned than to inquire for what may seem to be most probable. our present business is, then, to see if we can meet with anything in this question which is the probable, for beyond such approximation to truth as that human nature cannot proceed. the definition of a perturbation, as zeno, i think, has rightly determined it, is thus: that a perturbation is a commotion of the mind against nature, in opposition to right reason; or, more briefly, thus, that a perturbation is a somewhat too vehement appetite; and when he says somewhat too vehement, he means such as is at a greater distance from the constant course of nature. what can i say to these definitions? the greater part of them we have from those who dispute with sagacity and acuteness: some of them expressions, indeed, such as the "ardors of the mind," and "the whetstones of virtue," savoring of the pomp of rhetoricians. as to the question, if a brave man can maintain his courage without becoming angry, it may be questioned with regard to the gladiators; though we often observe much resolution even in them: they meet, converse, they make objections and demands, they agree about terms, so that they seem calm rather than angry. but let us admit a man of the name of placideianus, who was one of that trade, to be in such a mind, as lucilius relates of him, if for his blood you thirst, the task be mine; his laurels at my feet he shall resign; not but i know, before i reach his heart, first on myself a wound he will impart. i hate the man; enraged i fight, and straight in action we had been, but that i wait till each his sword had fitted to his hand. my rage i scarce can keep within command. xxii. but we see ajax in homer advancing to meet hector in battle cheerfully, without any of this boisterous wrath. for he had no sooner taken up his arms than the first step which he made inspired his associates with joy, his enemies with fear; so that even hector, as he is represented by homer,[ ] trembling, condemned himself for having challenged him to fight. yet these heroes conversed together, calmly and quietly, before they engaged; nor did they show any anger or outrageous behavior during the combat. nor do i imagine that torquatus, the first who obtained this surname, was in a rage when he plundered the gaul of his collar; or that marcellus's courage at clastidium was only owing to his anger. i could almost swear that africanus, with whom we are better acquainted, from our recollection of him being more recent, was noways inflamed by anger when he covered alienus pelignus with his shield, and drove his sword into the enemy's breast. there may be some doubt of l. brutus, whether he was not influenced by extraordinary hatred of the tyrant, so as to attack aruns with more than usual rashness; for i observe that they mutually killed each other in close fight. why, then, do you call in the assistance of anger? would courage, unless it began to get furious, lose its energy? what! do you imagine that hercules, whom the very courage which you would try to represent as anger raised to heaven, was angry when he engaged the erymanthian boar, or the nemæan lion? or was theseus in a passion when he seized on the horns of the marathonian bull? take care how you make courage to depend in the least on rage. for anger is altogether irrational, and that is not courage which is void of reason. xxiii. we ought to hold all things here in contempt; death is to be looked on with indifference; pains and labors must be considered as easily supportable. and when these sentiments are established on judgment and conviction, then will that stout and firm courage take place; unless you attribute to anger whatever is done with vehemence, alacrity, and spirit. to me, indeed, that very scipio[ ] who was chief priest, that favorer of the saying of the stoics, "that no private man could be a wise man," does not seem to be angry with tiberius gracchus, even when he left the consul in a hesitating frame of mind, and, though a private man himself, commanded, with the authority of a consul, that all who meant well to the republic should follow him. i do not know whether i have done anything in the republic that has the appearance of courage; but if i have, i certainly did not do it in wrath. doth anything come nearer madness than anger? and indeed ennius has well defined it as the beginning of madness. the changing color, the alteration of our voice, the look of our eyes, our manner of fetching our breath, the little command we have over our words and actions, how little do all these things indicate a sound mind! what can make a worse appearance than homer's achilles, or agamemnon, during the quarrel? and as to ajax, anger drove him into downright madness, and was the occasion of his death. courage, therefore, does not want the assistance of anger; it is sufficiently provided, armed, and prepared of itself. we may as well say that drunkenness or madness is of service to courage, because those who are mad or drunk often do a great many things with unusual vehemence. ajax was always brave; but still he was most brave when he was in that state of frenzy: the greatest feat that ajax e'er achieved was, when his single arm the greeks relieved. quitting the field; urged on by rising rage, forced the declining troops again t'engage. shall we say, then, that madness has its use? xxiv. examine the definitions of courage: you will find it does not require the assistance of passion. courage is, then, an affection of mind that endures all things, being itself in proper subjection to the highest of all laws; or it may be called a firm maintenance of judgment in supporting or repelling everything that has a formidable appearance, or a knowledge of what is formidable or otherwise, and maintaining invariably a stable judgment of all such things, so as to bear them or despise them; or, in fewer words, according to chrysippus (for the above definitions are sphærus's, a man of the first ability as a layer-down of definitions, as the stoics think. but they are all pretty much alike: they give us only common notions, some one way, and some another). but what is chrysippus's definition? fortitude, says he, is the knowledge of all things that are bearable, or an affection of the mind which bears and supports everything in obedience to the chief law of reason without fear. now, though we should attack these men in the same manner as carneades used to do, i fear they are the only real philosophers; for which of these definitions is there which does not explain that obscure and intricate notion of courage which every man conceives within himself? and when it is thus explained, what can a warrior, a commander, or an orator want more? and no one can think that they will be unable to behave themselves courageously without anger. what! do not even the stoics, who maintain that all fools are mad, make the same inferences? for, take away perturbations, especially a hastiness of temper, and they will appear to talk very absurdly. but what they assert is this: they say that all fools are mad, as all dunghills stink; not that they always do so, but stir them, and you will perceive it. and in like manner, a warm-tempered man is not always in a passion; but provoke him, and you will see him run mad. now, that very warlike anger, which is of such service in war, what is the use of it to him when he is at home with his wife, children, and family? is there, then, anything that a disturbed mind can do better than one which is calm and steady? or can any one be angry without a perturbation of mind? our people, then, were in the right, who, as all vices depend on our manners, and nothing is worse than a passionate disposition, called angry men the only morose men.[ ] xxv. anger is in no wise becoming in an orator, though it is not amiss to affect it. do you imagine that i am angry when in pleading i use any extraordinary vehemence and sharpness? what! when i write out my speeches after all is over and past, am i then angry while writing? or do you think Æsopus was ever angry when he acted, or accius was so when he wrote? those men, indeed, act very well, but the orator acts better than the player, provided he be really an orator; but, then, they carry it on without passion, and with a composed mind. but what wantonness is it to commend lust! you produce themistocles and demosthenes; to these you add pythagoras, democritus, and plato. what! do you then call studies lust? but these studies of the most excellent and admirable things, such as those were which you bring forward on all occasions, ought to be composed and tranquil; and what kind of philosophers are they who commend grief, than which nothing is more detestable? afranius has said much to this purpose: let him but grieve, no matter what the cause. but he spoke this of a debauched and dissolute youth. but we are inquiring into the conduct of a constant and wise man. we may even allow a centurion or standard-bearer to be angry, or any others, whom, not to explain too far the mysteries of the rhetoricians, i shall not mention here; for to touch the passions, where reason cannot be come at, may have its use; but my inquiry, as i often repeat, is about a wise man. xxvi. but even envy, detraction, pity, have their use. why should you pity rather than assist, if it is in your power to do so? is it because you cannot be liberal without pity? we should not take sorrows on ourselves upon another's account; but we ought to relieve others of their grief if we can. but to detract from another's reputation, or to rival him with that vicious emulation which resembles an enmity, of what use can that conduct be? now, envy implies being uneasy at another's good because one does not enjoy it one's self; but detraction is the being uneasy at another's good, merely because he enjoys it. how can it be right that you should voluntarily grieve, rather than take the trouble of acquiring what you want to have? for it is madness in the highest degree to desire to be the only one that has any particular happiness. but who can with correctness speak in praise of a mediocrity of evils? can any one in whom there is lust or desire be otherwise than libidinous or desirous? or can a man who is occupied by anger avoid being angry? or can one who is exposed to any vexation escape being vexed? or if he is under the influence of fear, must he not be fearful? do we look, then, on the libidinous, the angry, the anxious, and the timid man, as persons of wisdom, of excellence? of which i could speak very copiously and diffusely, but i wish to be as concise as possible. and so i will merely say that wisdom is an acquaintance with all divine and human affairs, and a knowledge of the cause of everything. hence it is that it imitates what is divine, and looks upon all human concerns as inferior to virtue. did you, then, say that it was your opinion that such a man was as naturally liable to perturbation as the sea is exposed to winds? what is there that can discompose such gravity and constancy? anything sudden or unforeseen? how can anything of this kind befall one to whom nothing is sudden and unforeseen that can happen to man? now, as to their saying that redundancies should be pared off, and only what is natural remain, what, i pray you, can be natural which may be too exuberant? xxvii. all these assertions proceed from the roots of errors, which must be entirely plucked up and destroyed, not pared and amputated. but as i suspect that your inquiry is not so much respecting the wise man as concerning yourself (for you allow that he is free from all perturbations, and you would willingly be so too yourself), let us see what remedies there are which may be applied by philosophy to the diseases of the mind. there is certainly some remedy; nor has nature been so unkind to the human race as to have discovered so many things salutary to the body, and none which are medicinal to the mind. she has even been kinder to the mind than to the body; inasmuch as you must seek abroad for the assistance which the body requires, while the mind has all that it requires within itself. but in proportion as the excellency of the mind is of a higher and more divine nature, the more diligence does it require; and therefore reason, when it is well applied, discovers what is best, but when it is neglected, it becomes involved in many errors. i shall apply, then, all my discourse to you; for though you pretend to be inquiring about the wise man, your inquiry may possibly be about yourself. various, then, are the cures of those perturbations which i have expounded, for every disorder is not to be appeased the same way. one medicine must be applied to the man who mourns, another to the pitiful, another to the person who envies; for there is this difference to be maintained in all the four perturbations: we are to consider whether our discourse had better be directed to perturbations in general, which are a contempt of reason, or a somewhat too vehement appetite; or whether it would be better applied to particular descriptions, as, for instance, to fear, lust, and the rest, and whether it appears preferable to endeavor to remove that which has occasioned the grief, or rather to attempt wholly to eradicate every kind of grief. as, should any one grieve that he is poor, the question is, would you maintain poverty to be no evil, or would you contend that a man ought not to grieve at anything? certainly this last is the best course; for should you not convince him with regard to poverty, you must allow him to grieve; but if you remove grief by particular arguments, such as i used yesterday, the evil of poverty is in some manner removed. xxviii. but any perturbation of the mind of this sort may be, as it were, wiped away by the method of appeasing the mind, if you succeed in showing that there is no good in that which has given rise to joy and lust, nor any evil in that which has occasioned fear or grief. but certainly the most effectual cure is to be achieved by showing that all perturbations are of themselves vicious, and have nothing natural or necessary in them. as we see, grief itself is easily softened when we charge those who grieve with weakness and an effeminate mind; or when we commend the gravity and constancy of those who bear calmly whatever befalls them here, as accidents to which all men are liable; and, indeed, this is generally the feeling of those who look on these as real evils, but yet think they should be borne with resignation. one imagines pleasure to be a good, another money; and yet the one may be called off from intemperance, the other from covetousness. the other method and address, which, at the same time that it removes the false opinion, withdraws the disorder, has more subtlety in it; but it seldom succeeds, and is not applicable to vulgar minds, for there are some diseases which that medicine can by no means remove. for, should any one be uneasy because he is without virtue, without courage, destitute of a sense of duty or honesty, his anxiety proceeds from a real evil; and yet we must apply another method of cure to him, and such a one as all the philosophers, however they may differ about other things, agree in. for they must necessarily agree in this, that commotions of the mind in opposition to right reason are vicious; and that even admitting those things to be evils which occasion fear or grief, and those to be goods which provoke desire or joy, yet that very commotion itself is vicious; for we mean by the expressions magnanimous and brave, one who is resolute, sedate, grave, and superior to everything in this life; but one who either grieves, or fears, or covets, or is transported with passion, cannot come under that denomination; for these things are consistent only with those who look on the things of this world as things with which their minds are unequal to contend. xxix. wherefore, as i before said, the philosophers have all one method of cure, so that we need say nothing about what sort of thing that is which disturbs the mind, but we must speak only concerning the perturbation itself. thus, first, with regard to desire itself, when the business is only to remove that, the inquiry is not to be, whether that thing be good or evil which provokes lust, but the lust itself is to be removed; so that whether whatever is honest is the chief good, or whether it consists in pleasure, or in both these things together, or in the other three kinds of goods, yet should there be in any one too vehement an appetite for even virtue itself, the whole discourse should be directed to the deterring him from that vehemence. but human nature, when placed in a conspicuous point of view, gives us every argument for appeasing the mind, and, to make this the more distinct, the laws and conditions of life should be explained in our discourse. therefore, it was not without reason that socrates is reported, when euripides was exhibiting his play called orestes, to have repeated the first three verses of that tragedy-- what tragic story men can mournful tell, whate'er from fate or from the gods befell, that human nature can support--[ ] but, in order to persuade those to whom any misfortune has happened that they can and ought to bear it, it is very useful to set before them an enumeration of other persons who have borne similar calamities. indeed, the method of appeasing grief was explained in my dispute of yesterday, and in my book on consolation, which i wrote in the midst of my own grief; for i was not myself so wise a man as to be insensible to grief, and i used this, notwithstanding chrysippus's advice to the contrary, who is against applying a medicine to the agitations of the mind while they are fresh; but i did it, and committed a violence on nature, that the greatness of my grief might give way to the greatness of the medicine. xxx. but fear borders upon grief, of which i have already said enough; but i must say a little more on that. now, as grief proceeds from what is present, so does fear from future evil; so that some have said that fear is a certain part of grief: others have called fear the harbinger of trouble, which, as it were, introduces the ensuing evil. now, the reasons that make what is present supportable, make what is to come very contemptible; for, with regard to both, we should take care to do nothing low or grovelling, soft or effeminate, mean or abject. but, notwithstanding we should speak of the inconstancy, imbecility, and levity of fear itself, yet it is of very great service to speak contemptuously of those very things of which we are afraid. so that it fell out very well, whether it was by accident or design, that i disputed the first and second day on death and pain--the two things that are the most dreaded: now, if what i then said was approved of, we are in a great degree freed from fear. and this is sufficient, as far as regards the opinion of evils. xxxi. proceed we now to what are goods--that is to say, to joy and desire. to me, indeed, one thing alone seems to embrace the question of all that relates to the perturbations of the mind--the fact, namely, that all perturbations are in our own power; that they are taken up upon opinion, and are voluntary. this error, then, must be got rid of; this opinion must be removed; and, as with regard to imagined evils, we are to make them more supportable, so with respect to goods, we are to lessen the violent effects of those things which are called great and joyous. but one thing is to be observed, that equally relates both to good and evil: that, should it be difficult to persuade any one that none of those things which disturb the mind are to be looked on as good or evil, yet a different cure is to be applied to different feelings; and the malevolent person is to be corrected by one way of reasoning, the lover by another, the anxious man by another, and the fearful by another: and it would be easy for any one who pursues the best approved method of reasoning, with regard to good and evil, to maintain that no fool can be affected with joy, as he never can have anything good. but, at present, my discourse proceeds upon the common received notions. let, then, honors, riches, pleasures, and the rest be the very good things which they are imagined to be; yet a too elevated and exulting joy on the possession of them is unbecoming; just as, though it might be allowable to laugh, to giggle would be indecent. thus, a mind enlarged by joy is as blamable as a contraction of it by grief; and eager longing is a sign of as much levity in desiring as immoderate joy is in possessing; and, as those who are too dejected are said to be effeminate, so they who are too elated with joy are properly called volatile; and as feeling envy is a part of grief, and the being pleased with another's misfortune is a kind of joy, both these feelings are usually corrected by showing the wildness and insensibility of them: and as it becomes a man to be cautious, but it is unbecoming in him to be fearful, so to be pleased is proper, but to be joyful improper. i have, in order that i might be the better understood, distinguished pleasure from joy. i have already said above, that a contraction of the mind can never be right, but that an elation of it may; for the joy of hector in nævius is one thing-- 'tis joy indeed to hear my praises sung by you, who are the theme of honor's tongue-- but that of the character in trabea another: "the kind procuress, allured by my money, will observe my nod, will watch my desires, and study my will. if i but move the door with my little finger, instantly it flies open; and if chrysis should unexpectedly discover me, she will run with joy to meet me, and throw herself into my arms." now he will tell you how excellent he thinks this: not even fortune herself is so fortunate. xxxii. any one who attends the least to the subject will be convinced how unbecoming this joy is. and as they are very shameful who are immoderately delighted with the enjoyment of venereal pleasures, so are they very scandalous who lust vehemently after them. and all that which is commonly called love (and, believe me, i can find out no other name to call it by) is of such a trivial nature that nothing, i think, is to be compared to it: of which cæcilius says, i hold the man of every sense bereaved who grants not love to be of gods the chief: whose mighty power whate'er is good effects, who gives to each his beauty and defects: hence, health and sickness; wit and folly, hence, the god that love and hatred doth dispense! an excellent corrector of life this same poetry, which thinks that love, the promoter of debauchery and vanity, should have a place in the council of the gods! i am speaking of comedy, which could not subsist at all without our approving of these debaucheries. but what said that chief of the argonauts in tragedy? my life i owe to honor less than love. what, then, are we to say of this love of medea?--what a train of miseries did it occasion! and yet the same woman has the assurance to say to her father, in another poet, that she had a husband dearer by love than ever fathers were. xxxiii. however, we may allow the poets to trifle, in whose fables we see jupiter himself engaged in these debaucheries: but let us apply to the masters of virtue--the philosophers who deny love to be anything carnal; and in this they differ from epicurus, who, i think, is not much mistaken. for what is that love of friendship? how comes it that no one is in love with a deformed young man, or a handsome old one? i am of opinion that this love of men had its rise from the gymnastics of the greeks, where these kinds of loves are admissible and permitted; therefore ennius spoke well: the censure of this crime to those is due who naked bodies first exposed to view. now, supposing them chaste, which i think is hardly possible, they are uneasy and distressed, and the more so because they contain and refrain themselves. but, to pass over the love of women, where nature has allowed more liberty, who can misunderstand the poets in their rape of ganymede, or not apprehend what laius says, and what he desires, in euripides? lastly, what have the principal poets and the most learned men published of themselves in their poems and songs? what doth alcæus, who was distinguished in his own republic for his bravery, write on the love of young men? and as for anacreon's poetry, it is wholly on love. but ibycus of rhegium appears, from his writings, to have had this love stronger on him than all the rest. xxxiv. now we see that the loves of all these writers were entirely libidinous. there have arisen also some among us philosophers (and plato is at the head of them, whom dicæarchus blames not without reason) who have countenanced love. the stoics, in truth, say, not only that their wise man may be a lover, but they even define love itself as an endeavor to originate friendship out of the appearance of beauty. now, provided there is any one in the nature of things without desire, without care, without a sigh, such a one may be a lover; for he is free from all lust: but i have nothing to say to him, as it is lust of which i am now speaking. but should there be any love--as there certainly is--which is but little, or perhaps not at all, short of madness, such as his is in the leucadia-- should there be any god whose care i am-- it is incumbent on all the gods to see that he enjoys his amorous pleasure. wretch that i am! nothing is more true, and he says very appropriately, what, are you sane, who at this rate lament? he seems even to his friends to be out of his senses: then how tragical he becomes! thy aid, divine apollo, i implore, and thine, dread ruler of the wat'ry store! oh! all ye winds, assist me! he thinks that the whole world ought to apply itself to help his love: he excludes venus alone, as unkind to him. thy aid, o venus, why should i invoke? he thinks venus too much employed in her own lust to have regard to anything else, as if he himself had not said and committed these shameful things from lust. xxxv. now, the cure for one who is affected in this manner is to show how light, how contemptible, how very trifling he is in what he desires; how he may turn his affections to another object, or accomplish his desires by some other means; or else to persuade him that he may entirely disregard it: sometimes he is to be led away to objects of another kind, to study, business, or other different engagements and concerns: very often the cure is effected by change of place, as sick people, that have not recovered their strength, are benefited by change of air. some people think an old love may be driven out by a new one, as one nail drives out another: but, above all things, the man thus afflicted should be advised what madness love is: for of all the perturbations of the mind, there is not one which is more vehement; for (without charging it with rapes, debaucheries, adultery, or even incest, the baseness of any of these being very blamable; not, i say, to mention these) the very perturbation of the mind in love is base of itself, for, to pass over all its acts of downright madness, what weakness do not those very things which are looked upon as indifferent argue? affronts and jealousies, jars, squabbles, wars, then peace again. the man who seeks to fix these restless feelings, and to subjugate them to some regular law, is just as wise as one who'd try to lay down rules by which men should go mad.[ ] now, is not this inconstancy and mutability of mind enough to deter any one by its own deformity? we are to demonstrate, as was said of every perturbation, that there are no such feelings which do not consist entirely of opinion and judgment, and are not owing to ourselves. for if love were natural, all would be in love, and always so, and all love the same object; nor would one be deterred by shame, another by reflection, another by satiety. xxxvi. anger, too, when it disturbs the mind any time, leaves no room to doubt its being madness: by the instigation of which we see such contention as this between brothers: where was there ever impudence like thine? who on thy malice ever could refine?[ ] you know what follows: for abuses are thrown out by these brothers with great bitterness in every other verse; so that you may easily know them for the sons of atreus, of that atreus who invented a new punishment for his brother: i who his cruel heart to gall am bent, some new, unheard-of torment must invent. now, what were these inventions? hear thyestes: my impious brother fain would have me eat my children, and thus serves them up for meat. to what length now will not anger go? even as far as madness. therefore we say, properly enough, that angry men have given up their power, that is, they are out of the power of advice, reason, and understanding; for these ought to have power over the whole mind. now, you should put those out of the way whom they endeavor to attack till they have recollected themselves; but what does recollection here imply but getting together again the dispersed parts of their mind into their proper place? or else you must beg and entreat them, if they have the means of revenge, to defer it to another opportunity, till their anger cools. but the expression of cooling implies, certainly, that there was a heat raised in their minds in opposition to reason; from which consideration that saying of archytas is commended, who being somewhat provoked at his steward, "how would i have treated you," said he, "if i had not been in a passion?" xxxvii. where, then, are they who say that anger has its use? can madness be of any use? but still it is natural. can anything be natural that is against reason? or how is it, if anger is natural, that one person is more inclined to anger than another? or that the lust of revenge should cease before it has revenged itself? or that any one should repent of what he had done in a passion? as we see that alexander the king did, who could scarcely keep his hands from himself, when he had killed his favorite clytus, so great was his compunction. now who that is acquainted with these instances can doubt that this motion of the mind is altogether in opinion and voluntary? for who can doubt that disorders of the mind, such as covetousness and a desire of glory, arise from a great estimation of those things by which the mind is disordered? from whence we may understand that every perturbation of the mind is founded in opinion. and if boldness--that is to say, a firm assurance of mind--is a kind of knowledge and serious opinion not hastily taken up, then diffidence is a fear of an expected and impending evil; and if hope is an expectation of good, fear must, of course, be an expectation of evil. thus fear and other perturbations are evils. therefore, as constancy proceeds from knowledge, so does perturbation from error. now, they who are said to be naturally inclined to anger, or to pity, or to envy, or to any feeling of this kind, their minds are constitutionally, as it were, in bad health; yet they are curable, as the disposition of socrates is said to have been; for when zopyrus, who professed to know the character of every one from his person, had heaped a great many vices on him in a public assembly, he was laughed at by others, who could perceive no such vices in socrates; but socrates kept him in countenance by declaring that such vices were natural to him, but that he had got the better of them by his reason. therefore, as any one who has the appearance of the best constitution may yet appear to be naturally rather inclined to some particular disorder, so different minds may be more particularly inclined to different diseases. but as to those men who are said to be vicious, not by nature, but their own fault, their vices proceed from wrong opinions of good and bad things, so that one is more prone than another to different motions and perturbations. but, just as it is in the case of the body, an inveterate disease is harder to be got rid of than a sudden disorder; and it is more easy to cure a fresh tumor in the eyes than to remove a defluxion of any continuance. xxxviii. but as the cause of perturbations is now discovered, for all of them arise from the judgment or opinion, or volition, i shall put an end to this discourse. but we ought to be assured, since the boundaries of good and evil are now discovered, as far as they are discoverable by man, that nothing can be desired of philosophy greater or more useful than the discussions which we have held these four days. for besides instilling a contempt of death, and relieving pain so as to enable men to bear it, we have added the appeasing of grief, than which there is no greater evil to man. for though every perturbation of mind is grievous, and differs but little from madness, yet we are used to say of others when they are under any perturbation, as of fear, joy, or desire, that they are agitated and disturbed; but of those who give themselves up to grief, that they are miserable, afflicted, wretched, unhappy. so that it doth not seem to be by accident, but with reason proposed by you, that i should discuss grief, and the other perturbations separately; for there lies the spring and head of all our miseries; but the cure of grief, and of other disorders, is one and the same in that they are all voluntary, and founded on opinion; we take them on ourselves because it seems right so to do. philosophy undertakes to eradicate this error, as the root of all our evils: let us therefore surrender ourselves to be instructed by it, and suffer ourselves to be cured; for while these evils have possession of us, we not only cannot be happy, but cannot be right in our minds. we must either deny that reason can effect anything, while, on the other hand, nothing can be done right without reason, or else, since philosophy depends on the deductions of reason, we must seek from her, if we would be good or happy, every help and assistance for living well and happily. book v. whether virtue alone be sufficient for a happy life. i. this fifth day, brutus, shall put an end to our tusculan disputations: on which day we discussed your favorite subject. for i perceive from that book which you wrote for me with the greatest accuracy, as well as from your frequent conversation, that you are clearly of this opinion, that virtue is of itself sufficient for a happy life: and though it may be difficult to prove this, on account of the many various strokes of fortune, yet it is a truth of such a nature that we should endeavor to facilitate the proof of it. for among all the topics of philosophy, there is not one of more dignity or importance. for as the first philosophers must have had some inducement to neglect everything for the search of the best state of life: surely, the inducement must have been the hope of living happily, which impelled them to devote so much care and pains to that study. now, if virtue was discovered and carried to perfection by them, and if virtue is a sufficient security for a happy life, who can avoid thinking the work of philosophizing excellently recommended by them, and undertaken by me? but if virtue, as being subject to such various and uncertain accidents, were but the slave of fortune, and were not of sufficient ability to support herself, i am afraid that it would seem desirable rather to offer up prayers, than to rely on our own confidence in virtue as the foundation for our hope of a happy life. and, indeed, when i reflect on those troubles with which i have been so severely exercised by fortune, i begin to distrust this opinion; and sometimes even to dread the weakness and frailty of human nature, for i am afraid lest, when nature had given us infirm bodies, and had joined to them incurable diseases and intolerable pains, she perhaps also gave us minds participating in these bodily pains, and harassed also with troubles and uneasinesses, peculiarly their own. but here i correct myself for forming my judgment of the power of virtue more from the weakness of others, or of myself perhaps, than from virtue itself: for she herself (provided there is such a thing as virtue; and your uncle brutus has removed all doubt of it) has everything that can befall mankind in subjection to her; and by disregarding such things, she is far removed from being at all concerned at human accidents; and, being free from every imperfection, she thinks that nothing which is external to herself can concern her. but we, who increase every approaching evil by our fear, and every present one by our grief, choose rather to condemn the nature of things than our own errors. ii. but the amendment of this fault, and of all our other vices and offences, is to be sought for in philosophy: and as my own inclination and desire led me, from my earliest youth upward, to seek her protection, so, under my present misfortunes, i have had recourse to the same port from whence i set out, after having been tossed by a violent tempest. o philosophy, thou guide of life! thou discoverer of virtue and expeller of vices! what had not only i myself, but the whole life of man, been without you? to you it is that we owe the origin of cities; you it was who called together the dispersed race of men into social life; you united them together, first, by placing them near one another, then by marriages, and lastly, by the communication of speech and languages. you have been the inventress of laws; you have been our instructress in morals and discipline; to you we fly for refuge; from you we implore assistance; and as i formerly submitted to you in a great degree, so now i surrender up myself entirely to you. for one day spent well, and agreeably to your precepts, is preferable to an eternity of error. whose assistance, then, can be of more service to me than yours, when you have bestowed on us tranquillity of life, and removed the fear of death? but philosophy is so far from being praised as much as she has deserved by mankind, that she is wholly neglected by most men, and actually evil spoken of by many. can any person speak ill of the parent of life, and dare to pollute himself thus with parricide, and be so impiously ungrateful as to accuse her whom he ought to reverence, even were he less able to appreciate the advantages which he might derive from her? but this error, i imagine, and this darkness has spread itself over the minds of ignorant men, from their not being able to look so far back, and from their not imagining that those men by whom human life was first improved were philosophers; for though we see philosophy to have been of long standing, yet the name must be acknowledged to be but modern. iii. but, indeed, who can dispute the antiquity of philosophy, either in fact or name? for it acquired this excellent name from the ancients, by the knowledge of the origin and causes of everything, both divine and human. thus those seven [greek: sophoi], as they were considered and called by the greeks, have always been esteemed and called wise men by us; and thus lycurgus many ages before, in whose time, before the building of this city, homer is said to have lived, as well as ulysses and nestor in the heroic ages, are all handed down to us by tradition as having really been what they were called, wise men; nor would it have been said that atlas supported the heavens, or that prometheus was bound to caucasus, nor would cepheus, with his wife, his son-in-law, and his daughter have been enrolled among the constellations, but that their more than human knowledge of the heavenly bodies had transferred their names into an erroneous fable. from whence all who occupied themselves in the contemplation of nature were both considered and called wise men; and that name of theirs continued to the age of pythagoras, who is reported to have gone to phlius, as we find it stated by heraclides ponticus, a very learned man, and a pupil of plato, and to have discoursed very learnedly and copiously on certain subjects with leon, prince of the phliasii; and when leon, admiring his ingenuity and eloquence, asked him what art he particularly professed, his answer was, that he was acquainted with no art, but that he was a philosopher. leon, surprised at the novelty of the name, inquired what he meant by the name of philosopher, and in what philosophers differed from other men; on which pythagoras replied, "that the life of man seemed to him to resemble those games which were celebrated with the greatest possible variety of sports and the general concourse of all greece. for as in those games there were some persons whose object was glory and the honor of a crown, to be attained by the performance of bodily exercises, so others were led thither by the gain of buying and selling, and mere views of profit; but there was likewise one class of persons, and they were by far the best, whose aim was neither applause nor profit, but who came merely as spectators through curiosity, to observe what was done, and to see in what manner things were carried on there. and thus, said he, we come from another life and nature unto this one, just as men come out of some other city, to some much frequented mart; some being slaves to glory, others to money; and there are some few who, taking no account of anything else, earnestly look into the nature of things; and these men call themselves studious of wisdom, that is, philosophers: and as there it is the most reputable occupation of all to be a looker-on without making any acquisition, so in life, the contemplating things, and acquainting one's self with them, greatly exceeds every other pursuit of life." iv. nor was pythagoras the inventor only of the name, but he enlarged also the thing itself, and, when he came into italy after this conversation at phlius, he adorned that greece, which is called great greece, both privately and publicly, with the most excellent institutions and arts; but of his school and system i shall, perhaps, find another opportunity to speak. but numbers and motions, and the beginning and end of all things, were the subjects of the ancient philosophy down to socrates, who was a pupil of archelaus, who had been the disciple of anaxagoras. these made diligent inquiry into the magnitude of the stars, their distances, courses, and all that relates to the heavens. but socrates was the first who brought down philosophy from the heavens, placed it in cities, introduced it into families, and obliged it to examine into life and morals, and good and evil. and his different methods of discussing questions, together with the variety of his topics, and the greatness of his abilities, being immortalized by the memory and writings of plato, gave rise to many sects of philosophers of different sentiments, of all which i have principally adhered to that one which, in my opinion, socrates himself followed; and argue so as to conceal my own opinion, while i deliver others from their errors, and so discover what has the greatest appearance of probability in every question. and the custom carneades adopted with great copiousness and acuteness, and i myself have often given in to it on many occasions elsewhere, and in this manner, too, i disputed lately, in my tusculan villa; indeed, i have sent you a book of the four former days' discussions; but the fifth day, when we had seated ourselves as before, what we were to dispute on was proposed thus: v. _a._ i do not think virtue can possibly be sufficient for a happy life. _m._ but my friend brutus thinks so, whose judgment, with submission, i greatly prefer to yours. _a._ i make no doubt of it; but your regard for him is not the business now: the question is now, what is the real character of that quality of which i have declared my opinion. i wish you to dispute on that. _m._ what! do you deny that virtue can possibly be sufficient for a happy life? _a._ it is what i entirely deny. _m._ what! is not virtue sufficient to enable us to live as we ought, honestly, commendably, or, in fine, to live well? _a._ certainly sufficient. _m._ can you, then, help calling any one miserable who lives ill? or will you deny that any one who you allow lives well must inevitably live happily? _a._ why may i not? for a man may be upright in his life, honest, praiseworthy, even in the midst of torments, and therefore live well. provided you understand what i mean by well; for when i say well, i mean with constancy, and dignity, and wisdom, and courage; for a man may display all these qualities on the rack; but yet the rack is inconsistent with a happy life. _m._ what, then? is your happy life left on the outside of the prison, while constancy, dignity, wisdom, and the other virtues, are surrendered up to the executioner, and bear punishment and pain without reluctance? _a._ you must look out for something new if you would do any good. these things have very little effect on me, not merely from their being common, but principally because, like certain light wines that will not bear water, these arguments of the stoics are pleasanter to taste than to swallow. as when that assemblage of virtues is committed to the rack, it raises so reverend a spectacle before our eyes that happiness seems to hasten on towards them, and not to suffer them to be deserted by her. but when you take your attention off from this picture and these images of the virtues to the truth and the reality, what remains without disguise is, the question whether any one can be happy in torment? wherefore let us now examine that point, and not be under any apprehensions, lest the virtues should expostulate, and complain that they are forsaken by happiness. for if prudence is connected with every virtue, then prudence itself discovers this, that all good men are not therefore happy; and she recollects many things of marcus atilius[ ], quintus cæpio[ ], marcus aquilius[ ]; and prudence herself, if these representations are more agreeable to you than the things themselves, restrains happiness when it is endeavoring to throw itself into torments, and denies that it has any connection with pain and torture. vi. _m._ i can easily bear with your behaving in this manner, though it is not fair in you to prescribe to me how you would have me carry on this discussion. but i ask you if i have effected anything or nothing in the preceding days? _a._ yes; something was done, some little matter indeed. _m._ but if that is the case, this question is settled, and almost put an end to. _a._ how so? _m._ because turbulent motions and violent agitations of the mind, when it is raised and elated by a rash impulse, getting the better of reason, leave no room for a happy life. for who that fears either pain or death, the one of which is always present, the other always impending, can be otherwise than miserable? now, supposing the same person--which is often the case--to be afraid of poverty, ignominy, infamy, or weakness, or blindness, or, lastly, slavery, which doth not only befall individual men, but often even the most powerful nations; now can any one under the apprehension of these evils be happy? what shall we say of him who not only dreads these evils as impending, but actually feels and bears them at present? let us unite in the same person banishment, mourning, the loss of children; now, how can any one who is broken down and rendered sick in body and mind by such affliction be otherwise than very miserable indeed? what reason, again, can there be why a man should not rightly enough be called miserable whom we see inflamed and raging with lust, coveting everything with an insatiable desire, and, in proportion as he derives more pleasure from anything, thirsting the more violently after them? and as to a man vainly elated, exulting with an empty joy, and boasting of himself without reason, is not he so much the more miserable in proportion as he thinks himself happier? therefore, as these men are miserable, so, on the other hand, those are happy who are alarmed by no fears, wasted by no griefs, provoked by no lusts, melted by no languid pleasures that arise from vain and exulting joys. we look on the sea as calm when not the least breath of air disturbs its waves; and, in like manner, the placid and quiet state of the mind is discovered when unmoved by any perturbation. now, if there be any one who holds the power of fortune, and everything human, everything that can possibly befall any man, as supportable, so as to be out of the reach of fear or anxiety, and if such a man covets nothing, and is lifted up by no vain joy of mind, what can prevent his being happy? and if these are the effects of virtue, why cannot virtue itself make men happy? vii. _a._ but the other of these two propositions is undeniable, that they who are under no apprehensions, who are noways uneasy, who covet nothing, who are lifted up by no vain joy, are happy: and therefore i grant you that. but as for the other, that is not now in a fit state for discussion; for it has been proved by your former arguments that a wise man is free from every perturbation of mind. _m._ doubtless, then, the dispute is over; for the question appears to have been entirely exhausted. _a._ i think, indeed, that that is almost the case. _m._ but yet that is more usually the case with the mathematicians than philosophers. for when the geometricians teach anything, if what they have before taught relates to their present subject, they take that for granted which has been already proved, and explain only what they had not written on before. but the philosophers, whatever subject they have in hand, get together everything that relates to it, notwithstanding they may have dilated on it somewhere else. were not that the case, why should the stoics say so much on that question, whether virtue was abundantly sufficient to a happy life? when it would have been answer enough that they had before taught that nothing was good but what was honorable; for, as this had been proved, the consequence must be that virtue was sufficient to a happy life; and each premise may be made to follow from the admission of the other, so that if it be admitted that virtue is sufficient to secure a happy life, it may also be inferred that nothing is good except what is honorable. they, however, do not proceed in this manner; for they would separate books about what is honorable, and what is the chief good; and when they have demonstrated from the one that virtue has power enough to make life happy, yet they treat this point separately; for everything, and especially a subject of such great consequence, should be supported by arguments and exhortations which belong to that alone. for you should have a care how you imagine philosophy to have uttered anything more noble, or that she has promised anything more fruitful or of greater consequence, for, good gods! doth she not engage that she will render him who submits to her laws so accomplished as to be always armed against fortune, and to have every assurance within himself of living well and happily--that he shall, in short, be forever happy? but let us see what she will perform? in the mean while, i look upon it as a great thing that she has even made such a promise. for xerxes, who was loaded with all the rewards and gifts of fortune, not satisfied with his armies of horse and foot, nor the multitude of his ships, nor his infinite treasure of gold, offered a reward to any one who could find out a new pleasure; and yet, when it was discovered, he was not satisfied with it; nor can there ever be an end to lust. i wish we could engage any one by a reward to produce something the better to establish us in this belief. viii. _a._ i wish that, indeed, myself; but i want a little information. for i allow that in what you have stated the one proposition is the consequence of the other; that as, if what is honorable be the only good, it must follow that a happy life is the effect of virtue: so that if a happy life consists in virtue, nothing can be good but virtue. but your friend brutus, on the authority of aristo and antiochus, does not see this; for he thinks the case would be the same even if there were anything good besides virtue. _m._ what, then? do you imagine that i am going to argue against brutus? _a._ you may do what you please; for it is not for me to prescribe what you shall do. _m._ how these things agree together shall be examined somewhere else; for i frequently discussed that point with antiochus, and lately with aristo, when, during the period of my command as general, i was lodging with him at athens. for to me it seemed that no one could possibly be happy under any evil; but a wise man might be afflicted with evil, if there are any things arising from body or fortune deserving the name of evils. these things were said, which antiochus has inserted in his books in many places--that virtue itself was sufficient to make life happy, but yet not perfectly happy; and that many things derive their names from the predominant portion of them, though they do not include everything, as strength, health, riches, honor, and glory: which qualities are determined by their kind, not their number. thus a happy life is so called from its being so in a great degree, even though it should fall short in some point. to clear this up is not absolutely necessary at present, though it seems to be said without any great consistency; for i cannot imagine what is wanting to one that is happy to make him happier, for if anything be wanting to him, he cannot be so much as happy; and as to what they say, that everything is named and estimated from its predominant portion, that may be admitted in some things. but when they allow three kinds of evils--when any one is oppressed with every imaginable evil of two kinds, being afflicted with adverse fortune, and having at the same time his body worn out and harassed with all sorts of pains--shall we say that such a one is but little short of a happy life, to say nothing about the happiest possible life? ix. this is the point which theophrastus was unable to maintain; for after he had once laid down the position that stripes, torments, tortures, the ruin of one's country, banishment, the loss of children, had great influence on men's living miserably and unhappily, he durst not any longer use any high and lofty expressions when he was so low and abject in his opinion. how right he was is not the question; he certainly was consistent. therefore, i am not for objecting to consequences where the premises are admitted. but this most elegant and learned of all the philosophers is not taken to task very severely when he asserts his three kinds of good; but he is attacked by every one for that book which he wrote on a happy life, in which book he has many arguments why one who is tortured and racked cannot be happy. for in that book he is supposed to say that a man who is placed on the wheel (that is a kind of torture in use among the greeks) cannot attain to a completely happy life. he nowhere, indeed, says so absolutely; but what he says amounts to the same thing. can i, then, find fault with him, after having allowed that pains of the body are evils, that the ruin of a man's fortunes is an evil, if he should say that every good man is not happy, when all those things which he reckons as evils may befall a good man? the same theophrastus is found fault with by all the books and schools of the philosophers for commending that sentence in his callisthenes, fortune, not wisdom, rules the life of man. they say never did philosopher assert anything so languid. they are right, indeed, in that; but i do not apprehend anything could be more consistent, for if there are so many good things that depend on the body, and so many foreign to it that depend on chance and fortune, is it inconsistent to say that fortune, which governs everything, both what is foreign and what belongs to the body, has greater power than counsel. or would we rather imitate epicurus? who is often excellent in many things which he speaks, but quite indifferent how consistent he may be, or how much to the purpose he is speaking. he commends spare diet, and in that he speaks as a philosopher; but it is for socrates or antisthenes to say so, and not for one who confines all good to pleasure. he denies that any one can live pleasantly unless he lives honestly, wisely, and justly. nothing is more dignified than this assertion, nothing more becoming a philosopher, had he not measured this very expression of living honestly, justly, and wisely by pleasure. what could be better than to assert that fortune interferes but little with a wise man? but does he talk thus, who, after he has said that pain is the greatest evil, or the only evil, might himself be afflicted with the sharpest pains all over his body, even at the time he is vaunting himself the most against fortune? and this very thing, too, metrodorus has said, but in better language: "i have anticipated you, fortune; i have caught you, and cut off every access, so that you cannot possibly reach me." this would be excellent in the mouth of aristo the chian, or zeno the stoic, who held nothing to be an evil but what was base; but for you, metrodorus, to anticipate the approaches of fortune, who confine all that is good to your bowels and marrow--for you to say so, who define the chief good by a strong constitution of body, and well-assured hope of its continuance--for you to cut off every access of fortune! why, you may instantly be deprived of that good. yet the simple are taken with these propositions, and a vast crowd is led away by such sentences to become their followers. x. but it is the duty of one who would argue accurately to consider not what is said, but what is said consistently. as in that very opinion which we have adopted in this discussion, namely, that every good man is always happy, it is clear what i mean by good men: i call those both wise and good men who are provided and adorned with every virtue. let us see, then, who are to be called happy. i imagine, indeed, that those men are to be called so who are possessed of good without any alloy of evil; nor is there any other notion connected with the word that expresses happiness but an absolute enjoyment of good without any evil. virtue cannot attain this, if there is anything good besides itself. for a crowd of evils would present themselves, if we were to allow poverty, obscurity, humility, solitude, the loss of friends, acute pains of the body, the loss of health, weakness, blindness, the ruin of one's country, banishment, slavery, to be evils; for a wise man may be afflicted by all these evils, numerous and important as they are, and many others also may be added, for they are brought on by chance, which may attack a wise man; but if these things are evils, who can maintain that a wise man is always happy when all these evils may light on him at the same time? i therefore do not easily agree with my friend brutus, nor with our common masters, nor those ancient ones, aristotle, speusippus, xenocrates, polemon, who reckon all that i have mentioned above as evils, and yet they say that a wise man is always happy; nor can i allow them, because they are charmed with this beautiful and illustrious title, which would very well become pythagoras, socrates, and plato, to persuade my mind that strength, health, beauty, riches, honors, power, with the beauty of which they are ravished, are contemptible, and that all those things which are the opposites of these are not to be regarded. then might they declare openly, with a loud voice, that neither the attacks of fortune, nor the opinion of the multitude, nor pain, nor poverty, occasions them any apprehensions; and that they have everything within themselves, and that there is nothing whatever which they consider as good but what is within their own power. nor can i by any means allow the same person who falls into the vulgar opinion of good and evil to make use of these expressions, which can only become a great and exalted man. struck with which glory, up starts epicurus, who, with submission to the gods, thinks a wise man always happy. he is much charmed with the dignity of this opinion, but he never would have owned that, had he attended to himself; for what is there more inconsistent than for one who could say that pain was the greatest or the only evil to think also that a wise man can possibly say in the midst of his torture, how sweet is this! we are not, therefore, to form our judgment of philosophers from detached sentences, but from their consistency with themselves, and their ordinary manner of talking. xi. _a._ you compel me to be of your opinion; but have a care that you are not inconsistent yourself. _m._ in what respect? _a._ because i have lately read your fourth book on good and evil: and in that you appeared to me, while disputing against cato, to be endeavoring to show, which in my opinion means to prove, that zeno and the peripatetics differ only about some new words; but if we allow that, what reason can there be, if it follows from the arguments of zeno that virtue contains all that is necessary to a happy life, that the peripatetics should not be at liberty to say the same? for, in my opinion, regard should be had to the thing, not to words. _m._ what! you would convict me from my own words, and bring against me what i had said or written elsewhere. you may act in that manner with those who dispute by established rules. we live from hand to mouth, and say anything that strikes our mind with probability, so that we are the only people who are really at liberty. but, since i just now spoke of consistency, i do not think the inquiry in this place is, if the opinion of zeno and his pupil aristo be true that nothing is good but what is honorable; but, admitting that, then, whether the whole of a happy life can be rested on virtue alone. wherefore, if we certainly grant brutus this, that a wise man is always happy, how consistent he is, is his own business; for who, indeed, is more worthy than himself of the glory of that opinion? still, we may maintain that such a man is more happy than any one else. xii. though zeno the cittiæan, a stranger and an inconsiderable coiner of words, appears to have insinuated himself into the old philosophy; still, the prevalence of this opinion is due to the authority of plato, who often makes use of this expression, "that nothing but virtue can be entitled to the name of good," agreeably to what socrates says in plato's gorgias; for it is there related that when some one asked him if he did not think archelaus the son of perdiccas, who was then looked upon as a most fortunate person, a very happy man, "i do not know," replied he, "for i never conversed with him." "what! is there no other way you can know it by?" "none at all." "you cannot, then, pronounce of the great king of the persians whether he is happy or not?" "how can i, when i do not know how learned or how good a man he is?" "what! do you imagine that a happy life depends on that?" "my opinion entirely is, that good men are happy, and the wicked miserable." "is archelaus, then, miserable?" "certainly, if unjust." now, does it not appear to you that he is here placing the whole of a happy life in virtue alone? but what does the same man say in his funeral oration? "for," saith he, "whoever has everything that relates to a happy life so entirely dependent on himself as not to be connected with the good or bad fortune of another, and not to be affected by, or made in any degree uncertain by, what befalls another; and whoever is such a one has acquired the best rule of living; he is that moderate, that brave, that wise man, who submits to the gain and loss of everything, and especially of his children, and obeys that old precept; for he will never be too joyful or too sad, because he depends entirely upon himself." xiii. from plato, therefore, all my discourse shall be deduced, as if from some sacred and hallowed fountain. whence can i, then, more properly begin than from nature, the parent of all? for whatsoever she produces (i am not speaking only of animals, but even of those things which have sprung from the earth in such a manner as to rest on their own roots) she designed it to be perfect in its respective kind. so that among trees and vines, and those lower plants and trees which cannot advance themselves high above the earth, some are evergreen, others are stripped of their leaves in winter, and, warmed by the spring season, put them out afresh, and there are none of them but what are so quickened by a certain interior motion, and their own seeds enclosed in every one, so as to yield flowers, fruit, or berries, that all may have every perfection that belongs to it; provided no violence prevents it. but the force of nature itself may be more easily discovered in animals, as she has bestowed sense on them. for some animals she has taught to swim, and designed to be inhabitants of the water; others she has enabled to fly, and has willed that they should enjoy the boundless air; some others she has made to creep, others to walk. again, of these very animals, some are solitary, some gregarious, some wild, others tame, some hidden and buried beneath the earth, and every one of these maintains the law of nature, confining itself to what was bestowed on it, and unable to change its manner of life. and as every animal has from nature something that distinguishes it, which every one maintains and never quits; so man has something far more excellent, though everything is said to be excellent by comparison. but the human mind, being derived from the divine reason, can be compared with nothing but with the deity itself, if i may be allowed the expression. this, then, if it is improved, and when its perception is so preserved as not to be blinded by errors, becomes a perfect understanding, that is to say, absolute reason, which is the very same as virtue. and if everything is happy which wants nothing, and is complete and perfect in its kind, and that is the peculiar lot of virtue, certainly all who are possessed of virtue are happy. and in this i agree with brutus, and also with aristotle, xenocrates, speusippus, polemon. xiv. to me such are the only men who appear completely happy; for what can he want to a complete happy life who relies on his own good qualities, or how can he be happy who does not rely on them? but he who makes a threefold division of goods must necessarily be diffident, for how can he depend on having a sound body, or that his fortune shall continue? but no one can be happy without an immovable, fixed, and permanent good. what, then, is this opinion of theirs? so that i think that saying of the spartan may be applied to them, who, on some merchant's boasting before him that he had despatched ships to every maritime coast, replied that a fortune which depended on ropes was not very desirable. can there be any doubt that whatever may be lost cannot be properly classed in the number of those things which complete a happy life? for of all that constitutes a happy life, nothing will admit of withering, or growing old, or wearing out, or decaying; for whoever is apprehensive of any loss of these things cannot be happy: the happy man should be safe, well fenced, well fortified, out of the reach of all annoyance, not like a man under trifling apprehensions, but free from all such. as he is not called innocent who but slightly offends, but he who offends not at all, so it is he alone who is to be considered without fear who is free from all fear, not he who is but in little fear. for what else is courage but an affection of mind that is ready to undergo perils, and patient in the endurance of pain and labor without any alloy of fear? now, this certainly could not be the case if there were anything else good but what depended on honesty alone. but how can any one be in possession of that desirable and much-coveted security (for i now call a freedom from anxiety a security, on which freedom a happy life depends) who has, or may have, a multitude of evils attending him? how can he be brave and undaunted, and hold everything as trifles which can befall a man? for so a wise man should do, unless he be one who thinks that everything depends on himself. could the lacedæmonians without this, when philip threatened to prevent all their attempts, have asked him if he could prevent their killing themselves? is it not easier, then, to find one man of such a spirit as we are inquiring after, than to meet with a whole city of such men? now, if to this courage i am speaking of we add temperance, that it may govern all our feelings and agitations, what can be wanting to complete his happiness who is secured by his courage from uneasiness and fear, and is prevented from immoderate desires and immoderate insolence of joy by temperance? i could easily show that virtue is able to produce these effects, but that i have explained on the foregoing days. xv. but as the perturbations of the mind make life miserable, and tranquillity renders it happy; and as these perturbations are of two sorts, grief and fear, proceeding from imagined evils, and as immoderate joy and lust arise from a mistake about what is good, and as all these feelings are in opposition to reason and counsel; when you see a man at ease, quite free and disengaged from such troublesome commotions, which are so much at variance with one another, can you hesitate to pronounce such a one a happy man? now, the wise man is always in such a disposition; therefore the wise man is always happy. besides, every good is pleasant; whatever is pleasant may be boasted and talked of; whatever may be boasted of is glorious; but whatever is glorious is certainly laudable, and whatever is laudable doubtless, also, honorable: whatever, then, is good is honorable (but the things which they reckon as goods they themselves do not call honorable); therefore what is honorable alone is good. hence it follows that a happy life is comprised in honesty alone. such things, then, are not to be called or considered goods, when a man may enjoy an abundance of them, and yet be most miserable. is there any doubt but that a man who enjoys the best health, and who has strength and beauty, and his senses flourishing in their utmost quickness and perfection--suppose him likewise, if you please, nimble and active, nay, give him riches, honors, authority, power, glory--now, i say, should this person, who is in possession of all these, be unjust, intemperate, timid, stupid, or an idiot--could you hesitate to call such a one miserable? what, then, are those goods in the possession of which you may be very miserable? let us see if a happy life is not made up of parts of the same nature, as a heap implies a quantity of grain of the same kind. and if this be once admitted, happiness must be compounded of different good things, which alone are honorable; if there is any mixture of things of another sort with these, nothing honorable can proceed from such a composition: now, take away honesty, and how can you imagine anything happy? for whatever is good is desirable on that account; whatever is desirable must certainly be approved of; whatever you approve of must be looked on as acceptable and welcome. you must consequently impute dignity to this; and if so, it must necessarily be laudable: therefore, everything that is laudable is good. hence it follows that what is honorable is the only good. and should we not look upon it in this light, there will be a great many things which we must call good. xvi. i forbear to mention riches, which, as any one, let him be ever so unworthy, may have them, i do not reckon among goods; for what is good is not attainable by all. i pass over notoriety and popular fame, raised by the united voice of knaves and fools. even things which are absolute nothings may be called goods; such as white teeth, handsome eyes, a good complexion, and what was commended by euryclea, when she was washing ulysses's feet, the softness of his skin and the mildness of his discourse. if you look on these as goods, what greater encomiums can the gravity of a philosopher be entitled to than the wild opinion of the vulgar and the thoughtless crowd? the stoics give the name of excellent and choice to what the others call good: they call them so, indeed; but they do not allow them to complete a happy life. but these others think that there is no life happy without them; or, admitting it to be happy, they deny it to be the most happy. but our opinion is, that it is the most happy; and we prove it from that conclusion of socrates. for thus that author of philosophy argued: that as the disposition of a man's mind is, so is the man; such as the man is, such will be his discourse; his actions will correspond with his discourse, and his life with his actions. but the disposition of a good man's mind is laudable; the life, therefore, of a good man is laudable; it is honorable, therefore, because laudable; the unavoidable conclusion from which is that the life of good men is happy. for, good gods! did i not make it appear, by my former arguments--or was i only amusing myself and killing time in what i then said?--that the mind of a wise man was always free from every hasty motion which i call a perturbation, and that the most undisturbed peace always reigned in his breast? a man, then, who is temperate and consistent, free from fear or grief, and uninfluenced by any immoderate joy or desire, cannot be otherwise than happy; but a wise man is always so, therefore he is always happy. moreover, how can a good man avoid referring all his actions and all his feelings to the one standard of whether or not it is laudable? but he does refer everything to the object of living happily: it follows, then, that a happy life is laudable; but nothing is laudable without virtue: a happy life, then, is the consequence of virtue. and this is the unavoidable conclusion to be drawn from these arguments. xvii. a wicked life has nothing which we ought to speak of or glory in; nor has that life which is neither happy nor miserable. but there is a kind of life that admits of being spoken of, and gloried in, and boasted of, as epaminondas saith, the wings of sparta's pride my counsels clipp'd. and africanus boasts, who, from beyond mæotis to the place where the sun rises, deeds like mine can trace? if, then, there is such a thing as a happy life, it is to be gloried in, spoken of, and commended by the person who enjoys it; for there is nothing excepting that which can be spoken of or gloried in; and when that is once admitted, you know what follows. now, unless an honorable life is a happy life, there must, of course, be something preferable to a happy life; for that which is honorable all men will certainly grant to be preferable to anything else. and thus there will be something better than a happy life: but what can be more absurd than such an assertion? what! when they grant vice to be effectual to the rendering life miserable, must they not admit that there is a corresponding power in virtue to make life happy? for contraries follow from contraries. and here i ask what weight they think there is in the balance of critolaus, who having put the goods of the mind into one scale, and the goods of the body and other external advantages into the other, thought the goods of the mind outweighed the others so far that they would require the whole earth and sea to equalize the scale. xviii. what hinders critolaus, then, or that gravest of philosophers, xenocrates (who raises virtue so high, and who lessens and depreciates everything else), from not only placing a happy life, but the happiest possible life, in virtue? and, indeed, if this were not the case, virtue would be absolutely lost. for whoever is subject to grief must necessarily be subject to fear too, for fear is an uneasy apprehension of future grief; and whoever is subject to fear is liable to dread, timidity, consternation, cowardice. therefore, such a person may, some time or other, be defeated, and not think himself concerned with that precept of atreus, and let men so conduct themselves in life, as to be always strangers to defeat. but such a man, as i have said, will be defeated; and not only defeated, but made a slave of. but we would have virtue always free, always invincible; and were it not so, there would be an end of virtue. but if virtue has in herself all that is necessary for a good life, she is certainly sufficient for happiness: virtue is certainly sufficient, too, for our living with courage; if with courage, then with a magnanimous spirit, and indeed so as never to be under any fear, and thus to be always invincible. hence it follows that there can be nothing to be repented of, no wants, no lets or hinderances. thus all things will be prosperous, perfect, and as you would have them, and, consequently, happy; but virtue is sufficient for living with courage, and therefore virtue is able by herself to make life happy. for as folly, even when possessed of what it desires, never thinks it has acquired enough, so wisdom is always satisfied with the present, and never repents on her own account. xix. look but on the single consulship of lælius, and that, too, after having been set aside (though when a wise and good man like him is outvoted, the people are disappointed of a good consul, rather than be disappointed by a vain people); but the point is, would you prefer, were it in your power, to be once such a consul as lælius, or be elected four times, like cinna? i have no doubt in the world what answer you will make, and it is on that account i put the question to you. i would not ask every one this question; for some one perhaps might answer that he would not only prefer four consulates to one, but even one day of cinna's life to whole ages of many famous men. lælius would have suffered had he but touched any one with his finger; but cinna ordered the head of his colleague consul, cn. octavius, to be struck off; and put to death p. crassus[ ], and l. cæsar[ ], those excellent men, so renowned both at home and abroad; and even m. antonius[ ], the greatest orator whom i ever heard; and c. cæsar, who seems to me to have been the pattern of humanity, politeness, sweetness of temper, and wit. could he, then, be happy who occasioned the death of these men? so far from it, that he seems to be miserable, not only for having performed these actions, but also for acting in such a manner that it was lawful for him to do it, though it is unlawful for any one to do wicked actions; but this proceeds from inaccuracy, of speech, for we call whatever a man is allowed to do lawful. was not marius happier, i pray you, when he shared the glory of the victory gained over the cimbrians with his colleague catulus (who was almost another lælius; for i look upon the two men as very like one another), than when, conqueror in the civil war, he in a passion answered the friends of catulus, who were interceding for him, "let him die?" and this answer he gave, not once only, but often. but in such a case, he was happier who submitted to that barbarous decree than he who issued it. and it is better to receive an injury than to do one; and so it was better to advance a little to meet that death that was making its approaches, as catulus did, than, like marius, to sully the glory of six consulships, and disgrace his latter days, by the death of such a man. xx. dionysius exercised his tyranny over the syracusans thirty-eight years, being but twenty-five years old when he seized on the government. how beautiful and how wealthy a city did he oppress with slavery! and yet we have it from good authority that he was remarkably temperate in his manner of living, that he was very active and energetic in carrying on business, but naturally mischievous and unjust; from which description every one who diligently inquires into truth must inevitably see that he was very miserable. neither did he attain what he so greatly desired, even when he was persuaded that he had unlimited power; for, notwithstanding he was of a good family and reputable parents (though that is contested by some authors), and had a very large acquaintance of intimate friends and relations, and also some youths attached to him by ties of love after the fashion of the greeks, he could not trust any one of them, but committed the guard of his person to slaves, whom he had selected from rich men's families and made free, and to strangers and barbarians. and thus, through an unjust desire of governing, he in a manner shut himself up in a prison. besides, he would not trust his throat to a barber, but had his daughters taught to shave; so that these royal virgins were forced to descend to the base and slavish employment of shaving the head and beard of their father. nor would he trust even them, when they were grown up, with a razor; but contrived how they might burn off the hair of his head and beard with red-hot nutshells. and as to his two wives, aristomache, his countrywoman, and doris of locris, he never visited them at night before everything had been well searched and examined. and as he had surrounded the place where his bed was with a broad ditch, and made a way over it with a wooden bridge, he drew that bridge over after shutting his bedchamber door. and as he did not dare to stand on the ordinary pulpits from which they usually harangued the people, he generally addressed them from a high tower. and it is said that when he was disposed to play at ball--for he delighted much in it--and had pulled off his clothes, he used to give his sword into the keeping of a young man whom he was very fond of. on this, one of his intimates said pleasantly, "you certainly trust your life with him;" and as the young man happened to smile at this, he ordered them both to be slain, the one for showing how he might be taken off, the other for approving of what had been said by smiling. but he was so concerned at what he had done that nothing affected him more during his whole life; for he had slain one to whom he was extremely partial. thus do weak men's desires pull them different ways, and while they indulge one, they act counter to another. xxi. this tyrant, however, showed himself how happy he really was; for once, when damocles, one of his flatterers, was dilating in conversation on his forces, his wealth, the greatness of his power, the plenty he enjoyed, the grandeur of his royal palaces, and maintaining that no one was ever happier, "have you an inclination," said he, "damocles, as this kind of life pleases you, to have a taste of it yourself, and to make a trial of the good fortune that attends me?" and when he said that he should like it extremely, dionysius ordered him to be laid on a bed of gold with the most beautiful covering, embroidered and wrought with the most exquisite work, and he dressed out a great many sideboards with silver and embossed gold. he then ordered some youths, distinguished for their handsome persons, to wait at his table, and to observe his nod, in order to serve him with what he wanted. there were ointments and garlands; perfumes were burned; tables provided with the most exquisite meats. damocles thought himself very happy. in the midst of this apparatus, dionysius ordered a bright sword to be let down from the ceiling, suspended by a single horse-hair, so as to hang over the head of that happy man. after which he neither cast his eye on those handsome waiters, nor on the well-wrought plate; nor touched any of the provisions: presently the garlands fell to pieces. at last he entreated the tyrant to give him leave to go, for that now he had no desire to be happy[ ]. does not dionysius, then, seem to have declared there can be no happiness for one who is under constant apprehensions? but it was not now in his power to return to justice, and restore his citizens their rights and privileges; for, by the indiscretion of youth, he had engaged in so many wrong steps and committed such extravagances, that, had he attempted to have returned to a right way of thinking, he must have endangered his life. xxii. yet, how desirous he was of friendship, though at the same time he dreaded the treachery of friends, appears from the story of those two pythagoreans: one of these had been security for his friend, who was condemned to die; the other, to release his security, presented himself at the time appointed for his dying: "i wish," said dionysius," you would admit me as the third in your friendship." what misery was it for him to be deprived of acquaintance, of company at his table, and of the freedom of conversation! especially for one who was a man of learning, and from his childhood acquainted with liberal arts, very fond of music, and himself a tragic poet--how good a one is not to the purpose, for i know not how it is, but in this way, more than any other, every one thinks his own performances excellent. i never as yet knew any poet (and i was very intimate with aquinius), who did not appear to himself to be very admirable. the case is this: you are pleased with your own works; i like mine. but to return to dionysius. he debarred himself from all civil and polite conversation, and spent his life among fugitives, bondmen, and barbarians; for he was persuaded that no one could be his friend who was worthy of liberty, or had the least desire of being free. xxiii. shall i not, then, prefer the life of plato and archytas, manifestly wise and learned men, to his, than which nothing can possibly be more horrid, or miserable, or detestable? i will present you with an humble and obscure mathematician of the same city, called archimedes, who lived many years after; whose tomb, overgrown with shrubs and briers, i in my quæstorship discovered, when the syracusans knew nothing of it, and even denied that there was any such thing remaining; for i remembered some verses, which i had been informed were engraved on his monument, and these set forth that on the top of the tomb there was placed a sphere with a cylinder. when i had carefully examined all the monuments (for there are a great many tombs at the gate achradinæ), i observed a small column standing out a little above the briers, with the figure of a sphere and a cylinder upon it; whereupon i immediately said to the syracusans--for there were some of their principal men with me there--that i imagined that was what i was inquiring for. several men, being sent in with scythes, cleared the way, and made an opening for us. when we could get at it, and were come near to the front of the pedestal, i found the inscription, though the latter parts of all the verses were effaced almost half away. thus one of the noblest cities of greece, and one which at one time likewise had been very celebrated for learning, had known nothing of the monument of its greatest genius, if it had not been discovered to them by a native of arpinum. but to return to the subject from which i have been digressing. who is there in the least degree acquainted with the muses, that is, with liberal knowledge, or that deals at all in learning, who would not choose to be this mathematician rather than that tyrant? if we look into their methods of living and their employments, we shall find the mind of the one strengthened and improved with tracing the deductions of reason, amused with his own ingenuity, which is the one most delicious food of the mind; the thoughts of the other engaged in continual murders and injuries, in constant fears by night and by day. now imagine a democritus, a pythagoras, and an anaxagoras; what kingdom, what riches, would you prefer to their studies and amusements? for you must necessarily look for that excellence which we are seeking for in that which is the most perfect part of man; but what is there better in man than a sagacious and good mind? the enjoyment, therefore, of that good which proceeds from that sagacious mind can alone make us happy; but virtue is the good of the mind: it follows, therefore, that a happy life depends on virtue. hence proceed all things that are beautiful, honorable, and excellent, as i said above (but this point must, i think, be treated of more at large), and they are well stored with joys. for, as it is clear that a happy life consists in perpetual and unexhausted pleasures, it follows, too, that a happy life must arise from honesty. xxiv. but that what i propose to demonstrate to you may not rest on mere words only, i must set before you the picture of something, as it were, living and moving in the world, that may dispose us more for the improvement of the understanding and real knowledge. let us, then, pitch upon some man perfectly acquainted with the most excellent arts; let us present him for awhile to our own thoughts, and figure him to our own imaginations. in the first place, he must necessarily be of an extraordinary capacity; for virtue is not easily connected with dull minds. secondly, he must have a great desire of discovering truth, from whence will arise that threefold production of the mind; one of which depends on knowing things, and explaining nature; the other, in defining what we ought to desire and what to avoid; the third, in judging of consequences and impossibilities, in which consists both subtlety in disputing and also clearness of judgment. now, with what pleasure must the mind of a wise man be affected which continually dwells in the midst of such cares and occupations as these, when he views the revolutions and motions of the whole world, and sees those innumerable stars in the heavens, which, though fixed in their places, have yet one motion in common with the whole universe, and observes the seven other stars, some higher, some lower, each maintaining their own course, while their motions, though wandering, have certain defined and appointed spaces to run through! the sight of which doubtless urged and encouraged those ancient philosophers to exercise their investigating spirit on many other things. hence arose an inquiry after the beginnings, and, as it were, seeds from which all things were produced and composed; what was the origin of every kind of thing, whether animate or inanimate, articulately speaking or mute; what occasioned their beginning and end, and by what alteration and change one thing was converted into another; whence the earth originated, and by what weights it was balanced; by what caverns the seas were supplied; by what gravity all things being carried down tend always to the middle of the world, which in any round body is the lowest place. xxv. a mind employed on such subjects, and which night and day contemplates them, contains in itself that precept of the delphic god, so as to "know itself," and to perceive its connection with the divine reason, from whence it is filled with an insatiable joy. for reflections on the power and nature of the gods raise in us a desire of imitating their eternity. nor does the mind, that sees the necessary dependences and connections that one cause has with another, think it possible that it should be itself confined to the shortness of this life. those causes, though they proceed from eternity to eternity, are governed by reason and understanding. and he who beholds them and examines them, or rather he whose view takes in all the parts and boundaries of things, with what tranquillity of mind does he look on all human affairs, and on all that is nearer him! hence proceeds the knowledge of virtue; hence arise the kinds and species of virtues; hence are discovered those things which nature regards as the bounds and extremities of good and evil; by this it is discovered to what all duties ought to be referred, and which is the most eligible manner of life. and when these and similar points have been investigated, the principal consequence which is deduced from them, and that which is our main object in this discussion, is the establishment of the point, that virtue is of itself sufficient to a happy life. the third qualification of our wise man is the next to be considered, which goes through and spreads itself over every part of wisdom; it is that whereby we define each particular thing, distinguish the genus from its species, connect consequences, draw just conclusions, and distinguish truth from falsehood, which is the very art and science of disputing; which is not only of the greatest use in the examination of what passes in the world, but is likewise the most rational entertainment, and that which is most becoming to true wisdom. such are its effects in retirement. now, let our wise man be considered as protecting the republic; what can be more excellent than such a character? by his prudence he will discover the true interests of his fellow-citizens; by his justice he will be prevented from applying what belongs to the public to his own use; and, in short, he will be ever governed by all the virtues, which are many and various. to these let us add the advantage of his friendships; in which the learned reckon not only a natural harmony and agreement of sentiments throughout the conduct of life, but the utmost pleasure and satisfaction in conversing and passing our time constantly with one another. what can be wanting to such a life as this to make it more happy than it is? fortune herself must yield to a life stored with such joys. now, if it be a happiness to rejoice in such goods of the mind, that is to say, in such virtues, and if all wise men enjoy thoroughly these pleasures, it must necessarily be granted that all such are happy. xxvi. _a._ what, when in torments and on the rack? _m._ do you imagine i am speaking of him as laid on roses and violets? is it allowable even for epicurus (who only puts on the appearance of being a philosopher, and who himself assumed that name for himself) to say (though, as matters stand, i commend him for his saying) that a wise man might at all times cry out, though he be burned, tortured, cut to pieces, "how little i regard it!" shall this be said by one who defines all evil as pain, and measures every good by pleasure; who could ridicule whatever we call either honorable or base, and could declare of us that we were employed about words, and uttering mere empty sounds; and that nothing is to be regarded by us but as it is perceived to be smooth or rough by the body? what! shall such a man as this, as i said, whose understanding is little superior to the beasts', be at liberty to forget himself; and not only to despise fortune, when the whole of his good and evil is in the power of fortune, but to say that he is happy in the most racking torture, when he had actually declared pain to be not only the greatest evil, but the only one? nor did he take any trouble to provide himself with those remedies which might have enabled him to bear pain, such as firmness of mind, a shame of doing anything base, exercise, and the habit of patience, precepts of courage, and a manly hardiness; but he says that he supports himself on the single recollection of past pleasures, as if any one, when the weather was so hot as that he was scarcely able to bear it, should comfort himself by recollecting that he was once in my country, arpinum, where he was surrounded on every side by cooling streams. for i do not apprehend how past pleasures can allay present evils. but when he says that a wise man is always happy who would have no right to say so if he were consistent with himself, what may they not do who allow nothing to be desirable, nothing to be looked on as good but what is honorable? let, then, the peripatetics and old academics follow my example, and at length leave off muttering to themselves; and openly and with a clear voice let them be bold to say that a happy life may not be inconsistent with the agonies of phalaris's bull. xxvii. but to dismiss the subtleties of the stoics, which i am sensible i have employed more than was necessary, let us admit of three kinds of goods; and let them really be kinds of goods, provided no regard is had to the body and to external circumstances, as entitled to the appellation of good in any other sense than because we are obliged to use them: but let those other divine goods spread themselves far in every direction, and reach the very heavens. why, then, may i not call him happy, nay, the happiest of men, who has attained them? shall a wise man be afraid of pain? which is, indeed, the greatest enemy to our opinion. for i am persuaded that we are prepared and fortified sufficiently, by the disputations of the foregoing days, against our own death or that of our friends, against grief, and the other perturbations of the mind. but pain seems to be the sharpest adversary of virtue; that it is which menaces us with burning torches; that it is which threatens to crush our fortitude, and greatness of mind, and patience. shall virtue, then, yield to this? shall the happy life of a wise and consistent man succumb to this? good. gods! how base would this be! spartan boys will bear to have their bodies torn by rods without uttering a groan. i myself have seen at lacedæmon troops of young men, with incredible earnestness contending together with their hands and feet, with their teeth and nails, nay, even ready to expire, rather than own themselves conquered. is any country of barbarians more uncivilized or desolate than india? yet they have among them some that are held for wise men, who never wear any clothes all their life long, and who bear the snow of caucasus, and the piercing cold of winter, without any pain; and who if they come in contact with fire endure being burned without a groan. the women, too, in india, on the death of their husbands have a regular contest, and apply to the judge to have it determined which of them was best beloved by him; for it is customary there for one man to have many wives. she in whose favor it is determined exults greatly, and being attended by her relations, is laid on the funeral pile with her husband; the others, who are postponed, walk away very much dejected. custom can never be superior to nature, for nature is never to be got the better of. but our minds are infected by sloth and idleness, and luxury, and languor, and indolence: we have enervated them by opinions and bad customs. who is there who is unacquainted with the customs of the egyptians? their minds being tainted by pernicious opinions, they are ready to bear any torture rather than hurt an ibis, a snake, a cat, a dog, or a crocodile; and should any one inadvertently have hurt any of these animals, he will submit to any punishment. i am speaking of men only. as to the beasts, do they not bear cold and hunger, running about in woods, and on mountains and deserts? will they not fight for their young ones till they are wounded? are they afraid of any attacks or blows? i mention not what the ambitious will suffer for honor's sake, or those who are desirous of praise on account of glory, or lovers to gratify their lust. life is full of such instances. xxviii. but let us not dwell too much on these questions, but rather let us return to our subject. i say, and say again, that happiness will submit even to be tormented; and that in pursuit of justice, and temperance, and still more especially and principally fortitude, and greatness of soul, and patience, it will not stop short at sight of the executioner; and when all other virtues proceed calmly to the torture, that one will never halt, as i said, on the outside and threshold of the prison; for what can be baser, what can carry a worse appearance, than to be left alone, separated from those beautiful attendants? not, however, that this is by any means possible; for neither can the virtues hold together without happiness, nor happiness without the virtues; so that they will not suffer her to desert them, but will carry her along with them, to whatever torments, to whatever pain they are led. for it is the peculiar quality of a wise man to do nothing that he may repent of, nothing against his inclination, but always to act nobly, with constancy, gravity, and honesty; to depend on nothing as certainty; to wonder at nothing, when it falls out, as if it appeared strange and unexpected to him; to be independent of every one, and abide by his own opinion. for my part, i cannot form an idea of anything happier than this. the conclusion of the stoics is indeed easy; for since they are persuaded that the end of good is to live agreeably to nature, and to be consistent with that--as a wise man should do so, not only because it is his duty, but because it is in his power--it must, of course, follow that whoever has the chief good in his power has his happiness so too. and thus the life of a wise man is always happy. you have here what i think may be confidently said of a happy life; and as things now stand, very truly also, unless you can advance something better. xxix. _a._ indeed i cannot; but i should be glad to prevail on you, unless it is troublesome (as you are under no confinement from obligations to any particular sect, but gather from all of them whatever strikes you most as having the appearance of probability), as you just now seemed to advise the peripatetics and the old academy boldly to speak out without reserve, "that wise men are always the happiest"--i should be glad to hear how you think it consistent for them to say so, when you have said so much against that opinion, and the conclusions of the stoics. _m._ i will make use, then, of that liberty which no one has the privilege of using in philosophy but those of our school, whose discourses determine nothing, but take in everything, leaving them unsupported by the authority of any particular person, to be judged of by others, according to their weight. and as you seem desirous of knowing how it is that, notwithstanding the different opinions of philosophers with regard to the ends of goods, virtue has still sufficient security for the effecting of a happy life--which security, as we are informed, carneades used indeed to dispute against; but he disputed as against the stoics, whose opinions he combated with great zeal and vehemence. i, however, shall handle the question with more temper; for if the stoics have rightly settled the _ends_ of goods, the affair is at an end; for a wise man must necessarily be always happy. but let us examine, if we can, the particular opinions of the others, that so this excellent decision, if i may so call it, in favor of a happy life, may be agreeable to the opinions and discipline of all. xxx. these, then, are the opinions, as i think, that are held and defended--the first four are simple ones: "that nothing is good but what is honest," according to the stoics; "nothing good but pleasure," as epicurus maintains; "nothing good but a freedom from pain," as hieronymus[ ] asserts; "nothing good but an enjoyment of the principal, or all, or the greatest goods of nature," as carneades maintained against the stoics--these are simple, the others are mixed propositions. then there are three kinds of goods: the greatest being those of the mind; the next best those of the body; the third are external goods, as the peripatetics call them, and the old academics differ very little from them. dinomachus[ ] and callipho[ ] have coupled pleasure with honesty; but diodorus[ ] the peripatetic has joined indolence to honesty. these are the opinions that have some footing; for those of aristo,[ ] pyrrho,[ ] herillus,[ ] and of some others, are quite out of date. now let us see what weight these men have in them, excepting the stoics, whose opinion i think i have sufficiently defended; and indeed i have explained what the peripatetics have to say; excepting that theophrastus, and those who followed him, dread and abhor pain in too weak a manner. the others may go on to exaggerate the gravity and dignity of virtue, as usual; and then, after they have extolled it to the skies, with the usual extravagance of good orators, it is easy to reduce the other topics to nothing by comparison, and to hold them up to contempt. they who think that praise deserves to be sought after, even at the expense of pain, are not at liberty to deny those men to be happy who have obtained it. though they may be under some evils, yet this name of happy has a very wide application. xxxi. for even as trading is said to be lucrative, and farming advantageous, not because the one never meets with any loss, nor the other with any damage from the inclemency of the weather, but because they succeed in general; so life may be properly called happy, not from its being entirely made up of good things, but because it abounds with these to a great and considerable degree. by this way of reasoning, then, a happy life may attend virtue even to the moment of execution; nay, may descend with her into phalaris's bull, according to aristotle, xenocrates, speusippus, polemon; and will not be gained over by any allurements to forsake her. of the same opinion will calliphon and diodorus be; for they are both of them such friends to virtue as to think that all things should be discarded and far removed that are incompatible with it. the rest seem to be more hampered with these doctrines, but yet they get clear of them; such as epicurus, hieronymus, and whoever else thinks it worth while to defend the deserted carneades: for there is not one of them who does not think the mind to be judge of those goods, and able sufficiently to instruct him how to despise what has the appearance only of good or evil. for what seems to you to be the case with epicurus is the case also with hieronymus and carneades, and, indeed, with all the rest of them; for who is there who is not sufficiently prepared against death and pain? i will begin, with your leave, with him whom we call soft and voluptuous. what! does he seem, to you to be afraid of death or pain when he calls the day of his death happy; and who, when he is afflicted by the greatest pains, silences them all by recollecting arguments of his own discovering? and this is not done in such a manner as to give room for imagining that he talks thus wildly from some sudden impulse; but his opinion of death is, that on the dissolution of the animal all sense is lost; and what is deprived of sense is, as he thinks, what we have no concern at all with. and as to pain, too, he has certain rules to follow then: if it be great, the comfort is that it must be short; if it be of long continuance, then it must be supportable. what, then? do those grandiloquent gentlemen state anything better than epicurus in opposition to these two things which distress us the most? and as to other things, do not epicurus and the rest of the philosophers seem sufficiently prepared? who is there who does not dread poverty? and yet no true philosopher ever can dread it. xxxii. but with how little is this man himself satisfied! no one has said more on frugality. for when a man is far removed from those things which occasion a desire of money, from love, ambition, or other daily extravagance, why should he be fond of money, or concern himself at all about it? could the scythian anacharsis[ ] disregard money, and shall not our philosophers be able to do so? we are informed of an epistle of his in these words: "anacharsis to hanno, greeting. my clothing is the same as that with which the scythians cover themselves; the hardness of my feet supplies the want of shoes; the ground is my bed, hunger my sauce, my food milk, cheese, and flesh. so you may come to me as to a man in want of nothing. but as to those presents you take so much pleasure in, you may dispose of them to your own citizens, or to the immortal gods." and almost all philosophers, of all schools, excepting those who are warped from right reason by a vicious disposition, might have been of this same opinion. socrates, when on one occasion he saw a great quantity of gold and silver carried in a procession, cried out, "how many things are there which i do not want!" xenocrates, when some ambassadors from alexander had brought him fifty talents, which was a very large sum of money in those times, especially at athens, carried the ambassadors to sup in the academy, and placed just a sufficiency before them, without any apparatus. when they asked him, the next day, to whom he wished the money which they had for him to be paid: "what!" said he, "did you not perceive by our slight repast of yesterday that i had no occasion for money?" but when he perceived that they were somewhat dejected, he accepted of thirty minas, that he might not seem to treat with disrespect the king's generosity. but diogenes took a greater liberty, like a cynic, when alexander asked him if he wanted anything: "just at present," said he, "i wish that you would stand a little out of the line between me and the sun," for alexander was hindering him from sunning himself. and, indeed, this very man used to maintain how much he surpassed the persian king in his manner of life and fortune; for that he himself was in want of nothing, while the other never had enough; and that he had no inclination for those pleasures of which the other could never get enough to satisfy himself; and that the other could never obtain his. xxxiii. you see, i imagine, how epicurus has divided his kinds of desires, not very acutely perhaps, but yet usefully: saying that they are "partly natural and necessary; partly natural, but not necessary; partly neither. that those which are necessary may be supplied almost for nothing; for that the things which nature requires are easily obtained." as to the second kind of desires, his opinion is that any one may easily either enjoy or go without them. and with regard to the third, since they are utterly frivolous, being neither allied to necessity nor nature, he thinks that they should be entirely rooted out. on this topic a great many arguments are adduced by the epicureans; and those pleasures which they do not despise in a body, they disparage one by one, and seem rather for lessening the number of them; for as to wanton pleasures, on which subject they say a great deal, these, say they, are easy, common, and within any one's reach; and they think that if nature requires them, they are not to be estimated by birth, condition, or rank, but by shape, age, and person: and that it is by no means difficult to refrain from them, should health, duty, or reputation require it; but that pleasures of this kind may be desirable, where they are attended with no inconvenience, but can never be of any use. and the assertions which epicurus makes with respect to the whole of pleasure are such as show his opinion to be that pleasure is always desirable, and to be pursued merely because it is pleasure; and for the same reason pain is to be avoided, because it is pain. so that a wise man will always adopt such a system of counterbalancing as to do himself the justice to avoid pleasure, should pain ensue from it in too great a proportion; and will submit to pain, provided the effects of it are to produce a greater pleasure: so that all pleasurable things, though the corporeal senses are the judges of them, are still to be referred to the mind, on which account the body rejoices while it perceives a present pleasure; but that the mind not only perceives the present as well as the body, but foresees it while it is coming, and even when it is past will not let it quite slip away. so that a wise man enjoys a continual series of pleasures, uniting the expectation of future pleasure to the recollection of what he has already tasted. the like notions are applied by them to high living; and the magnificence and expensiveness of entertainments are deprecated, because nature is satisfied at a small expense. xxxiv. for who does not see this, that an appetite is the best sauce? when darius, in his flight from the enemy, had drunk some water which was muddy and tainted with dead bodies, he declared that he had never drunk anything more pleasant; the fact was, that he had never drunk before when he was thirsty. nor had ptolemy ever eaten when he was hungry; for as he was travelling over egypt, his company not keeping up with him, he had some coarse bread presented him in a cottage, upon which he said, "nothing ever seemed to him pleasanter than that bread." they relate, too, of socrates, that, once when he was walking very fast till the evening, on his being asked why he did so, his reply was that he was purchasing an appetite by walking, that he might sup the better. and do we not see what the lacedæmonians provide in their phiditia? where the tyrant dionysius supped, but told them he did not at all like that black broth, which was their principal dish; on which he who dressed it said, "it was no wonder, for it wanted seasoning." dionysius asked what that seasoning was; to which it was replied, "fatigue in hunting, sweating, a race on the banks of eurotas, hunger and thirst," for these are the seasonings to the lacedæmonian banquets. and this may not only be conceived from the custom of men, but from the beasts, who are satisfied with anything that is thrown before them, provided it is not unnatural, and they seek no farther. some entire cities, taught by custom, delight in parsimony, as i said but just now of the lacedæmonians. xenophon has given an account of the persian diet, who never, as he saith, use anything but cresses with their bread; not but that, should nature require anything more agreeable, many things might be easily supplied by the ground, and plants in great abundance, and of incomparable sweetness. add to this strength and health, as the consequence of this abstemious way of living. now, compare with this those who sweat and belch, being crammed with eating, like fatted oxen; then will you perceive that they who pursue pleasure most attain it least; and that the pleasure of eating lies not in satiety, but appetite. xxxv. they report of timotheus, a famous man at athens, and the head of the city, that having supped with plato, and being extremely delighted with his entertainment, on seeing him the next day, he said, "your suppers are not only agreeable while i partake of them, but the next day also." besides, the understanding is impaired when we are full with overeating and drinking. there is an excellent epistle of plato to dion's relations, in which there occurs as nearly as possible these words: "when i came there, that happy life so much talked of, devoted to italian and syracusan entertainments, was noways agreeable to me; to be crammed twice a day, and never to have the night to yourself, and the other things which are the accompaniments of this kind of life, by which a man will never be made the wiser, but will be rendered much less temperate; for it must be an extraordinary disposition that can be temperate in such circumstances." how, then, can a life be pleasant without prudence and temperance? hence you discover the mistake of sardanapalus, the wealthiest king of the assyrians, who ordered it to be engraved on his tomb, i still have what in food i did exhaust; but what i left, though excellent, is lost. "what less than this," says aristotle, "could be inscribed on the tomb, not of a king, but an ox?" he said that he possessed those things when dead, which, in his lifetime, he could have no longer than while he was enjoying them. why, then, are riches desired? and wherein doth poverty prevent us from being happy? in the want, i imagine, of statues, pictures, and diversions. but if any one is delighted with these things, have not the poor people the enjoyment of them more than they who are the owners of them in the greatest abundance? for we have great numbers of them displayed publicly in our city. and whatever store of them private people have, they cannot have a great number, and they but seldom see them, only when they go to their country seats; and some of them must be stung to the heart when they consider how they came by them. the day would fail me, should i be inclined to defend the cause of poverty. the thing is manifest; and nature daily informs us how few things there are, and how trifling they are, of which she really stands in need. xxxvi. let us inquire, then, if obscurity, the want of power, or even the being unpopular, can prevent a wise man from being happy. observe if popular favor, and this glory which they are so fond of, be not attended with more uneasiness than pleasure. our friend demosthenes was certainly very weak in declaring himself pleased with the whisper of a woman who was carrying water, as is the custom in greece, and who whispered to another, "that is he--that is demosthenes." what could be weaker than this? and yet what an orator he was! but although he had learned to speak to others, he had conversed but little with himself. we may perceive, therefore, that popular glory is not desirable of itself; nor is obscurity to be dreaded. "i came to athens," saith democritus, "and there was no one there that knew me:" this was a moderate and grave man who could glory in his obscurity. shall musicians compose their tunes to their own tastes? and shall a philosopher, master of a much better art, seek to ascertain, not what is most true, but what will please the people? can anything be more absurd than to despise the vulgar as mere unpolished mechanics, taken singly, and to think them of consequence when collected into a body? these wise men would contemn our ambitious pursuits and our vanities, and would reject all the honors which the people could voluntarily offer to them; but we know not how to despise them till we begin to repent of having accepted them. there is an anecdote related by heraclitus, the natural philosopher, of hermodorus, the chief of the ephesians, that he said "that all the ephesians ought to be punished with death for saying, when they had expelled hermodorus out of their city, that they would have no one among them better than another; but that if there were any such, he might go elsewhere to some other people." is not this the case with the people everywhere? do they not hate every virtue that distinguishes itself? what! was not aristides (i had rather instance in the greeks than ourselves) banished his country for being eminently just? what troubles, then, are they free from who have no connection whatever with the people? what is more agreeable than a learned retirement? i speak of that learning which makes us acquainted with the boundless extent of nature and the universe, and which even while we remain in this world discovers to us both heaven, earth, and sea. xxxvii. if, then, honor and riches have no value, what is there else to be afraid of? banishment, i suppose; which is looked on as the greatest evil. now, if the evil of banishment proceeds not from ourselves, but from the froward disposition of the people, i have just now declared how contemptible it is. but if to leave one's country be miserable, the provinces are full of miserable men, very few of the settlers in which ever return to their country again. but exiles are deprived of their property! what, then! has there not been enough said on bearing poverty? but with regard to banishment, if we examine the nature of things, not the ignominy of the name, how little does it differ from constant travelling! in which some of the most famous philosophers have spent their whole life, as xenocrates, crantor, arcesilas, lacydes, aristotle, theophrastus, zeno, cleanthes, chrysippus, antipater, carneades, panætius, clitomachus, philo, antiochus, posidonius, and innumerable others, who from their first setting-out never returned home again. now, what ignominy can a wise man be affected with (for it is of such a one that i am speaking) who can be guilty of nothing which deserves it? for there is no occasion to comfort one who is banished for his deserts. lastly, they can easily reconcile themselves to every accident who measure all their objects and pursuits in life by the standard of pleasure; so that in whatever place that is supplied, there they may live happily. thus what teucer said may be applied to every case: "wherever i am happy is my country." socrates, indeed, when he was asked where he belonged to, replied, "the world;" for he looked upon himself as a citizen and inhabitant of the whole world. how was it with t. altibutius? did he not follow his philosophical studies with the greatest satisfaction at athens, although he was banished? which, however, would not have happened to him if he had obeyed the laws of epicurus and lived peaceably in the republic. in what was epicurus happier, living in his own country, than metrodorus, who lived at athens? or did plato's happiness exceed that of xenocrates, or polemo, or arcesilas? or is that city to be valued much that banishes all her good and wise men? demaratus, the father of our king tarquin, not being able to bear the tyrant cypselus, fled from corinth to tarquinii, settled there, and had children. was it, then, an unwise act in him to prefer the liberty of banishment to slavery at home? xxxviii. besides the emotions of the mind, all griefs and anxieties are assuaged by forgetting them, and turning our thoughts to pleasure. therefore, it was not without reason that epicurus presumed to say that a wise man abounds with good things, because he may always have his pleasures; from whence it follows, as he thinks, that that point is gained which is the subject of our present inquiry, that a wise man is always happy. what! though he should be deprived of the senses of seeing and hearing? yes; for he holds those things very cheap. for, in the first place, what are the pleasures of which we are deprived by that dreadful thing, blindness? for though they allow other pleasures to be confined to the senses, yet the things which are perceived by the sight do not depend wholly on the pleasure the eyes receive; as is the case when we taste, smell, touch, or hear; for, in respect of all these senses, the organs themselves are the seat of pleasure; but it is not so with the eyes. for it is the mind which is entertained by what we see; but the mind may be entertained in many ways, even though we could not see at all. i am speaking of a learned and a wise man, with whom to think is to live. but thinking in the case of a wise man does not altogether require the use of his eyes in his investigations; for if night does not strip him of his happiness, why should blindness, which resembles night, have that effect? for the reply of antipater the cyrenaic to some women who bewailed his being blind, though it is a little too obscene, is not without its significance. "what do you mean?" saith he; "do you think the night can furnish no pleasure?" and we find by his magistracies and his actions that old appius,[ ] too, who was blind for many years, was not prevented from doing whatever was required of him with respect either to the republic or his own affairs. it is said that c. drusus's house was crowded with clients. when they whose business it was could not see how to conduct themselves, they applied to a blind guide. xxxix. when i was a boy, cn. aufidius, a blind man, who had served the office of prætor, not only gave his opinion in the senate, and was ready to assist his friends, but wrote a greek history, and had a considerable acquaintance with literature. diodorus the stoic was blind, and lived many years at my house. he, indeed, which is scarcely credible, besides applying himself more than usual to philosophy, and playing on the flute, agreeably to the custom of the pythagoreans, and having books read to him night and day, in all which he did not want eyes, contrived to teach geometry, which, one would think, could hardly be done without the assistance of eyes, telling his scholars how and where to draw every line. they relate of asclepiades, a native of eretria, and no obscure philosopher, when some one asked him what inconvenience he suffered from his blindness, that his reply was, "he was at the expense of another servant." so that, as the most extreme poverty may be borne if you please, as is daily the case with some in greece, so blindness may easily be borne, provided you have the support of good health in other respects. democritus was so blind he could not distinguish white from black; but he knew the difference between good and evil, just and unjust, honorable and base, the useful and useless, great and small. thus one may live happily without distinguishing colors; but without acquainting yourself with things, you cannot; and this man was of opinion that the intense application of the mind was taken off by the objects that presented themselves to the eye; and while others often could not see what was before their feet, he travelled through all infinity. it is reported also that homer[ ] was blind, but we observe his painting as well as his poetry. what country, what coast, what part of greece, what military attacks, what dispositions of battle, what array, what ship, what motions of men and animals, can be mentioned which he has not described in such a manner as to enable us to see what he could not see himself? what, then! can we imagine that homer, or any other learned man, has ever been in want of pleasure and entertainment for his mind? were it not so, would anaxagoras, or this very democritus, have left their estates and patrimonies, and given themselves up to the pursuit of acquiring this divine pleasure? it is thus that the poets who have represented tiresias the augur as a wise man and blind never exhibit him as bewailing his blindness. and homer, too, after he had described polyphemus as a monster and a wild man, represents him talking with his ram, and speaking of his good fortune, inasmuch as he could go wherever he pleased and touch what he would. and so far he was right, for that cyclops was a being of not much more understanding than his ram. xl. now, as to the evil of being deaf. m. crassus was a little thick of hearing; but it was more uneasiness to him that he heard himself ill spoken of, though, in my opinion, he did not deserve it. our epicureans cannot understand greek, nor the greeks latin: now, they are deaf reciprocally as to each other's language, and we are all truly deaf with regard to those innumerable languages which we do not understand. they do not hear the voice of the harper; but, then, they do not hear the grating of a saw when it is setting, or the grunting of a hog when his throat is being cut, nor the roaring of the sea when they are desirous of rest. and if they should chance to be fond of singing, they ought, in the first place, to consider that many wise men lived happily before music was discovered; besides, they may have more pleasure in reading verses than in hearing them sung. then, as i before referred the blind to the pleasures of hearing, so i may the deaf to the pleasures of sight: moreover, whoever can converse with himself doth not need the conversation of another. but suppose all these misfortunes to meet in one person: suppose him blind and deaf--let him be afflicted with the sharpest pains of body, which, in the first place, generally of themselves make an end of him; still, should they continue so long, and the pain be so exquisite, that we should be unable to assign any reason for our being so afflicted--still, why, good gods! should we be under any difficulty? for there is a retreat at hand: death is that retreat--a shelter where we shall forever be insensible. theodorus said to lysimachus, who threatened him with death, "it is a great matter, indeed, for you to have acquired the power of a spanish fly!" when perses entreated paulus not to lead him in triumph, "that is a matter which you have in your own power," said paulus. i said many things about death in our first day's disputation, when death was the subject; and not a little the next day, when i treated of pain; which things if you recollect, there can be no danger of your looking upon death as undesirable, or, at least, it will not be dreadful. that custom which is common among the grecians at their banquets should, in my opinion, be observed in life: drink, say they, or leave the company; and rightly enough; for a guest should either enjoy the pleasure of drinking with others, or else not stay till he meets with affronts from those that are in liquor. thus, those injuries of fortune which you cannot bear you should flee from. xli. this is the very same which is said by epicurus and hieronymus. now, if those philosophers, whose opinion it is that virtue has no power of itself, and who say that the conduct which we denominate honorable and laudable is really nothing, and is only an empty circumstance set off with an unmeaning sound, can nevertheless maintain that a wise man is always happy, what, think you, may be done by the socratic and platonic philosophers? some of these allow such superiority to the goods of the mind as quite to eclipse what concerns the body and all external circumstances. but others do not admit these to be goods; they make everything depend on the mind: whose disputes carneades used, as a sort of honorary arbitrator, to determine. for, as what seemed goods to the peripatetics were allowed to be advantages by the stoics, and as the peripatetics allowed no more to riches, good health; and other things of that sort than the stoics, when these things were considered according to their reality, and not by mere names, his opinion was that there was no ground for disagreeing. therefore, let the philosophers of other schools see how they can establish this point also. it is very agreeable to me that they make some professions worthy of being uttered by the mouth of a philosopher with regard to a wise man's having always the means of living happily. xlii. but as we are to depart in the morning, let us remember these five days' discussions; though, indeed, i think i shall commit them to writing: for how can i better employ the leisure which i have, of whatever kind it is, and whatever it be owing to? and i will send these five books also to my friend brutus, by whom i was not only incited to write on philosophy, but, i may say, provoked. and by so doing it is not easy to say what service i may be of to others. at all events, in my own various and acute afflictions, which surround me on all sides, i cannot find any better comfort for myself. the nature of the gods. * * * * * book i. i. there are many things in philosophy, my dear brutus, which are not as yet fully explained to us, and particularly (as you very well know) that most obscure and difficult question concerning the nature of the gods, so extremely necessary both towards a knowledge of the human mind and the practice of true religion: concerning which the opinions of men are so various, and so different from each other, as to lead strongly to the inference that ignorance[ ] is the cause, or origin, of philosophy, and that the academic philosophers have been prudent in refusing their assent to things uncertain: for what is more unbecoming to a wise man than to judge rashly? or what rashness is so unworthy of the gravity and stability of a philosopher as either to maintain false opinions, or, without the least hesitation, to support and defend what he has not thoroughly examined and does not clearly comprehend? in the question now before us, the greater part of mankind have united to acknowledge that which is most probable, and which we are all by nature led to suppose, namely, that there are gods. protagoras[ ] doubted whether there were any. diagoras the melian and theodorus of cyrene entirely believed there were no such beings. but they who have affirmed that there are gods, have expressed such a variety of sentiments on the subject, and the disagreement between them is so great, that it would be tiresome to enumerate their opinions; for they give us many statements respecting the forms of the gods, and their places of abode, and the employment of their lives. and these are matters on which the philosophers differ with the most exceeding earnestness. but the most considerable part of the dispute is, whether they are wholly inactive, totally unemployed, and free from all care and administration of affairs; or, on the contrary, whether all things were made and constituted by them from the beginning; and whether they will continue to be actuated and governed by them to eternity. this is one of the greatest points in debate; and unless this is decided, mankind must necessarily remain in the greatest of errors, and ignorant of what is most important to be known. ii. for there are some philosophers, both ancient and modern, who have conceived that the gods take not the least cognizance of human affairs. but if their doctrine be true, of what avail is piety, sanctity, or religion? for these are feelings and marks of devotion which are offered to the gods by men with uprightness and holiness, on the ground that men are the objects of the attention of the gods, and that many benefits are conferred by the immortal gods on the human race. but if the gods have neither the power nor the inclination to help us; if they take no care of us, and pay no regard to our actions; and if there is no single advantage which can possibly accrue to the life of man; then what reason can we have to pay any adoration, or any honors, or to prefer any prayers to them? piety, like the other virtues, cannot have any connection with vain show or dissimulation; and without piety, neither sanctity nor religion can be supported; the total subversion of which must be attended with great confusion and disturbance in life. i do not even know, if we cast off piety towards the gods, but that faith, and all the associations of human life, and that most excellent of all virtues, justice, may perish with it. there are other philosophers, and those, too, very great and illustrious men, who conceive the whole world to be directed and governed by the will and wisdom of the gods; nor do they stop here, but conceive likewise that the deities consult and provide for the preservation of mankind. for they think that the fruits, and the produce of the earth, and the seasons, and the variety of weather, and the change of climates, by which all the productions of the earth are brought to maturity, are designed by the immortal gods for the use of man. they instance many other things, which shall be related in these books; and which would almost induce us to believe that the immortal gods had made them all expressly and solely for the benefit and advantage of men. against these opinions carneades has advanced so much that what he has said should excite a desire in men who are not naturally slothful to search after truth; for there is no subject on which the learned as well as the unlearned differ so strenuously as in this; and since their opinions are so various, and so repugnant one to another, it is possible that none of them may be, and absolutely impossible that more than one should be, right. iii. now, in a cause like this, i may be able to pacify well-meaning opposers, and to confute invidious censurers, so as to induce the latter to repent of their unreasonable contradiction, and the former to be glad to learn; for they who admonish one in a friendly spirit should be instructed, they who attack one like enemies should be repelled. but i observe that the several books which i have lately published[ ] have occasioned much noise and various discourse about them; some people wondering what the reason has been why i have applied myself so suddenly to the study of philosophy, and others desirous of knowing what my opinion is on such subjects. i likewise perceive that many people wonder at my following that philosophy[ ] chiefly which seems to take away the light, and to bury and envelop things in a kind of artificial night, and that i should so unexpectedly have taken up the defence of a school that has been long neglected and forsaken. but it is a mistake to suppose that this application to philosophical studies has been sudden on my part. i have applied myself to them from my youth, at no small expense of time and trouble; and i have been in the habit of philosophizing a great deal when i least seemed to think about it; for the truth of which i appeal to my orations, which are filled with quotations from philosophers, and to my intimacy with those very learned men who frequented my house and conversed daily with me, particularly diodorus, philo, antiochus, and posidonius,[ ] under whom i was bred; and if all the precepts of philosophy are to have reference to the conduct of life, i am inclined to think that i have advanced, both in public and private affairs, only such principles as may be supported by reason and authority. iv. but if any one should ask what has induced me, in the decline of life, to write on these subjects, nothing is more easily answered; for when i found myself entirely disengaged from business, and the commonwealth reduced to the necessity of being governed by the direction and care of one man,[ ] i thought it becoming, for the sake of the public, to instruct my countrymen in philosophy, and that it would be of importance, and much to the honor and commendation of our city, to have such great and excellent subjects introduced in the latin tongue. i the less repent of my undertaking, since i plainly see that i have excited in many a desire, not only of learning, but of writing; for we have had several romans well grounded in the learning of the greeks who were unable to communicate to their countrymen what they had learned, because they looked upon it as impossible to express that in latin which they had received from the greeks. in this point i think i have succeeded so well that what i have done is not, even in copiousness of expression, inferior to that language. another inducement to it was a melancholy disposition of mind, and the great and heavy oppression of fortune that was upon me; from which, if i could have found any surer remedy, i would not have sought relief in this pursuit. but i could procure ease by no means better than by not only applying myself to books, but by devoting myself to the examination of the whole body of philosophy. and every part and branch of this is readily discovered when every question is propounded in writing; for there is such an admirable continuation and series of things that each seems connected with the other, and all appear linked together and united. v. now, those men who desire to know my own private opinion on every particular subject have more curiosity than is necessary. for the force of reason in disputation is to be sought after rather than authority, since the authority of the teacher is often a disadvantage to those who are willing to learn; as they refuse to use their own judgment, and rely implicitly on him whom they make choice of for a preceptor. nor could i ever approve this custom of the pythagoreans, who, when they affirmed anything in disputation, and were asked why it was so, used to give this answer: "he himself has said it;" and this "he himself," it seems, was pythagoras. such was the force of prejudice and opinion that his authority was to prevail even without argument or reason. they who wonder at my being a follower of this sect in particular may find a satisfactory answer in my four books of academical questions. but i deny that i have undertaken the protection of what is neglected and forsaken; for the opinions of men do not die with them, though they may perhaps want the author's explanation. this manner of philosophizing, of disputing all things and assuming nothing certainly, was begun by socrates, revived by arcesilaus, confirmed by carneades, and has descended, with all its power, even to the present age; but i am informed that it is now almost exploded even in greece. however, i do not impute that to any fault in the institution of the academy, but to the negligence of mankind. if it is difficult to know all the doctrines of any one sect, how much more is it to know those of every sect! which, however, must necessarily be known to those who resolve, for the sake of discovering truth, to dispute for or against all philosophers without partiality. i do not profess myself to be master of this difficult and noble faculty; but i do assert that i have endeavored to make myself so; and it is impossible that they who choose this manner of philosophizing should not meet at least with something worthy their pursuit. i have spoken more fully on this head in another place. but as some are too slow of apprehension, and some too careless, men stand in perpetual need of caution. for we are not people who believe that there is nothing whatever which is true; but we say that some falsehoods are so blended with all truths, and have so great a resemblance to them, that there is no certain rule for judging of or assenting to propositions; from which this maxim also follows, that many things are probable, which, though they are not evident to the senses, have still so persuasive and beautiful an aspect that a wise man chooses to direct his conduct by them. vi. now, to free myself from the reproach of partiality, i propose to lay before you the opinions of various philosophers concerning the nature of the gods, by which means all men may judge which of them are consistent with truth; and if all agree together, or if any one shall be found to have discovered what may be absolutely called truth, i will then give up the academy as vain and arrogant. so i may cry out, in the words of statius, in the synephebi, ye gods, i call upon, require, pray, beseech, entreat, and implore the attention of my countrymen all, both young and old; yet not on so trifling an occasion as when the person in the play complains that, in this city we have discovered a most flagrant iniquity: here is a professed courtesan, who refuses money from her lover; but that they may attend, know, and consider what sentiments they ought to preserve concerning religion, piety, sanctity, ceremonies, faith, oaths, temples, shrines, and solemn sacrifices; what they ought to think of the auspices over which i preside;[ ] for all these have relation to the present question. the manifest disagreement among the most learned on this subject creates doubts in those who imagine they have some certain knowledge of the subject. which fact i have often taken notice of elsewhere, and i did so more especially at the discussion that was held at my friend c. cotta's concerning the immortal gods, and which was carried on with the greatest care, accuracy, and precision; for coming to him at the time of the latin holidays,[ ] according to his own invitation and message from him, i found him sitting in his study,[ ] and in a discourse with c. velleius, the senator, who was then reputed by the epicureans the ablest of our countrymen. q. lucilius balbus was likewise there, a great proficient in the doctrine of the stoics, and esteemed equal to the most eminent of the greeks in that part of knowledge. as soon as cotta saw me, you are come, says he, very seasonably; for i am having a dispute with velleius on an important subject, which, considering the nature of your studies, is not improper for you to join in. vii. indeed, says i, i think i am come very seasonably, as you say; for here are three chiefs of three principal sects met together. if m. piso[ ] was present, no sect of philosophy that is in any esteem would want an advocate. if antiochus's book, replies cotta, which he lately sent to balbus, says true, you have no occasion to wish for your friend piso; for antiochus is of the opinion that the stoics do not differ from the peripatetics in fact, though they do in words; and i should be glad to know what you think of that book, balbus. i? says he. i wonder that antiochus, a man of the clearest apprehension, should not see what a vast difference there is between the stoics, who distinguish the honest and the profitable, not only in name, but absolutely in kind, and the peripatetics, who blend the honest with the profitable in such a manner that they differ only in degrees and proportion, and not in kind. this is not a little difference in words, but a great one in things; but of this hereafter. now, if you think fit, let us return to what we began with. with all my heart, says cotta. but that this visitor (looking at me), who is just come in, may not be ignorant of what we are upon, i will inform him that we were discoursing on the nature of the gods; concerning which, as it is a subject that always appeared very obscure to me, i prevailed on velleius to give us the sentiments of epicurus. therefore, continues he, if it is not troublesome, velleius, repeat what you have already stated to us. i will, says he, though this new-comer will be no advocate for me, but for you; for you have both, adds he, with a smile, learned from the same philo to be certain of nothing.[ ] what we have learned from him, replied i, cotta will discover; but i would not have you think i am come as an assistant to him, but as an auditor, with an impartial and unbiassed mind, and not bound by any obligation to defend any particular principle, whether i like or dislike it. viii. after this, velleius, with the confidence peculiar to his sect, dreading nothing so much as to seem to doubt of anything, began as if he had just then descended from the council of the gods, and epicurus's intervals of worlds. do not attend, says he, to these idle and imaginary tales; nor to the operator and builder of the world, the god of plato's timæus; nor to the old prophetic dame, the [greek: pronoia] of the stoics, which the latins call providence; nor to that round, that burning, revolving deity, the world, endowed with sense and understanding; the prodigies and wonders, not of inquisitive philosophers, but of dreamers! for with what eyes of the mind was your plato able to see that workhouse of such stupendous toil, in which he makes the world to be modelled and built by god? what materials, what tools, what bars, what machines, what servants, were employed in so vast a work? how could the air, fire, water, and earth pay obedience and submit to the will of the architect? from whence arose those five forms,[ ] of which the rest were composed, so aptly contributing to frame the mind and produce the senses? it is tedious to go through all, as they are of such a sort that they look more like things to be desired than to be discovered. but, what is more remarkable, he gives us a world which has been not only created, but, if i may so say, in a manner formed with hands, and yet he says it is eternal. do you conceive him to have the least skill in natural philosophy who is capable of thinking anything to be everlasting that had a beginning? for what can possibly ever have been put together which cannot be dissolved again? or what is there that had a beginning which will not have an end? if your providence, lucilius, is the same as plato's god, i ask you, as before, who were the assistants, what were the engines, what was the plan and preparation of the whole work? if it is not the same, then why did she make the world mortal, and not everlasting, like plato's god? ix. but i would demand of you both, why these world-builders started up so suddenly, and lay dormant for so many ages? for we are not to conclude that, if there was no world, there were therefore no ages. i do not now speak of such ages as are finished by a certain number of days and nights in annual courses; for i acknowledge that those could not be without the revolution of the world; but there was a certain eternity from infinite time, not measured by any circumscription of seasons; but how that was in space we cannot understand, because we cannot possibly have even the slightest idea of time before time was. i desire, therefore, to know, balbus, why this providence of yours was idle for such an immense space of time? did she avoid labor? but that could have no effect on the deity; nor could there be any labor, since all nature, air, fire, earth, and water would obey the divine essence. what was it that incited the deity to act the part of an ædile, to illuminate and decorate the world? if it was in order that god might be the better accommodated in his habitation, then he must have been dwelling an infinite length of time before in darkness as in a dungeon. but do we imagine that he was afterward delighted with that variety with which we see the heaven and earth adorned? what entertainment could that be to the deity? if it was any, he would not have been without it so long. or were these things made, as you almost assert, by god for the sake of men? was it for the wise? if so, then this great design was adopted for the sake of a very small number. or for the sake of fools? first of all, there was no reason why god should consult the advantage of the wicked; and, further, what could be his object in doing so, since all fools are, without doubt, the most miserable of men, chiefly because they are fools? for what can we pronounce more deplorable than folly? besides, there are many inconveniences in life which the wise can learn to think lightly of by dwelling rather on the advantages which they receive; but which fools are unable to avoid when they are coming, or to bear when they are come. x. they who affirm the world to be an animated and intelligent being have by no means discovered the nature of the mind, nor are able to conceive in what form that essence can exist; but of that i shall speak more hereafter. at present i must express my surprise at the weakness of those who endeavor to make it out to be not only animated and immortal, but likewise happy, and round, because plato says that is the most beautiful form; whereas i think a cylinder, a square, a cone, or a pyramid more beautiful. but what life do they attribute to that round deity? truly it is a being whirled about with a celerity to which nothing can be even conceived by the imagination as equal; nor can i imagine how a settled mind and happy life can consist in such motion, the least degree of which would be troublesome to us. why, therefore, should it not be considered troublesome also to the deity? for the earth itself, as it is part of the world, is part also of the deity. we see vast tracts of land barren and uninhabitable; some, because they are scorched by the too near approach of the sun; others, because they are bound up with frost and snow, through the great distance which the sun is from them. therefore, if the world is a deity, as these are parts of the world, some of the deity's limbs must be said to be scorched, and some frozen. these are your doctrines, lucilius; but what those of others are i will endeavor to ascertain by tracing them back from the earliest of ancient philosophers. thales the milesian, who first inquired after such subjects, asserted water to be the origin of things, and that god was that mind which formed all things from water. if the gods can exist without corporeal sense, and if there can be a mind without a body, why did he annex a mind to water? it was anaximander's opinion that the gods were born; that after a great length of time they died; and that they are innumerable worlds. but what conception can we possibly have of a deity who is not eternal? anaximenes, after him, taught that the air is god, and that he was generated, and that he is immense, infinite, and always in motion; as if air, which has no form, could possibly be god; for the deity must necessarily be not only of some form or other, but of the most beautiful form. besides, is not everything that had a beginning subject to mortality? xi. anaxagoras, who received his learning from anaximenes, was the first who affirmed the system and disposition of all things to be contrived and perfected by the power and reason of an infinite mind; in which infinity he did not perceive that there could be no conjunction of sense and motion, nor any sense in the least degree, where nature herself could feel no impulse. if he would have this mind to be a sort of animal, then there must be some more internal principle from whence that animal should receive its appellation. but what can be more internal than the mind? let it, therefore, be clothed with an external body. but this is not agreeable to his doctrine; but we are utterly unable to conceive how a pure simple mind can exist without any substance annexed to it. alcmæon of crotona, in attributing a divinity to the sun, the moon, and the rest of the stars, and also to the mind, did not perceive that he was ascribing immortality to mortal beings. pythagoras, who supposed the deity to be one soul, mixing with and pervading all nature, from which our souls are taken, did not consider that the deity himself must, in consequence of this doctrine, be maimed and torn with the rending every human soul from it; nor that, when the human mind is afflicted (as is the case in many instances), that part of the deity must likewise be afflicted, which cannot be. if the human mind were a deity, how could it be ignorant of any thing? besides, how could that deity, if it is nothing but soul, be mixed with, or infused into, the world? then xenophanes, who said that everything in the world which had any existence, with the addition of intellect, was god, is as liable to exception as the rest, especially in relation to the infinity of it, in which there can be nothing sentient, nothing composite. parmenides formed a conceit to himself of something circular like a crown. (he names it stephane.) it is an orb of constant light and heat around the heavens; this he calls god; in which there is no room to imagine any divine form or sense. and he uttered many other absurdities on the same subject; for he ascribed a divinity to war, to discord, to lust, and other passions of the same kind, which are destroyed by disease, or sleep, or oblivion, or age. the same honor he gives to the stars; but i shall forbear making any objections to his system here, having already done it in another place. xii. empedocles, who erred in many things, is most grossly mistaken in his notion of the gods. he lays down four natures[ ] as divine, from which he thinks that all things were made. yet it is evident that they have a beginning, that they decay, and that they are void of all sense. protagoras did not seem to have any idea of the real nature of the gods; for he acknowledged that he was altogether ignorant whether there are or are not any, or what they are. what shall i say of democritus, who classes our images of objects, and their orbs, in the number of the gods; as he does that principle through which those images appear and have their influence? he deifies likewise our knowledge and understanding. is he not involved in a very great error? and because nothing continues always in the same state, he denies that anything is everlasting, does he not thereby entirely destroy the deity, and make it impossible to form any opinion of him? diogenes of apollonia looks upon the air to be a deity. but what sense can the air have? or what divine form can be attributed to it? it would be tedious to show the uncertainty of plato's opinion; for, in his timæus, he denies the propriety of asserting that there is one great father or creator of the world; and, in his book of laws, he thinks we ought not to make too strict an inquiry into the nature of the deity. and as for his statement when he asserts that god is a being without any body--what the greeks call [greek: asômatos]--it is certainly quite unintelligible how that theory can possibly be true; for such a god must then necessarily be destitute of sense, prudence, and pleasure; all which things are comprehended in our notion of the gods. he likewise asserts in his timæus, and in his laws, that the world, the heavens, the stars, the mind, and those gods which are delivered down to us from our ancestors, constitute the deity. these opinions, taken separately, are apparently false; and, together, are directly inconsistent with each other. xenophon has committed almost the same mistakes, but in fewer words. in those sayings which he has related of socrates, he introduces him disputing the lawfulness of inquiring into the form of the deity, and makes him assert the sun and the mind to be deities: he represents him likewise as affirming the being of one god only, and at another time of many; which are errors of almost the same kind which i before took notice of in plato. xiii. antisthenes, in his book called the natural philosopher, says that there are many national and one natural deity; but by this saying he destroys the power and nature of the gods. speusippus is not much less in the wrong; who, following his uncle plato, says that a certain incorporeal power governs everything; by which he endeavors to root out of our minds the knowledge of the gods. aristotle, in his third book of philosophy, confounds many things together, as the rest have done; but he does not differ from his master plato. at one time he attributes all divinity to the mind, at another he asserts that the world is god. soon afterward he makes some other essence preside over the world, and gives it those faculties by which, with certain revolutions, he may govern and preserve the motion of it. then he asserts the heat of the firmament to be god; not perceiving the firmament to be part of the world, which in another place he had described as god. how can that divine sense of the firmament be preserved in so rapid a motion? and where do the multitude of gods dwell, if heaven itself is a deity? but when this philosopher says that god is without a body, he makes him an irrational and insensible being. besides, how can the world move itself, if it wants a body? or how, if it is in perpetual self-motion, can it be easy and happy? xenocrates, his fellow-pupil, does not appear much wiser on this head, for in his books concerning the nature of the gods no divine form is described; but he says the number of them is eight. five are moving planets;[ ] the sixth is contained in all the fixed stars; which, dispersed, are so many several members, but, considered together, are one single deity; the seventh is the sun; and the eighth the moon. but in what sense they can possibly be happy is not easy to be understood. from the same school of plato, heraclides of pontus stuffed his books with puerile tales. sometimes he thinks the world a deity, at other times the mind. he attributes divinity likewise to the wandering stars. he deprives the deity of sense, and makes his form mutable; and, in the same book again, he makes earth and heaven deities. the unsteadiness of theophrastus is equally intolerable. at one time he attributes a divine prerogative to the mind; at another, to the firmament; at another, to the stars and celestial constellations. nor is his disciple strato, who is called the naturalist, any more worthy to be regarded; for he thinks that the divine power is diffused through nature, which is the cause of birth, increase, and diminution, but that it has no sense nor form. xiv. zeno (to come to your sect, balbus) thinks the law of nature to be the divinity, and that it has the power to force us to what is right, and to restrain us from what is wrong. how this law can be an animated being i cannot conceive; but that god is so we would certainly maintain. the same person says, in another place, that the sky is god; but can we possibly conceive that god is a being insensible, deaf to our prayers, our wishes, and our vows, and wholly unconnected with us? in other books he thinks there is a certain rational essence pervading all nature, indued with divine efficacy. he attributes the same power to the stars, to the years, to the months, and to the seasons. in his interpretation of hesiod's theogony,[ ] he entirely destroys the established notions of the gods; for he excludes jupiter, juno, and vesta, and those esteemed divine, from the number of them; but his doctrine is that these are names which by some kind of allusion are given to mute and inanimate beings. the sentiments of his disciple aristo are not less erroneous. he thought it impossible to conceive the form of the deity, and asserts that the gods are destitute of sense; and he is entirely dubious whether the deity is an animated being or not. cleanthes, who next comes under my notice, a disciple of zeno at the same time with aristo, in one place says that the world is god; in another, he attributes divinity to the mind and spirit of universal nature; then he asserts that the most remote, the highest, the all-surrounding, the all-enclosing and embracing heat, which is called the sky, is most certainly the deity. in the books he wrote against pleasure, in which he seems to be raving, he imagines the gods to have a certain form and shape; then he ascribes all divinity to the stars; and, lastly, he thinks nothing more divine than reason. so that this god, whom we know mentally and in the speculations of our minds, from which traces we receive our impression, has at last actually no visible form at all. xv. persæus, another disciple of zeno, says that they who have made discoveries advantageous to the life of man should be esteemed as gods; and the very things, he says, which are healthful and beneficial have derived their names from those of the gods; so that he thinks it not sufficient to call them the discoveries of gods, but he urges that they themselves should be deemed divine. what can be more absurd than to ascribe divine honors to sordid and deformed things; or to place among the gods men who are dead and mixed with the dust, to whose memory all the respect that could be paid would be but mourning for their loss? chrysippus, who is looked upon as the most subtle interpreter of the dreams of the stoics, has mustered up a numerous band of unknown gods; and so unknown that we are not able to form any idea about them, though our mind seems capable of framing any image to itself in its thoughts. for he says that the divine power is placed in reason, and in the spirit and mind of universal nature; that the world, with a universal effusion of its spirit, is god; that the superior part of that spirit, which is the mind and reason, is the great principle of nature, containing and preserving the chain of all things; that the divinity is the power of fate, and the necessity of future events. he deifies fire also, and what i before called the ethereal spirit, and those elements which naturally proceed from it--water, earth, and air. he attributes divinity to the sun, moon, stars, and universal space, the grand container of all things, and to those men likewise who have obtained immortality. he maintains the sky to be what men call jupiter; the air, which pervades the sea, to be neptune; and the earth, ceres. in like manner he goes through the names of the other deities. he says that jupiter is that immutable and eternal law which guides and directs us in our manners; and this he calls fatal necessity, the everlasting verity of future events. but none of these are of such a nature as to seem to carry any indication of divine virtue in them. these are the doctrines contained in his first book of the nature of the gods. in the second, he endeavors to accommodate the fables of orpheus, musæus, hesiod, and homer to what he has advanced in the first, in order that the most ancient poets, who never dreamed of these things, may seem to have been stoics. diogenes the babylonian was a follower of the doctrine of chrysippus; and in that book which he wrote, entitled "a treatise concerning minerva," he separates the account of jupiter's bringing-forth, and the birth of that virgin, from the fabulous, and reduces it to a natural construction. xvi. thus far have i been rather exposing the dreams of dotards than giving the opinions of philosophers. not much more absurd than these are the fables of the poets, who owe all their power of doing harm to the sweetness of their language; who have represented the gods as enraged with anger and inflamed with lust; who have brought before our eyes their wars, battles, combats, wounds; their hatreds, dissensions, discords, births, deaths, complaints, and lamentations; their indulgences in all kinds of intemperance; their adulteries; their chains; their amours with mortals, and mortals begotten by immortals. to these idle and ridiculous flights of the poets we may add the prodigious stories invented by the magi, and by the egyptians also, which were of the same nature, together with the extravagant notions of the multitude at all times, who, from total ignorance of the truth, are always fluctuating in uncertainty. now, whoever reflects on the rashness and absurdity of these tenets must inevitably entertain the highest respect and veneration for epicurus, and perhaps even rank him in the number of those beings who are the subject of this dispute; for he alone first founded the idea of the existence of the gods on the impression which nature herself hath made on the minds of all men. for what nation, what people are there, who have not, without any learning, a natural idea, or prenotion, of a deity? epicurus calls this [greek: prolêpsis]; that is, an antecedent conception of the fact in the mind, without which nothing can be understood, inquired after, or discoursed on; the force and advantage of which reasoning we receive from that celestial volume of epicurus concerning the rule and judgment of things. xvii. here, then, you see the foundation of this question clearly laid; for since it is the constant and universal opinion of mankind, independent of education, custom, or law, that there are gods, it must necessarily follow that this knowledge is implanted in our minds, or, rather, innate in us. that opinion respecting which there is a general agreement in universal nature must infallibly be true; therefore it must be allowed that there are gods; for in this we have the concurrence, not only of almost all philosophers, but likewise of the ignorant and illiterate. it must be also confessed that the point is established that we have naturally this idea, as i said before, or prenotion, of the existence of the gods. as new things require new names, so that prenotion was called [greek: prolêpsis] by epicurus; an appellation never used before. on the same principle of reasoning, we think that the gods are happy and immortal; for that nature which hath assured us that there are gods has likewise imprinted in our minds the knowledge of their immortality and felicity; and if so, what epicurus hath declared in these words is true: "that which is eternally happy cannot be burdened with any labor itself, nor can it impose any labor on another; nor can it be influenced by resentment or favor: because things which are liable to such feelings must be weak and frail." we have said enough to prove that we should worship the gods with piety, and without superstition, if that were the only question. for the superior and excellent nature of the gods requires a pious adoration from men, because it is possessed of immortality and the most exalted felicity; for whatever excels has a right to veneration, and all fear of the power and anger of the gods should be banished; for we must understand that anger and affection are inconsistent with the nature of a happy and immortal being. these apprehensions being removed, no dread of the superior powers remains. to confirm this opinion, our curiosity leads us to inquire into the form and life and action of the intellect and spirit of the deity. xviii. with regard to his form, we are directed partly by nature and partly by reason. all men are told by nature that none but a human form can be ascribed to the gods; for under what other image did it ever appear to any one either sleeping or waking? and, without having recourse to our first notions,[ ] reason itself declares the same; for as it is easy to conceive that the most excellent nature, either because of its happiness or immortality, should be the most beautiful, what composition of limbs, what conformation of lineaments, what form, what aspect, can be more beautiful than the human? your sect, lucilius (not like my friend cotta, who sometimes says one thing and sometimes another), when they represent the divine art and workmanship in the human body, are used to describe how very completely each member is formed, not only for convenience, but also for beauty. therefore, if the human form excels that of all other animal beings, as god himself is an animated being, he must surely be of that form which is the most beautiful. besides, the gods are granted to be perfectly happy; and nobody can be happy without virtue, nor can virtue exist where reason is not; and reason can reside in none but the human form; the gods, therefore, must be acknowledged to be of human form; yet that form is not body, but something like body; nor does it contain any blood, but something like blood. though these distinctions were more acutely devised and more artfully expressed by epicurus than any common capacity can comprehend; yet, depending on your understanding, i shall be more brief on the subject than otherwise i should be. epicurus, who not only discovered and understood the occult and almost hidden secrets of nature, but explained them with ease, teaches that the power and nature of the gods is not to be discerned by the senses, but by the mind; nor are they to be considered as bodies of any solidity, or reducible to number, like those things which, because of their firmness, he calls [greek: steremnia];[ ] but as images, perceived by similitude and transition. as infinite kinds of those images result from innumerable individuals, and centre in the gods, our minds and understanding are directed towards and fixed with the greatest delight on them, in order to comprehend what that happy and eternal essence is. xix. surely the mighty power of the infinite being is most worthy our great and earnest contemplation; the nature of which we must necessarily understand to be such that everything in it is made to correspond completely to some other answering part. this is called by epicurus [greek: isonomia]; that is to say, an equal distribution or even disposition of things. from hence he draws this inference, that, as there is such a vast multitude of mortals, there cannot be a less number of immortals; and if those which perish are innumerable, those which are preserved ought also to be countless. your sect, balbus, frequently ask us how the gods live, and how they pass their time? their life is the most happy, and the most abounding with all kinds of blessings, which can be conceived. they do nothing. they are embarrassed with no business; nor do they perform any work. they rejoice in the possession of their own wisdom and virtue. they are satisfied that they shall ever enjoy the fulness of eternal pleasures. xx. such a deity may properly be called happy; but yours is a most laborious god. for let us suppose the world a deity--what can be a more uneasy state than, without the least cessation, to be whirled about the axle-tree of heaven with a surprising celerity? but nothing can be happy that is not at ease. or let us suppose a deity residing in the world, who directs and governs it, who preserves the courses of the stars, the changes of the seasons, and the vicissitudes and orders of things, surveying the earth and the sea, and accommodating them to the advantage and necessities of man. truly this deity is embarrassed with a very troublesome and laborious office. we make a happy life to consist in a tranquillity of mind, a perfect freedom from care, and an exemption from all employment. the philosopher from whom we received all our knowledge has taught us that the world was made by nature; that there was no occasion for a workhouse to frame it in; and that, though you deny the possibility of such a work without divine skill, it is so easy to her, that she has made, does make, and will make innumerable worlds. but, because you do not conceive that nature is able to produce such effects without some rational aid, you are forced, like the tragic poets, when you cannot wind up your argument in any other way, to have recourse to a deity, whose assistance you would not seek, if you could view that vast and unbounded magnitude of regions in all parts; where the mind, extending and spreading itself, travels so far and wide that it can find no end, no extremity to stop at. in this immensity of breadth, length, and height, a most boundless company of innumerable atoms are fluttering about, which, notwithstanding the interposition of a void space, meet and cohere, and continue clinging to one another; and by this union these modifications and forms of things arise, which, in your opinions, could not possibly be made without the help of bellows and anvils. thus you have imposed on us an eternal master, whom we must dread day and night. for who can be free from fear of a deity who foresees, regards, and takes notice of everything; one who thinks all things his own; a curious, ever-busy god? hence first arose your [greek: heimarmenê], as you call it, your fatal necessity; so that, whatever happens, you affirm that it flows from an eternal chain and continuance of causes. of what value is this philosophy, which, like old women and illiterate men, attributes everything to fate? then follows your [greek: mantikê], in latin called _divinatio_, divination; which, if we would listen to you, would plunge us into such superstition that we should fall down and worship your inspectors into sacrifices, your augurs, your soothsayers, your prophets, and your fortune-tellers. epicurus having freed us from these terrors and restored us to liberty, we have no dread of those beings whom we have reason to think entirely free from all trouble themselves, and who do not impose any on others. we pay our adoration, indeed, with piety and reverence to that essence which is above all excellence and perfection. but i fear my zeal for this doctrine has made me too prolix. however, i could not easily leave so eminent and important a subject unfinished, though i must confess i should rather endeavor to hear than speak so long. xxi. cotta, with his usual courtesy, then began. velleius, says he, were it not for something which you have advanced, i should have remained silent; for i have often observed, as i did just now upon hearing you, that i cannot so easily conceive why a proposition is true as why it is false. should you ask me what i take the nature of the gods to be, i should perhaps make no answer. but if you should ask whether i think it to be of that nature which you have described, i should answer that i was as far as possible from agreeing with you. however, before i enter on the subject of your discourse and what you have advanced upon it, i will give you my opinion of yourself. your intimate friend, l. crassus, has been often heard by me to say that you were beyond all question superior to all our learned romans; and that few epicureans in greece were to be compared to you. but as i knew what a wonderful esteem he had for you, i imagined that might make him the more lavish in commendation of you. now, however, though i do not choose to praise any one when present, yet i must confess that i think you have delivered your thoughts clearly on an obscure and very intricate subject; that you are not only copious in your sentiments, but more elegant in your language than your sect generally are. when i was at athens, i went often to hear zeno, by the advice of philo, who used to call him the chief of the epicureans; partly, probably, in order to judge more easily how completely those principles could be refuted after i had heard them stated by the most learned of the epicureans. and, indeed, he did not speak in any ordinary manner; but, like you, with clearness, gravity, and elegance; yet what frequently gave me great uneasiness when i heard him, as it did while i attended to you, was to see so excellent a genius falling into such frivolous (excuse my freedom), not to say foolish, doctrines. however, i shall not at present offer anything better; for, as i said before, we can in most subjects, especially in physics, sooner discover what is not true than what is. xxii. if you should ask me what god is, or what his character and nature are, i should follow the example of simonides, who, when hiero the tyrant proposed the same question to him, desired a day to consider of it. when he required his answer the next day, simonides begged two days more; and as he kept constantly desiring double the number which he had required before instead of giving his answer, hiero, with surprise, asked him his meaning in doing so: "because," says he, "the longer i meditate on it, the more obscure it appears to me." simonides, who was not only a delightful poet, but reputed a wise and learned man in other branches of knowledge, found, i suppose, so many acute and refined arguments occurring to him, that he was doubtful which was the truest, and therefore despaired of discovering any truth. but does your epicurus (for i had rather contend with him than with you) say anything that is worthy the name of philosophy, or even of common-sense? in the question concerning the nature of the gods, his first inquiry is, whether there are gods or not. it would be dangerous, i believe, to take the negative side before a public auditory; but it is very safe in a discourse of this kind, and in this company. i, who am a priest, and who think that religions and ceremonies ought sacredly to be maintained, am certainly desirous to have the existence of the gods, which is the principal point in debate, not only fixed in opinion, but proved to a demonstration; for many notions flow into and disturb the mind which sometimes seem to convince us that there are none. but see how candidly i will behave to you: as i shall not touch upon those tenets you hold in common with other philosophers, consequently i shall not dispute the existence of the gods, for that doctrine is agreeable to almost all men, and to myself in particular; but i am still at liberty to find fault with the reasons you give for it, which i think are very insufficient. xxiii. you have said that the general assent of men of all nations and all degrees is an argument strong enough to induce us to acknowledge the being of the gods. this is not only a weak, but a false, argument; for, first of all, how do you know the opinions of all nations? i really believe there are many people so savage that they have no thoughts of a deity. what think you of diagoras, who was called the atheist; and of theodorus after him? did not they plainly deny the very essence of a deity? protagoras of abdera, whom you just now mentioned, the greatest sophist of his age, was banished by order of the athenians from their city and territories, and his books were publicly burned, because these words were in the beginning of his treatise concerning the gods: "i am unable to arrive at any knowledge whether there are, or are not, any gods." this treatment of him, i imagine, restrained many from professing their disbelief of a deity, since the doubt of it only could not escape punishment. what shall we say of the sacrilegious, the impious, and the perjured? if tubulus lucius, lupus, or carbo the son of neptune, as lucilius says, had believed that there were gods, would either of them have carried his perjuries and impieties to such excess? your reasoning, therefore, to confirm your assertion is not so conclusive as you think it is. but as this is the manner in which other philosophers have argued on the same subject, i will take no further notice of it at present; i rather choose to proceed to what is properly your own. i allow that there are gods. instruct me, then, concerning their origin; inform me where they are, what sort of body, what mind, they have, and what is their course of life; for these i am desirous of knowing. you attribute the most absolute power and efficacy to atoms. out of them you pretend that everything is made. but there are no atoms, for there is nothing without body; every place is occupied by body, therefore there can be no such thing as a vacuum or an atom. xxiv. i advance these principles of the naturalists without knowing whether they are true or false; yet they are more like truth than those statements of yours; for they are the absurdities in which democritus, or before him leucippus, used to indulge, saying that there are certain light corpuscles--some smooth, some rough, some round, some square, some crooked and bent as bows--which by a fortuitous concourse made heaven and earth, without the influence of any natural power. this opinion, c. velleius, you have brought down to these our times; and you would sooner be deprived of the greatest advantages of life than of that authority; for before you were acquainted with those tenets, you thought that you ought to profess yourself an epicurean; so that it was necessary that you should either embrace these absurdities or lose the philosophical character which you had taken upon you; and what could bribe you to renounce the epicurean opinion? nothing, you say, can prevail on you to forsake the truth and the sure means of a happy life. but is that the truth? for i shall not contest your happy life, which you think the deity himself does not enjoy unless he languishes in idleness. but where is truth? is it in your innumerable worlds, some of which are rising, some falling, at every moment of time? or is it in your atomical corpuscles, which form such excellent works without the direction of any natural power or reason? but i was forgetting my liberality, which i had promised to exert in your case, and exceeding the bounds which i at first proposed to myself. granting, then, everything to be made of atoms, what advantage is that to your argument? for we are searching after the nature of the gods; and allowing them to be made of atoms, they cannot be eternal, because whatever is made of atoms must have had a beginning: if so, there were no gods till there was this beginning; and if the gods have had a beginning, they must necessarily have an end, as you have before contended when you were discussing plato's world. where, then, is your beatitude and immortality, in which two words you say that god is expressed, the endeavor to prove which reduces you to the greatest perplexities? for you said that god had no body, but something like body; and no blood, but something like blood. xxv. it is a frequent practice among you, when you assert anything that has no resemblance to truth, and wish to avoid reprehension, to advance something else which is absolutely and utterly impossible, in order that it may seem to your adversaries better to grant that point which has been a matter of doubt than to keep on pertinaciously contradicting you on every point: like epicurus, who, when he found that if his atoms were allowed to descend by their own weight, our actions could not be in our own power, because their motions would be certain and necessary, invented an expedient, which escaped democritus, to avoid necessity. he says that when the atoms descend by their own weight and gravity, they move a little obliquely. surely, to make such an assertion as this is what one ought more to be ashamed of than the acknowledging ourselves unable to defend the proposition. his practice is the same against the logicians, who say that in all propositions in which yes or no is required, one of them must be true; he was afraid that if this were granted, then, in such a proposition as "epicurus will be alive or dead to-morrow," either one or the other must necessarily be admitted; therefore he absolutely denied the necessity of yes or no. can anything show stupidity in a greater degree? zeno,[ ] being pressed by arcesilas, who pronounced all things to be false which are perceived by the senses, said that some things were false, but not all. epicurus was afraid that if any one thing seen should be false, nothing could be true; and therefore he asserted all the senses to be infallible directors of truth. nothing can be more rash than this; for by endeavoring to repel a light stroke, he receives a heavy blow. on the subject of the nature of the gods, he falls into the same errors. while he would avoid the concretion of individual bodies, lest death and dissolution should be the consequence, he denies that the gods have body, but says they have something like body; and says they have no blood, but something like blood. xxvi. it seems an unaccountable thing how one soothsayer can refrain from laughing when he sees another. it is yet a greater wonder that you can refrain from laughing among yourselves. it is no body, but something like body! i could understand this if it were applied to statues made of wax or clay; but in regard to the deity, i am not able to discover what is meant by a quasi-body or quasi-blood. nor indeed are you, velleius, though you will not confess so much. for those precepts are delivered to you as dictates which epicurus carelessly blundered out; for he boasted, as we see in his writings, that he had no instructor, which i could easily believe without his public declaration of it, for the same reason that i could believe the master of a very bad edifice if he were to boast that he had no architect but himself: for there is nothing of the academy, nothing of the lyceum, in his doctrine; nothing but puerilities. he might have been a pupil of xenocrates. o ye immortal gods, what a teacher was he! and there are those who believe that he actually was his pupil; but he says otherwise, and i shall give more credit to his word than to another's. he confesses that he was a pupil of a certain disciple of plato, one pamphilus, at samos; for he lived there when he was young, with his father and his brothers. his father, neocles, was a farmer in those parts; but as the farm, i suppose, was not sufficient to maintain him, he turned school-master; yet epicurus treats this platonic philosopher with wonderful contempt, so fearful was he that it should be thought he had ever had any instruction. but it is well known he had been a pupil of nausiphanes, the follower of democritus; and since he could not deny it, he loaded him with insults in abundance. if he never heard a lecture on these democritean principles, what lectures did he ever hear? what is there in epicurus's physics that is not taken from democritus? for though he altered some things, as what i mentioned before of the oblique motions of the atoms, yet most of his doctrines are the same; his atoms--his vacuum--his images--infinity of space--innumerable worlds, their rise and decay--and almost every part of natural learning that he treats of. now, do you understand what is meant by quasi-body and quasi-blood? for i not only acknowledge that you are a better judge of it than i am, but i can bear it without envy. if any sentiments, indeed, are communicated without obscurity, what is there that velleius can understand and cotta not? i know what body is, and what blood is; but i cannot possibly find out the meaning of quasi-body and quasi-blood. not that you intentionally conceal your principles from me, as pythagoras did his from those who were not his disciples; or that you are intentionally obscure, like heraclitus. but the truth is (which i may venture to say in this company), you do not understand them yourself. xxvii. this, i perceive, is what you contend for, that the gods have a certain figure that has nothing concrete, nothing solid, nothing of express substance, nothing prominent in it; but that it is pure, smooth, and transparent. let us suppose the same with the venus of cos, which is not a body, but the representation of a body; nor is the red, which is drawn there and mixed with the white, real blood, but a certain resemblance of blood; so in epicurus's deity there is no real substance, but the resemblance of substance. let me take for granted that which is perfectly unintelligible; then tell me what are the lineaments and figures of these sketched-out deities. here you have plenty of arguments by which you would show the gods to be in human form. the first is, that our minds are so anticipated and prepossessed, that whenever we think of a deity the human shape occurs to us. the next is, that as the divine nature excels all things, so it ought to be of the most beautiful form, and there is no form more beautiful than the human; and the third is, that reason cannot reside in any other shape. first, let us consider each argument separately. you seem to me to assume a principle, despotically i may say, that has no manner of probability in it. who was ever so blind, in contemplating these subjects, as not to see that the gods were represented in human form, either by the particular advice of wise men, who thought by those means the more easily to turn the minds of the ignorant from a depravity of manners to the worship of the gods; or through superstition, which was the cause of their believing that when they were paying adoration to these images they were approaching the gods themselves. these conceits were not a little improved by the poets, painters, and artificers; for it would not have been very easy to represent the gods planning and executing any work in another form, and perhaps this opinion arose from the idea which mankind have of their own beauty. but do not you, who are so great an adept in physics, see what a soothing flatterer, what a sort of procuress, nature is to herself? do you think there is any creature on the land or in the sea that is not highly delighted with its own form? if it were not so, why would not a bull become enamored of a mare, or a horse of a cow? do you believe an eagle, a lion, or a dolphin prefers any shape to its own? if nature, therefore, has instructed us in the same manner, that nothing is more beautiful than man, what wonder is it that we, for that reason, should imagine the gods are of the human form? do you suppose if beasts were endowed with reason that every one would not give the prize of beauty to his own species? xxviii. yet, by hercules (i speak as i think)! though i am fond enough of myself, i dare not say that i excel in beauty that bull which carried europa. for the question here is not concerning our genius and elocution, but our species and figure. if we could make and assume to ourselves any form, would you be unwilling to resemble the sea-triton as he is painted supported swimming on sea-monsters whose bodies are partly human? here i touch on a difficult point; for so great is the force of nature that there is no man who would not choose to be like a man, nor, indeed, any ant that would not be like an ant. but like what man? for how few can pretend to beauty! when i was at athens, the whole flock of youths afforded scarcely one. you laugh, i see; but what i tell you is the truth. nay, to us who, after the examples of ancient philosophers, delight in boys, defects are often pleasing. alcæus was charmed with a wart on a boy's knuckle; but a wart is a blemish on the body; yet it seemed a beauty to him. q. catulus, my friend and colleague's father, was enamored with your fellow-citizen roscius, on whom he wrote these verses: as once i stood to hail the rising day, roscius appearing on the left i spied: forgive me, gods, if i presume to say the mortal's beauty with th' immortal vied. roscius more beautiful than a god! yet he was then, as he now is, squint-eyed. but what signifies that, if his defects were beauties to catulus? xxix. i return to the gods. can we suppose any of them to be squint-eyed, or even to have a cast in the eye? have they any warts? are any of them hook-nosed, flap-eared, beetle-browed, or jolt-headed, as some of us are? or are they free from imperfections? let us grant you that. are they all alike in the face? for if they are many, then one must necessarily be more beautiful than another, and then there must be some deity not absolutely most beautiful. or if their faces are all alike, there would be an academy[ ] in heaven; for if one god does not differ from another, there is no possibility of knowing or distinguishing them. what if your assertion, velleius, proves absolutely false, that no form occurs to us, in our contemplations on the deity, but the human? will you, notwithstanding that, persist in the defence of such an absurdity? supposing that form occurs to us, as you say it does, and we know jupiter, juno, minerva, neptune, vulcan, apollo, and the other deities, by the countenance which painters and statuaries have given them, and not only by their countenances, but by their decorations, their age, and attire; yet the egyptians, the syrians, and almost all barbarous nations,[ ] are without such distinctions. you may see a greater regard paid by them to certain beasts than by us to the most sacred temples and images of the gods; for many shrines have been rifled, and images of the deities have been carried from their most sacred places by us; but we never heard that an egyptian offered any violence to a crocodile, an ibis, or a cat. what do you think, then? do not the egyptians esteem their sacred bull, their apis, as a deity? yes, by hercules! as certainly as you do our protectress juno, whom you never behold, even in your dreams, without a goat-skin, a spear, a shield, and broad sandals. but the grecian juno of argos and the roman juno are not represented in this manner; so that the grecians, the lanuvinians, and we, ascribe different forms to juno; and our capitoline jupiter is not the same with the jupiter ammon of the africans. xxx. therefore, ought not a natural philosopher--that is, an inquirer into the secrets of nature--to be ashamed of seeking a testimony to truth from minds prepossessed by custom? according to the rule you have laid down, it may be said that jupiter is always bearded, apollo always beardless; that minerva has gray and neptune azure eyes; and, indeed, we must then honor that vulcan at athens, made by alcamenes, whose lameness through his thin robes appears to be no deformity. shall we, therefore, receive a lame deity because we have such an account of him? consider, likewise, that the gods go by what names we give them. now, in the first place, they have as many names as men have languages; for vulcan is not called vulcan in italy, africa, or spain, as you are called velleius in all countries. besides, the gods are innumerable, though the list of their names is of no great length even in the records of our priests. have they no names? you must necessarily confess, indeed, they have none; for what occasion is there for different names if their persons are alike? how much more laudable would it be, velleius, to acknowledge that you do not know what you do not know than to follow a man whom you must despise! do you think the deity is like either me or you? you do not really think he is like either of us. what is to be done, then? shall i call the sun, the moon, or the sky a deity? if so, they are consequently happy. but what pleasures can they enjoy? and they are wise too. but how can wisdom reside in such shapes? these are your own principles. therefore, if they are not of human form, as i have proved, and if you cannot persuade yourself that they are of any other, why are you cautious of denying absolutely the being of any gods? you dare not deny it--which is very prudent in you, though here you are not afraid of the people, but of the gods themselves. i have known epicureans who reverence[ ] even the least images of the gods, though i perceive it to be the opinion of some that epicurus, through fear of offending against the athenian laws, has allowed a deity in words and destroyed him in fact; so in those his select and short sentences, which are called by you [greek: kyriai doxai],[ ] this, i think, is the first: "that being which is happy and immortal is not burdened with any labor, and does not impose any on any one else." xxxi. in his statement of this sentence, some think that he avoided speaking clearly on purpose, though it was manifestly without design. but they judge ill of a man who had not the least art. it is doubtful whether he means that there is any being happy and immortal, or that if there is any being happy, he must likewise be immortal. they do not consider that he speaks here, indeed, ambiguously; but in many other places both he and metrodorus explain themselves as clearly as you have done. but he believed there are gods; nor have i ever seen any one who was more exceedingly afraid of what he declared ought to be no objects of fear, namely, death and the gods, with the apprehensions of which the common rank of people are very little affected; but he says that the minds of all mortals are terrified by them. many thousands of men commit robberies in the face of death; others rifle all the temples they can get into: such as these, no doubt, must be greatly terrified, the one by the fears of death, and the others by the fear of the gods. but since you dare not (for i am now addressing my discourse to epicurus himself) absolutely deny the existence of the gods, what hinders you from ascribing a divine nature to the sun, the world, or some eternal mind? i never, says he, saw wisdom and a rational soul in any but a human form. what! did you ever observe anything like the sun, the moon, or the five moving planets? the sun, terminating his course in two extreme parts of one circle,[ ] finishes his annual revolutions. the moon, receiving her light from the sun, completes the same course in the space of a month.[ ] the five planets in the same circle, some nearer, others more remote from the earth, begin the same courses together, and finish them in different spaces of time. did you ever observe anything like this, epicurus? so that, according to you, there can be neither sun, moon, nor stars, because nothing can exist but what we have touched or seen.[ ] what! have you ever seen the deity himself? why else do you believe there is any? if this doctrine prevails, we must reject all that history relates or reason discovers; and the people who inhabit inland countries must not believe there is such a thing as the sea. this is so narrow a way of thinking that if you had been born in seriphus, and never had been from out of that island, where you had frequently been in the habit of seeing little hares and foxes, you would not, therefore, believe that there are such beasts as lions and panthers; and if any one should describe an elephant to you, you would think that he designed to laugh at you. xxxii. you indeed, velleius, have concluded your argument, not after the manner of your own sect, but of the logicians, to which your people are utter strangers. you have taken it for granted that the gods are happy. i allow it. you say that without virtue no one can be happy. i willingly concur with you in this also. you likewise say that virtue cannot reside where reason is not. that i must necessarily allow. you add, moreover, that reason cannot exist but in a human form. who, do you think, will admit that? if it were true, what occasion was there to come so gradually to it? and to what purpose? you might have answered it on your own authority. i perceive your gradations from happiness to virtue, and from virtue to reason; but how do you come from reason to human form? there, indeed, you do not descend by degrees, but precipitately. nor can i conceive why epicurus should rather say the gods are like men than that men are like the gods. you ask what is the difference; for, say you, if this is like that, that is like this. i grant it; but this i assert, that the gods could not take their form from men; for the gods always existed, and never had a beginning, if they are to exist eternally; but men had a beginning: therefore that form, of which the immortal gods are, must have had existence before mankind; consequently, the gods should not be said to be of human form, but our form should be called divine. however, let this be as you will. i now inquire how this extraordinary good fortune came about; for you deny that reason had any share in the formation of things. but still, what was this extraordinary fortune? whence proceeded that happy concourse of atoms which gave so sudden a rise to men in the form of gods? are we to suppose the divine seed fell from heaven upon earth, and that men sprung up in the likeness of their celestial sires? i wish you would assert it; for i should not be unwilling to acknowledge my relation to the gods. but you say nothing like it; no, our resemblance to the gods, it seems, was by chance. must i now seek for arguments to refute this doctrine seriously? i wish i could as easily discover what is true as i can overthrow what is false. xxxiii. you have enumerated with so ready a memory, and so copiously, the opinions of philosophers, from thales the milesian, concerning the nature of the gods, that i am surprised to see so much learning in a roman. but do you think they were all madmen who thought that a deity could by some possibility exist without hands and feet? does not even this consideration have weight with you when you consider what is the use and advantage of limbs in men, and lead you to admit that the gods have no need of them? what necessity can there be of feet, without walking; or of hands, if there is nothing to be grasped? the same may be asked of the other parts of the body, in which nothing is vain, nothing useless, nothing superfluous; therefore we may infer that no art can imitate the skill of nature. shall the deity, then, have a tongue, and not speak--teeth, palate, and jaws, though he will have no use for them? shall the members which nature has given to the body for the sake of generation be useless to the deity? nor would the internal parts be less superfluous than the external. what comeliness is there in the heart, the lungs, the liver, and the rest of them, abstracted from their use? i mention these because you place them in the deity on account of the beauty of the human form. depending on these dreams, not only epicurus, metrodorus, and hermachus declaimed against pythagoras, plato, and empedocles, but that little harlot leontium presumed to write against theophrastus: indeed, she had a neat attic style; but yet, to think of her arguing against theophrastus! so much did the garden of epicurus[ ] abound with these liberties, and, indeed, you are always complaining against them. zeno wrangled. why need i mention albutius? nothing could be more elegant or humane than phædrus; yet a sharp expression would disgust the old man. epicurus treated aristotle with great contumely. he foully slandered phædo, the disciple of socrates. he pelted timocrates, the brother of his companion metrodorus, with whole volumes, because he disagreed with him in some trifling point of philosophy. he was ungrateful even to democritus, whose follower he was; and his master nausiphanes, from whom he learned nothing, had no better treatment from him. xxxiv. zeno gave abusive language not only to those who were then living, as apollodorus, syllus, and the rest, but he called socrates, who was the father of philosophy, the attic buffoon, using the latin word _scurra_. he never called chrysippus by any name but chesippus. and you yourself a little before, when you were numbering up a senate, as we may call them, of philosophers, scrupled not to say that the most eminent men talked like foolish, visionary dotards. certainly, therefore, if they have all erred in regard to the nature of the gods, it is to be feared there are no such beings. what you deliver on that head are all whimsical notions, and not worthy the consideration even of old women. for you do not seem to be in the least aware what a task you draw on yourselves, if you should prevail on us to grant that the same form is common to gods and men. the deity would then require the same trouble in dressing, and the same care of the body, that mankind does. he must walk, run, lie down, lean, sit, hold, speak, and discourse. you need not be told the consequence of making the gods male and female. therefore i cannot sufficiently wonder how this chief of yours came to entertain these strange opinions. but you constantly insist on the certainty of this tenet, that the deity is both happy and immortal. supposing he is so, would his happiness be less perfect if he had not two feet? or cannot that blessedness or beatitude--call it which you will (they are both harsh terms, but we must mollify them by use)--can it not, i say, exist in that sun, or in this world, or in some eternal mind that has not human shape or limbs? all you say against it is, that you never saw any happiness in the sun or the world. what, then? did you ever see any world but this? no, you will say. why, therefore, do you presume to assert that there are not only six hundred thousand worlds, but that they are innumerable? reason tells you so. will not reason tell you likewise that as, in our inquiries into the most excellent nature, we find none but the divine nature can be happy and eternal, so the same divine nature surpasses us in excellence of mind; and as in mind, so in body? why, therefore, as we are inferior in all other respects, should we be equal in form? for human virtue approaches nearer to the divinity than human form. xxxv. to return to the subject i was upon. what can be more childish than to assert that there are no such creatures as are generated in the red sea or in india? the most curious inquirer cannot arrive at the knowledge of all those creatures which inhabit the earth, sea, fens, and rivers; and shall we deny the existence of them because we never saw them? that similitude which you are so very fond of is nothing to the purpose. is not a dog like a wolf? and, as ennius says, the monkey, filthiest beast, how like to man! yet they differ in nature. no beast has more sagacity than an elephant; yet where can you find any of a larger size? i am speaking here of beasts. but among men, do we not see a disparity of manners in persons very much alike, and a similitude of manners in persons unlike? if this sort of argument were once to prevail, velleius, observe what it would lead to. you have laid it down as certain that reason cannot possibly reside in any but the human form. another may affirm that it can exist in none but a terrestrial being; in none but a being that is born, that grows up, and receives instruction, and that consists of a soul, and an infirm and perishable body; in short, in none but a mortal man. but if you decline those opinions, why should a single form disturb you? you perceive that man is possessed of reason and understanding, with all the infirmities which i have mentioned interwoven with his being; abstracted from which, you nevertheless know god, you say, if the lineaments do but remain. this is not talking considerately, but at a venture; for surely you did not think what an encumbrance anything superfluous or useless is, not only in a man, but a tree. how troublesome it is to have a finger too much! and why so? because neither use nor ornament requires more than five; but your deity has not only a finger more than he wants, but a head, a neck, shoulders, sides, a paunch, back, hams, hands, feet, thighs, and legs. are these parts necessary to immortality? are they conducive to the existence of the deity? is the face itself of use? one would rather say so of the brain, the heart, the lights, and the liver; for these are the seats of life. the features of the face contribute nothing to the preservation of it. xxxvi. you censured those who, beholding those excellent and stupendous works, the world, and its respective parts--the heaven, the earth, the seas--and the splendor with which they are adorned; who, contemplating the sun, moon, and stars; and who, observing the maturity and changes of the seasons, and vicissitudes of times, inferred from thence that there must be some excellent and eminent essence that originally made, and still moves, directs, and governs them. suppose they should mistake in their conjecture, yet i see what they aim at. but what is that great and noble work which appears to you to be the effect of a divine mind, and from which you conclude that there are gods? "i have," say you, "a certain information of a deity imprinted in my mind." of a bearded jupiter, i suppose, and a helmeted minerva. but do you really imagine them to be such? how much better are the notions of the ignorant vulgar, who not only believe the deities have members like ours, but that they make use of them; and therefore they assign them a bow and arrows, a spear, a shield, a trident, and lightning; and though they do not behold the actions of the gods, yet they cannot entertain a thought of a deity doing nothing. the egyptians (so much ridiculed) held no beasts to be sacred, except on account of some advantage which they had received from them. the ibis, a very large bird, with strong legs and a horny long beak, destroys a great number of serpents. these birds keep egypt from pestilential diseases by killing and devouring the flying serpents brought from the deserts of lybia by the south-west wind, which prevents the mischief that may attend their biting while alive, or any infection when dead. i could speak of the advantage of the ichneumon, the crocodile, and the cat; but i am unwilling to be tedious; yet i will conclude with observing that the barbarians paid divine honors to beasts because of the benefits they received from them; whereas your gods not only confer no benefit, but are idle, and do no single act of any description whatever. xxxvii. "they have nothing to do," your teacher says. epicurus truly, like indolent boys, thinks nothing preferable to idleness; yet those very boys, when they have a holiday, entertain themselves in some sportive exercise. but we are to suppose the deity in such an inactive state that if he should move we may justly fear he would be no longer happy. this doctrine divests the gods of motion and operation; besides, it encourages men to be lazy, as they are by this taught to believe that the least labor is incompatible even with divine felicity. but let it be as you would have it, that the deity is in the form and image of a man. where is his abode? where is his habitation? where is the place where he is to be found? what is his course of life? and what is it that constitutes the happiness which you assert that he enjoys? for it seems necessary that a being who is to be happy must use and enjoy what belongs to him. and with regard to place, even those natures which are inanimate have each their proper stations assigned to them: so that the earth is the lowest; then water is next above the earth; the air is above the water; and fire has the highest situation of all allotted to it. some creatures inhabit the earth, some the water, and some, of an amphibious nature, live in both. there are some, also, which are thought to be born in fire, and which often appear fluttering in burning furnaces. in the first place, therefore, i ask you, where is the habitation of your deity? secondly, what motive is it that stirs him from his place, supposing he ever moves? and, lastly, since it is peculiar to animated beings to have an inclination to something that is agreeable to their several natures, what is it that the deity affects, and to what purpose does he exert the motion of his mind and reason? in short, how is he happy? how eternal? whichever of these points you touch upon, i am afraid you will come lamely off. for there is never a proper end to reasoning which proceeds on a false foundation; for you asserted likewise that the form of the deity is perceptible by the mind, but not by sense; that it is neither solid, nor invariable in number; that it is to be discerned by similitude and transition, and that a constant supply of images is perpetually flowing on from innumerable atoms, on which our minds are intent; so that we from that conclude that divine nature to be happy and everlasting. xxxviii. what, in the name of those deities concerning whom we are now disputing, is the meaning of all this? for if they exist only in thought, and have no solidity nor substance, what difference can there be between thinking of a hippocentaur and thinking of a deity? other philosophers call every such conformation of the mind a vain motion; but you term it "the approach and entrance of images into the mind." thus, when i imagine that i behold t. gracchus haranguing the people in the capitol, and collecting their suffrages concerning m. octavius, i call that a vain motion of the mind: but you affirm that the images of gracchus and octavius are present, which are only conveyed to my mind when they have arrived at the capitol. the case is the same, you say, in regard to the deity, with the frequent representation of which the mind is so affected that from thence it may be clearly understood that the gods[ ] are happy and eternal. let it be granted that there are images by which the mind is affected, yet it is only a certain form that occurs; and why must that form be pronounced happy? why eternal? but what are those images you talk of, or whence do they proceed? this loose manner of arguing is taken from democritus; but he is reproved by many people for it; nor can you derive any conclusions from it: the whole system is weak and imperfect. for what can be more improbable than that the images of homer, archilochus, romulus, numa, pythagoras, and plato should come into my mind, and yet not in the form in which they existed? how, therefore, can they be those persons? and whose images are they? aristotle tells us that there never was such a person as orpheus the poet;[ ] and it is said that the verse called orphic verse was the invention of cercops, a pythagorean; yet orpheus, that is to say, the image of him, as you will have it, often runs in my head. what is the reason that i entertain one idea of the figure of the same person, and you another? why do we image to ourselves such things as never had any existence, and which never can have, such as scyllas and chimæras? why do we frame ideas of men, countries, and cities which we never saw? how is it that the very first moment that i choose i can form representations of them in my mind? how is it that they come to me, even in my sleep, without being called or sought after? xxxix. the whole affair, velleius, is ridiculous. you do not impose images on our eyes only, but on our minds. such is the privilege which you have assumed of talking nonsense with impunity. but there is, you say, a transition of images flowing on in great crowds in such a way that out of many some one at least must be perceived! i should be ashamed of my incapacity to understand this if you, who assert it, could comprehend it yourselves; for how do you prove that these images are continued in uninterrupted motion? or, if uninterrupted, still how do you prove them to be eternal? there is a constant supply, you say, of innumerable atoms. but must they, for that reason, be all eternal? to elude this, you have recourse to equilibration (for so, with your leave, i will call your [greek: isonomia]),[ ] and say that as there is a sort of nature mortal, so there must also be a sort which is immortal. by the same rule, as there are men mortal, there are men immortal; and as some arise from the earth, some must arise from the water also; and as there are causes which destroy, there must likewise be causes which preserve. be it as you say; but let those causes preserve which have existence themselves. i cannot conceive these your gods to have any. but how does all this face of things arise from atomic corpuscles? were there any such atoms (as there are not), they might perhaps impel one another, and be jumbled together in their motion; but they could never be able to impart form, or figure, or color, or animation, so that you by no means demonstrate the immortality of your deity. xl. let us now inquire into his happiness. it is certain that without virtue there can be no happiness; but virtue consists in action: now your deity does nothing; therefore he is void of virtue, and consequently cannot be happy. what sort of life does he lead? he has a constant supply, you say, of good things, without any intermixture of bad. what are those good things? sensual pleasures, no doubt; for you know no delight of the mind but what arises from the body, and returns to it. i do not suppose, velleius, that you are like some of the epicureans, who are ashamed of those expressions of epicurus,[ ] in which he openly avows that he has no idea of any good separate from wanton and obscene pleasures, which, without a blush, he names distinctly. what food, therefore, what drink, what variety of music or flowers, what kind of pleasures of touch, what odors, will you offer to the gods to fill them with pleasures? the poets indeed provide them with banquets of nectar and ambrosia, and a hebe or a ganymede to serve up the cup. but what is it, epicurus, that you do for them? for i do not see from whence your deity should have those things, nor how he could use them. therefore the nature of man is better constituted for a happy life than the nature of the gods, because men enjoy various kinds of pleasures; but you look on all those pleasures as superficial which delight the senses only by a titillation, as epicurus calls it. where is to be the end of this trifling? even philo, who followed the academy, could not bear to hear the soft and luscious delights of the epicureans despised; for with his admirable memory he perfectly remembered and used to repeat many sentences of epicurus in the very words in which they were written. he likewise used to quote many, which were more gross, from metrodorus, the sage colleague of epicurus, who blamed his brother timocrates because he would not allow that everything which had any reference to a happy life was to be measured by the belly; nor has he said this once only, but often. you grant what i say, i perceive; for you know it to be true. i can produce the books, if you should deny it; but i am not now reproving you for referring all things to the standard of pleasure: that is another question. what i am now showing is, that your gods are destitute of pleasure; and therefore, according to your own manner of reasoning, they are not happy. xli. but they are free from pain. is that sufficient for beings who are supposed to enjoy all good things and the most supreme felicity? the deity, they say, is constantly meditating on his own happiness, for he has no other idea which can possibly occupy his mind. consider a little; reflect what a figure the deity would make if he were to be idly thinking of nothing through all eternity but "it is very well with me, and i am happy;" nor do i see why this happy deity should not fear being destroyed, since, without any intermission, he is driven and agitated by an everlasting incursion of atoms, and since images are constantly floating off from him. your deity, therefore, is neither happy nor eternal. epicurus, it seems, has written books concerning sanctity and piety towards the gods. but how does he speak on these subjects? you would say that you were listening to coruncanius or scævola, the high-priests, and not to a man who tore up all religion by the roots, and who overthrew the temples and altars of the immortal gods; not, indeed, with hands, like xerxes, but with arguments; for what reason is there for your saying that men ought to worship the gods, when the gods not only do not regard men, but are entirely careless of everything, and absolutely do nothing at all? but they are, you say, of so glorious and excellent a nature that a wise man is induced by their excellence to adore them. can there be any glory or excellence in that nature which only contemplates its own happiness, and neither will do, nor does, nor ever did anything? besides, what piety is due to a being from whom you receive nothing? or how can you, or any one else, be indebted to him who bestows no benefits? for piety is only justice towards the gods; but what right have they to it, when there is no communication whatever between the gods and men? and sanctity is the knowledge of how we ought to worship them; but i do not understand why they are to be worshipped, if we are neither to receive nor expect any good from them. xlii. and why should we worship them from an admiration only of that nature in which we can behold nothing excellent? and as for that freedom from superstition, which you are in the habit of boasting of so much, it is easy to be free from that feeling when you have renounced all belief in the power of the gods; unless, indeed, you imagine that diagoras or theodorus, who absolutely denied the being of the gods, could possibly be superstitious. i do not suppose that even protagoras could, who doubted whether there were gods or not. the opinions of these philosophers are not only destructive of superstition, which arises from a vain fear of the gods, but of religion also, which consists in a pious adoration of them. what think you of those who have asserted that the whole doctrine concerning the immortal gods was the invention of politicians, whose view was to govern that part of the community by religion which reason could not influence? are not their opinions subversive of all religion? or what religion did prodicus the chian leave to men, who held that everything beneficial to human life should be numbered among the gods? were not they likewise void of religion who taught that the deities, at present the object of our prayers and adoration, were valiant, illustrious, and mighty men who arose to divinity after death? euhemerus, whom our ennius translated, and followed more than other authors, has particularly advanced this doctrine, and treated of the deaths and burials of the gods; can he, then, be said to have confirmed religion, or, rather, to have totally subverted it? i shall say nothing of that sacred and august eleusina, into whose mysteries the most distant nations were initiated, nor of the solemnities in samothrace, or in lemnos, secretly resorted to by night, and surrounded by thick and shady groves; which, if they were properly explained, and reduced to reasonable principles, would rather explain the nature of things than discover the knowledge of the gods. xliii. even that great man democritus, from whose fountains epicurus watered his little garden, seems to me to be very inferior to his usual acuteness when speaking about the nature of the gods. for at one time he thinks that there are images endowed with divinity, inherent in the universality of things; at another, that the principles and minds contained in the universe are gods; then he attributes divinity to animated images, employing themselves in doing us good or harm; and, lastly, he speaks of certain images of such vast extent that they encompass the whole outside of the universe; all which opinions are more worthy of the country[ ] of democritus than of democritus himself; for who can frame in his mind any ideas of such images? who can admire them? who can think they merit a religious adoration? but epicurus, when he divests the gods of the power of doing good, extirpates all religion from the minds of men; for though he says the divine nature is the best and the most excellent of all natures, he will not allow it to be susceptible of any benevolence, by which he destroys the chief and peculiar attribute of the most perfect being. for what is better and more excellent than goodness and beneficence? to refuse your gods that quality is to say that no man is any object of their favor, and no gods either; that they neither love nor esteem any one; in short, that they not only give themselves no trouble about us, but even look on each other with the greatest indifference. xliv. how much more reasonable is the doctrine of the stoics, whom you censure? it is one of their maxims that the wise are friends to the wise, though unknown to each other; for as nothing is more amiable than virtue, he who possesses it is worthy our love, to whatever country he belongs. but what evils do your principles bring, when you make good actions and benevolence the marks of imbecility! for, not to mention the power and nature of the gods, you hold that even men, if they had no need of mutual assistance, would be neither courteous nor beneficent. is there no natural charity in the dispositions of good men? the very name of love, from which friendship is derived, is dear to men;[ ] and if friendship is to centre in our own advantage only, without regard to him whom we esteem a friend, it cannot be called friendship, but a sort of traffic for our own profit. pastures, lands, and herds of cattle are valued in the same manner on account of the profit we gather from them; but charity and friendship expect no return. how much more reason have we to think that the gods, who want nothing, should love each other, and employ themselves about us! if it were not so, why should we pray to or adore them? why do the priests preside over the altars, and the augurs over the auspices? what have we to ask of the gods, and why do we prefer our vows to them? but epicurus, you say, has written a book concerning sanctity. a trifling performance by a man whose wit is not so remarkable in it, as the unrestrained license of writing which he has permitted himself; for what sanctity can there be if the gods take no care of human affairs? or how can that nature be called animated which neither regards nor performs anything? therefore our friend posidonius has well observed, in his fifth book of the nature of the gods, that epicurus believed there were no gods, and that what he had said about the immortal gods was only said from a desire to avoid unpopularity. he could not be so weak as to imagine that the deity has only the outward features of a simple mortal, without any real solidity; that he has all the members of a man, without the least power to use them--a certain unsubstantial pellucid being, neither favorable nor beneficial to any one, neither regarding nor doing anything. there can be no such being in nature; and as epicurus said this plainly, he allows the gods in words, and destroys them in fact; and if the deity is truly such a being that he shows no favor, no benevolence to mankind, away with him! for why should i entreat him to be propitious? he can be propitious to none, since, as you say, all his favor and benevolence are the effects of imbecility. * * * * * book ii. i. when cotta had thus concluded, velleius replied: i certainly was inconsiderate to engage in argument with an academician who is likewise a rhetorician. i should not have feared an academician without eloquence, nor a rhetorician without that philosophy, however eloquent he might be; for i am never puzzled by an empty flow of words, nor by the most subtle reasonings delivered without any grace of oratory. but you, cotta, have excelled in both. you only wanted the assembly and the judges. however, enough of this at present. now, let us hear what lucilius has to say, if it is agreeable to him. i had much rather, says balbus, hear cotta resume his discourse, and demonstrate the true gods with the same eloquence which he made use of to explode the false; for, on such a subject, the loose, unsettled doctrine of the academy does not become a philosopher, a priest, a cotta, whose opinions should be, like those we hold, firm and certain. epicurus has been more than sufficiently refuted; but i would willingly hear your own sentiments, cotta. do you forget, replies cotta, what i at first said--that it is easier for me, especially on this point, to explain what opinions those are which i do not hold, rather than what those are which i do? nay, even if i did feel some certainty on any particular point, yet, after having been so diffuse myself already, i would prefer now hearing you speak in your turn. i submit, says balbus, and will be as brief as i possibly can; for as you have confuted the errors of epicurus, my part in the dispute will be the shorter. our sect divide the whole question concerning the immortal gods into four parts. first, they prove that there are gods; secondly, of what character and nature they are; thirdly, that the universe is governed by them; and, lastly, that they exercise a superintendence over human affairs. but in this present discussion let us confine ourselves to the first two articles, and defer the third and fourth till another opportunity, as they require more time to discuss. by no means, says cotta, for we have time enough on our hands; besides that, we are now discussing a subject which should be preferred even to serious business. ii. the first point, then, says lucilius, i think needs no discourse to prove it; for what can be so plain and evident, when we behold the heavens and contemplate the celestial bodies, as the existence of some supreme, divine intelligence, by which all these things are governed? were it otherwise, ennius would not, with a universal approbation, have said, look up to the refulgent heaven above, which all men call, unanimously, jove. this is jupiter, the governor of the world, who rules all things with his nod, and is, as the same ennius adds, ----of gods and men the sire,[ ] an omnipresent and omnipotent god. and if any one doubts this, i really do not understand why the same man may not also doubt whether there is a sun or not. for what can possibly be more evident than this? and if it were not a truth universally impressed on the minds of men, the belief in it would never have been so firm; nor would it have been, as it is, increased by length of years, nor would it have gathered strength and stability through every age. and, in truth, we see that other opinions, being false and groundless, have already fallen into oblivion by lapse of time. who now believes in hippocentaurs and chimæras? or what old woman is now to be found so weak and ignorant as to stand in fear of those infernal monsters which once so terrified mankind? for time destroys the fictions of error and opinion, while it confirms the determinations of nature and of truth. and therefore it is that, both among us and among other nations, sacred institutions and the divine worship of the gods have been strengthened and improved from time to time. and this is not to be imputed to chance or folly, but to the frequent appearance of the gods themselves. in the war with the latins, when a. posthumius, the dictator, attacked octavius mamilius, the tusculan, at regillus, castor and pollux were seen fighting in our army on horseback; and since that the same offspring of tyndarus gave notice of the defeat of perses; for as p. vatienus, the grandfather of the present young man of that name, was coming in the night to rome from his government of reate, two young men on white horses appeared to him, and told him that king[ ] perses was that day taken prisoner. this news he carried to the senate, who immediately threw him into prison for speaking inconsiderately on a state affair; but when it was confirmed by letters from paullus, he was recompensed by the senate with land and immunities.[ ] nor do we forget when the locrians defeated the people of crotone, in a great battle on the banks of the river sagra, that it was known the same day at the olympic games. the voices of the fauns have been often heard, and deities have appeared in forms so visible that they have compelled every one who is not senseless, or hardened in impiety, to confess the presence of the gods. iii. what do predictions and foreknowledge of future events indicate, but that such future events are shown, pointed out, portended, and foretold to men? from whence they are called omens, signs, portents, prodigies. but though we should esteem fabulous what is said of mopsus,[ ] tiresias,[ ] amphiaraus,[ ] calchas,[ ] and helenus[ ] (who would not have been delivered down to us as augurs even in fable if their art had been despised), may we not be sufficiently apprised of the power of the gods by domestic examples? will not the temerity of p. claudius, in the first punic war, affect us? who, when the poultry were let out of the coop and would not feed, ordered them to be thrown into the water, and, joking even upon the gods, said, with a sneer, "let them drink, since they will not eat;" which piece of ridicule, being followed by a victory over his fleet, cost him many tears, and brought great calamity on the roman people. did not his colleague junius, in the same war, lose his fleet in a tempest by disregarding the auspices? claudius, therefore, was condemned by the people, and junius killed himself. coelius says that p. flaminius, from his neglect of religion, fell at thrasimenus; a loss which the public severely felt. by these instances of calamity we may be assured that rome owes her grandeur and success to the conduct of those who were tenacious of their religious duties; and if we compare ourselves to our neighbors, we shall find that we are infinitely distinguished above foreign nations by our zeal for religious ceremonies, though in other things we may be only equal to them, and in other respects even inferior to them. ought we to contemn attius navius's staff, with which he divided the regions of the vine to find his sow?[ ] i should despise it, if i were not aware that king hostilius had carried on most important wars in deference to his auguries; but by the negligence of our nobility the discipline of the augury is now omitted, the truth of the auspices despised, and only a mere form observed; so that the most important affairs of the commonwealth, even the wars, on which the public safety depends, are conducted without any auspices; the peremnia[ ] are discussed; no part of the acumina[ ] performed; no select men are called to witness to the military testaments;[ ] our generals now begin their wars as soon as they have arranged the auspicia. the force of religion was so great among our ancestors that some of their commanders have, with their faces veiled, and with the solemn, formal expressions of religion, sacrificed themselves to the immortal gods to save their country.[ ] i could mention many of the sibylline prophecies, and many answers of the haruspices, to confirm those things, which ought not to be doubted. iv. for example: our augurs and the etrurian haruspices saw the truth of their art established when p. scipio and c. figulus were consuls; for as tiberius gracchus, who was a second time consul, wished to proceed to a fresh election, the first rogator,[ ] as he was collecting the suffrages, fell down dead on the spot. gracchus nevertheless went on with the assembly, but perceiving that this accident had a religious influence on the people, he brought the affair before the senate. the senate thought fit to refer it to those who usually took cognizance of such things. the haruspices were called, and declared that the man who had acted as rogator of the assembly had no right to do so; to which, as i have heard my father say, he replied with great warmth, have i no right, who am consul, and augur, and favored by the auspicia? and shall you, who are tuscans and barbarians, pretend that you have authority over the roman auspicia, and a right to give judgment in matters respecting the formality of our assemblies? therefore, he then commanded them to withdraw; but not long afterward he wrote from his province[ ] to the college of augurs, acknowledging that in reading the books[ ] he remembered that he had illegally chosen a place for his tent in the gardens of scipio, and had afterward entered the pomoerium, in order to hold a senate, but that in repassing the same pomoerium he had forgotten to take the auspices; and that, therefore, the consuls had been created informally. the augurs laid the case before the senate. the senate decreed that they should resign their charge, and so they accordingly abdicated. what greater example need we seek for? the wisest, perhaps the most excellent of men, chose to confess his fault, which he might have concealed, rather than leave the public the least atom of religious guilt; and the consuls chose to quit the highest office in the state, rather than fill it for a moment in defiance of religion. how great is the reputation of the augurs! and is not the art of the soothsayers divine? and must not every one who sees what innumerable instances of the same kind there are confess the existence of the gods? for they who have interpreters must certainly exist themselves; now, there are interpreters of the gods; therefore we must allow there are gods. but it may be said, perhaps, that all predictions are not accomplished. we may as well conclude there is no art of physic, because all sick persons do not recover. the gods show us signs of future events; if we are occasionally deceived in the results, it is not to be imputed to the nature of the gods, but to the conjectures of men. all nations agree that there are gods; the opinion is innate, and, as it were, engraved in the minds of all men. the only point in dispute among us is, what they are. v. their existence no one denies. cleanthes, one of our sect, imputes the way in which the idea of the gods is implanted in the minds of men to four causes. the first is that which i just now mentioned--the foreknowledge of future things. the second is the great advantages which we enjoy from the temperature of the air, the fertility of the earth, and the abundance of various benefits of other kinds. the third cause is deduced from the terror with which the mind is affected by thunder, tempests, storms, snow, hail, devastation, pestilence, earthquakes often attended with hideous noises, showers of stones, and rain like drops of blood; by rocks and sudden openings of the earth; by monstrous births of men and beasts; by meteors in the air, and blazing stars, by the greeks called _cometæ_, by us _crinitæ_, the appearance of which, in the late octavian war,[ ] were foreboders of great calamities; by two suns, which, as i have heard my father say, happened in the consulate of tuditanus and aquillius, and in which year also another sun (p. africanus) was extinguished. these things terrified mankind, and raised in them a firm belief of the existence of some celestial and divine power. his fourth cause, and that the strongest, is drawn from the regularity of the motion and revolution of the heavens, the distinctness, variety, beauty, and order of the sun, moon, and all the stars, the appearance only of which is sufficient to convince us they are not the effects of chance; as when we enter into a house, or school, or court, and observe the exact order, discipline, and method of it, we cannot suppose that it is so regulated without a cause, but must conclude that there is some one who commands, and to whom obedience is paid. it is quite impossible for us to avoid thinking that the wonderful motions, revolutions, and order of those many and great bodies, no part of which is impaired by the countless and infinite succession of ages, must be governed and directed by some supreme intelligent being. vi. chrysippus, indeed, had a very penetrating genius; yet such is the doctrine which he delivers, that he seems rather to have been instructed by nature than to owe it to any discovery of his own. "if," says he, "there is anything in the universe which no human reason, ability, or power can make, the being who produced it must certainly be preferable to man. now, celestial bodies, and all those things which proceed in any eternal order, cannot be made by man; the being who made them is therefore preferable to man. what, then, is that being but a god? if there be no such thing as a deity, what is there better than man, since he only is possessed of reason, the most excellent of all things? but it is a foolish piece of vanity in man to think there is nothing preferable to him. there is, therefore, something preferable; consequently, there is certainly a god." when you behold a large and beautiful house, surely no one can persuade you it was built for mice and weasels, though you do not see the master; and would it not, therefore, be most manifest folly to imagine that a world so magnificently adorned, with such an immense variety of celestial bodies of such exquisite beauty, and that the vast sizes and magnitude of the sea and land were intended as the abode of man, and not as the mansion of the immortal gods? do we not also plainly see this, that all the most elevated regions are the best, and that the earth is the lowest region, and is surrounded with the grossest air? so that as we perceive that in some cities and countries the capacities of men are naturally duller, from the thickness of the climate, so mankind in general are affected by the heaviness of the air which surrounds the earth, the grossest region of the world. yet even from this inferior intelligence of man we may discover the existence of some intelligent agent that is divine, and wiser than ourselves; for, as socrates says in xenophon, from whence had man his portion of understanding? and, indeed, if any one were to push his inquiries about the moisture and heat which is diffused through the human body, and the earthy kind of solidity existing in our entrails, and that soul by which we breathe, and to ask whence we derived them, it would be plain that we have received one thing from the earth, another from liquid, another from fire, and another from that air which we inhale every time that we breathe. vii. but where did we find that which excels all these things--i mean reason, or (if you please, in other terms) the mind, understanding, thought, prudence; and from whence did we receive it? shall the world be possessed of every other perfection, and be destitute of this one, which is the most important and valuable of all? but certainly there is nothing better, or more excellent, or more beautiful than the world; and not only there is nothing better, but we cannot even conceive anything superior to it; and if reason and wisdom are the greatest of all perfections, they must necessarily be a part of what we all allow to be the most excellent. who is not compelled to admit the truth of what i assert by that agreeable, uniform, and continued agreement of things in the universe? could the earth at one season be adorned with flowers, at another be covered with snow? or, if such a number of things regulated their own changes, could the approach and retreat of the sun in the summer and winter solstices be so regularly known and calculated? could the flux and reflux of the sea and the height of the tides be affected by the increase or wane of the moon? could the different courses of the stars be preserved by the uniform movement of the whole heaven? could these things subsist, i say, in such a harmony of all the parts of the universe without the continued influence of a divine spirit? if these points are handled in a free and copious manner, as i purpose to do, they will be less liable to the cavils of the academics; but the narrow, confined way in which zeno reasoned upon them laid them more open to objection; for as running streams are seldom or never tainted, while standing waters easily grow corrupt, so a fluency of expression washes away the censures of the caviller, while the narrow limits of a discourse which is too concise is almost defenceless; for the arguments which i am enlarging upon are thus briefly laid down by zeno: viii. "that which reasons is superior to that which does not; nothing is superior to the world; the world, therefore, reasons." by the same rule the world may be proved to be wise, happy, and eternal; for the possession of all these qualities is superior to the want of them; and nothing is superior to the world; the inevitable consequence of which argument is, that the world, therefore, is a deity. he goes on: "no part of anything void of sense is capable of perception; some parts of the world have perception; the world, therefore, has sense." he proceeds, and pursues the argument closely. "nothing," says he, "that is destitute itself of life and reason can generate a being possessed of life and reason; but the world does generate beings possessed of life and reason; the world, therefore, is not itself destitute of life and reason." he concludes his argument in his usual manner with a simile: "if well-tuned pipes should spring out of the olive, would you have the slightest doubt that there was in the olive-tree itself some kind of skill and knowledge? or if the plane-tree could produce harmonious lutes, surely you would infer, on the same principle, that music was contained in the plane-tree. why, then, should we not believe the world is a living and wise being, since it produces living and wise beings out of itself?" ix. but as i have been insensibly led into a length of discourse beyond my first design (for i said that, as the existence of the gods was evident to all, there was no need of any long oration to prove it), i will demonstrate it by reasons deduced from the nature of things. for it is a fact that all beings which take nourishment and increase contain in themselves a power of natural heat, without which they could neither be nourished nor increase. for everything which is of a warm and fiery character is agitated and stirred up by its own motion. but that which is nourished and grows is influenced by a certain regular and equable motion. and as long as this motion remains in us, so long does sense and life remain; but the moment that it abates and is extinguished, we ourselves decay and perish. by arguments like these, cleanthes shows how great is the power of heat in all bodies. he observes that there is no food so gross as not to be digested in a night and a day; and that even in the excrementitious parts, which nature rejects, there remains a heat. the veins and arteries seem, by their continual quivering, to resemble the agitation of fire; and it has often been observed when the heart of an animal is just plucked from the body that it palpitates with such visible motion as to resemble the rapidity of fire. everything, therefore, that has life, whether it be animal or vegetable, owes that life to the heat inherent in it; it is this nature of heat which contains in itself the vital power which extends throughout the whole world. this will appear more clearly on a more close explanation of this fiery quality, which pervades all things. every division, then, of the world (and i shall touch upon the most considerable) is sustained by heat; and first it may be observed in earthly substances that fire is produced from stones by striking or rubbing one against another; that "the warm earth smokes"[ ] when just turned up, and that water is drawn warm from well-springs; and this is most especially the case in the winter season, because there is a great quantity of heat contained in the caverns of the earth; and this becomes more dense in the winter, and on that account confines more closely the innate heat which is discoverable in the earth. x. it would require a long dissertation, and many reasons would require to be adduced, to show that all the seeds which the earth conceives, and all those which it contains having been generated from itself, and fixed in roots and trunks, derive all their origin and increase from the temperature and regulation of heat. and that even every liquor has a mixture of heat in it is plainly demonstrated by the effusion of water; for it would not congeal by cold, nor become solid, as ice or snow, and return again to its natural state, if it were not that, when heat is applied to it, it again becomes liquefied and dissolved, and so diffuses itself. therefore, by northern and other cold winds it is frozen and hardened, and in turn it dissolves and melts again by heat. the seas likewise, we find, when agitated by winds, grow warm, so that from this fact we may understand that there is heat included in that vast body of water; for we cannot imagine it to be external and adventitious heat, but such as is stirred up by agitation from the deep recesses of the seas; and the same thing takes place with respect to our bodies, which grow warm with motion and exercise. and the very air itself, which indeed is the coldest element, is by no means void of heat; for there is a great quantity, arising from the exhalations of water, which appears to be a sort of steam occasioned by its internal heat, like that of boiling liquors. the fourth part of the universe is entirely fire, and is the source of the salutary and vital heat which is found in the rest. from hence we may conclude that, as all parts of the world are sustained by heat, the world itself also has such a great length of time subsisted from the same cause; and so much the more, because we ought to understand that that hot and fiery principle is so diffused over universal nature that there is contained in it a power and cause of generation and procreation, from which all animate beings, and all those creatures of the vegetable world, the roots of which are contained in the earth, must inevitably derive their origin and their increase. xi. it is nature, consequently, that continues and preserves the world, and that, too, a nature which is not destitute of sense and reason; for in every essence that is not simple, but composed of several parts, there must be some predominant quality--as, for instance, the mind in man, and in beasts something resembling it, from which arise all the appetites and desires for anything. as for trees, and all the vegetable produce of the earth, it is thought to be in their roots. i call that the predominant quality,[ ] which the greeks call [greek: hêgemonikon]; which must and ought to be the most excellent quality, wherever it is found. that, therefore, in which the prevailing quality of all nature resides must be the most excellent of all things, and most worthy of the power and pre-eminence over all things. now, we see that there is nothing in being that is not a part of the universe; and as there are sense and reason in the parts of it, there must therefore be these qualities, and these, too, in a more energetic and powerful degree, in that part in which the predominant quality of the world is found. the world, therefore, must necessarily be possessed of wisdom; and that element, which embraces all things, must excel in perfection of reason. the world, therefore, is a god, and the whole power of the world is contained in that divine element. the heat also of the world is more pure, clear, and lively, and, consequently, better adapted to move the senses than the heat allotted to us; and it vivifies and preserves all things within the compass of our knowledge. it is absurd, therefore, to say that the world, which is endued with a perfect, free, pure, spirituous, and active heat, is not sensitive, since by this heat men and beasts are preserved, and move, and think; more especially since this heat of the world is itself the sole principle of agitation, and has no external impulse, but is moved spontaneously; for what can be more powerful than the world, which moves and raises that heat by which it subsists? xii. for let us listen to plato, who is regarded as a god among philosophers. he says that there are two sorts of motion, one innate and the other external; and that that which is moved spontaneously is more divine than that which is moved by another power. this self-motion he places in the mind alone, and concludes that the first principle of motion is derived from the mind. therefore, since all motion arises from the heat of the world, and that heat is not moved by the effect of any external impulse, but of its own accord, it must necessarily be a mind; from whence it follows that the world is animated. on such reasoning is founded this opinion, that the world is possessed of understanding, because it certainly has more perfections in itself than any other nature; for as there is no part of our bodies so considerable as the whole of us, so it is clear that there is no particular portion of the universe equal in magnitude to the whole of it; from whence it follows that wisdom must be an attribute of the world; otherwise man, who is a part of it, and possessed of reason, would be superior to the entire world. and thus, if we proceed from the first rude, unfinished natures to the most superior and perfect ones, we shall inevitably come at last to the nature of the gods. for, in the first place, we observe that those vegetables which are produced out of the earth are supported by nature, and she gives them no further supply than is sufficient to preserve them by nourishing them and making them grow. to beasts she has given sense and motion, and a faculty which directs them to what is wholesome, and prompts them to shun what is noxious to them. on man she has conferred a greater portion of her favor; inasmuch as she has added reason, by which he is enabled to command his passions, to moderate some, and to subdue others. xiii. in the fourth and highest degree are those beings which are naturally wise and good, who from the first moment of their existence are possessed of right and consistent reason, which we must consider superior to man and deserving to be attributed to a god; that is to say, to the world, in which it is inevitable that that perfect and complete reason should be inherent. nor is it possible that it should be said with justice that there is any arrangement of things in which there cannot be something entire and perfect. for as in a vine or in beasts we see that nature, if not prevented by some superior violence, proceeds by her own appropriate path to her destined end; and as in painting, architecture, and the other arts there is a point of perfection which is attainable, and occasionally attained, so it is even much more necessary that in universal nature there must be some complete and perfect result arrived at. many external accidents may happen to all other natures which may impede their progress to perfection, but nothing can hinder universal nature, because she is herself the ruler and governor of all other natures. that, therefore, must be the fourth and most elevated degree to which no other power can approach. but this degree is that on which the nature of all things is placed; and since she is possessed of this, and she presides over all things, and is subject to no possible impediment, the world must necessarily be an intelligent and even a wise being. but how marvellously great is the ignorance of those men who dispute the perfection of that nature which encircles all things; or who, allowing it to be infinitely perfect, yet deny it to be, in the first place, animated, then reasonable, and, lastly, prudent and wise! for how without these qualities could it be infinitely perfect? if it were like vegetables, or even like beasts, there would be no more reason for thinking it extremely good than extremely bad; and if it were possessed of reason, and had not wisdom from the beginning, the world would be in a worse condition than man; for man may grow wise, but the world, if it were destitute of wisdom through an infinite space of time past, could never acquire it. thus it would be worse than man. but as that is absurd to imagine, the world must be esteemed wise from all eternity, and consequently a deity: since there is nothing existing that is not defective, except the universe, which is well provided, and fully complete and perfect in all its numbers and parts. xiv. for chrysippus says, very acutely, that as the case is made for the buckler, and the scabbard for the sword, so all things, except the universe, were made for the sake of something else. as, for instance, all those crops and fruits which the earth produces were made for the sake of animals, and animals for man; as, the horse for carrying, the ox for the plough, the dog for hunting and for a guard. but man himself was born to contemplate and imitate the world, being in no wise perfect, but, if i may so express myself, a particle of perfection; but the world, as it comprehends all, and as nothing exists that is not contained in it, is entirely perfect. in what, therefore, can it be defective, since it is perfect? it cannot want understanding and reason, for they are the most desirable of all qualities. the same chrysippus observes also, by the use of similitudes, that everything in its kind, when arrived at maturity and perfection, is superior to that which is not--as, a horse to a colt, a dog to a puppy, and a man to a boy--so whatever is best in the whole universe must exist in some complete and perfect being. but nothing is more perfect than the world, and nothing better than virtue. virtue, therefore, is an attribute of the world. but human nature is not perfect, and nevertheless virtue is produced in it: with how much greater reason, then, do we conceive it to be inherent in the world! therefore the world has virtue, and it is also wise, and consequently a deity. xv. the divinity of the world being now clearly perceived, we must acknowledge the same divinity to be likewise in the stars, which are formed from the lightest and purest part of the ether, without a mixture of any other matter; and, being altogether hot and transparent, we may justly say they have life, sense, and understanding. and cleanthes thinks that it may be established by the evidence of two of our senses--feeling and seeing--that they are entirely fiery bodies; for the heat and brightness of the sun far exceed any other fire, inasmuch as it enlightens the whole universe, covering such a vast extent of space, and its power is such that we perceive that it not only warms, but often even burns: neither of which it could do if it were not of a fiery quality. since, then, says he, the sun is a fiery body, and is nourished by the vapors of the ocean (for no fire can continue without some sustenance), it must be either like that fire which we use to warm us and dress our food, or like that which is contained in the bodies of animals. and this fire, which the convenience of life requires, is the devourer and consumer of everything, and throws into confusion and destroys whatever it reaches. on the contrary, the corporeal heat is full of life, and salutary; and vivifies, preserves, cherishes, increases, and sustains all things, and is productive of sense; therefore, says he, there can be no doubt which of these fires the sun is like, since it causes all things in their respective kinds to flourish and arrive to maturity; and as the fire of the sun is like that which is contained in the bodies of animated beings, the sun itself must likewise be animated, and so must the other stars also, which arise out of the celestial ardor that we call the sky, or firmament. as, then, some animals are generated in the earth, some in the water, and some in the air, aristotle[ ] thinks it ridiculous to imagine that no animal is formed in that part of the universe which is the most capable to produce them. but the stars are situated in the ethereal space; and as this is an element the most subtle, whose motion is continual, and whose force does not decay, it follows, of necessity, that every animated being which is produced in it must be endowed with the quickest sense and the swiftest motion. the stars, therefore, being there generated, it is a natural inference to suppose them endued with such a degree of sense and understanding as places them in the rank of gods. xvi. for it may be observed that they who inhabit countries of a pure, clear air have a quicker apprehension and a readier genius than those who live in a thick, foggy climate. it is thought likewise that the nature of a man's diet has an effect on the mind; therefore it is probable that the stars are possessed of an excellent understanding, inasmuch as they are situated in the ethereal part of the universe, and are nourished by the vapors of the earth and sea, which are purified by their long passage to the heavens. but the invariable order and regular motion of the stars plainly manifest their sense and understanding; for all motion which seems to be conducted with reason and harmony supposes an intelligent principle, that does not act blindly, or inconsistently, or at random. and this regularity and consistent course of the stars from all eternity indicates not any natural order, for it is pregnant with sound reason, not fortune (for fortune, being a friend to change, despises consistency). it follows, therefore, that they move spontaneously by their own sense and divinity. aristotle also deserves high commendation for his observation that everything that moves is either put in motion by natural impulse, or by some external force, or of its own accord; and that the sun, and moon, and all the stars move; but that those things which are moved by natural impulse are either borne downward by their weight, or upward by their lightness; neither of which things could be the case with the stars, because they move in a regular circle and orbit. nor can it be said that there is some superior force which causes the stars to be moved in a manner contrary to nature. for what superior force can there be? it follows, therefore, that their motion must be voluntary. and whoever is convinced of this must discover not only great ignorance, but great impiety likewise, if he denies the existence of the gods; nor is the difference great whether a man denies their existence, or deprives them of all design and action; for whatever is wholly inactive seems to me not to exist at all. their existence, therefore, appears so plain that i can scarcely think that man in his senses who denies it. xvii. it now remains that we consider what is the character of the gods. nothing is more difficult than to divert our thoughts and judgment from the information of our corporeal sight, and the view of objects which our eyes are accustomed to; and it is this difficulty which has had such an influence on the unlearned, and on philosophers[ ] also who resembled the unlearned multitude, that they have been unable to form any idea of the immortal gods except under the clothing of the human figure; the weakness of which opinion cotta has so well confuted that i need not add my thoughts upon it. but as the previous idea which we have of the deity comprehends two things--first of all, that he is an animated being; secondly, that there is nothing in all nature superior to him--i do not see what can be more consistent with this idea and preconception than to attribute a mind and divinity to the world,[ ] the most excellent of all beings. epicurus may be as merry with this notion as he pleases; a man not the best qualified for a joker, as not having the wit and sense of his country.[ ] let him say that a voluble round deity is to him incomprehensible; yet he shall never dissuade me from a principle which he himself approves, for he is of opinion there are gods when he allows that there must be a nature excellently perfect. but it is certain that the world is most excellently perfect: nor is it to be doubted that whatever has life, sense, reason, and understanding must excel that which is destitute of these things. it follows, then, that the world has life, sense, reason, and understanding, and is consequently a deity. but this shall soon be made more manifest by the operation of these very things which the world causes. xviii. in the mean while, velleius, let me entreat you not to be always saying that we are utterly destitute of every sort of learning. the cone, you say, the cylinder, and the pyramid, are more beautiful to you than the sphere. this is to have different eyes from other men. but suppose they are more beautiful to the sight only, which does not appear to me, for i can see nothing more beautiful than that figure which contains all others, and which has nothing rough in it, nothing offensive, nothing cut into angles, nothing broken, nothing swelling, and nothing hollow; yet as there are two forms most esteemed,[ ] the globe in solids (for so the greek word [greek: sphaira], i think, should be construed), and the circle, or orb, in planes (in greek, [greek: kyklos]); and as they only have an exact similitude of parts in which every extreme is equally distant from the centre, what can we imagine in nature to be more just and proper? but if you have never raked into this learned dust[ ] to find out these things, surely, at all events, you natural philosophers must know that equality of motion and invariable order could not be preserved in any other figure. nothing, therefore, can be more illiterate than to assert, as you are in the habit of doing, that it is doubtful whether the world is round or not, because it may possibly be of another shape, and that there are innumerable worlds of different forms; which epicurus, if he ever had learned that two and two are equal to four, would not have said. but while he judges of what is best by his palate, he does not look up to the "palace of heaven," as ennius calls it. xix. for as there are two sorts of stars,[ ] one kind of which measure their journey from east to west by immutable stages, never in the least varying from their usual course, while the other completes a double revolution with an equally constant regularity; from each of these facts we demonstrate the volubility of the world (which could not possibly take place in any but a globular form) and the circular orbits of the stars. and first of all the sun, which has the chief rank among all the stars, is moved in such a manner that it fills the whole earth with its light, and illuminates alternately one part of the earth, while it leaves the other in darkness. the shadow of the earth interposing causes night; and the intervals of night are equal to those of day. and it is the regular approaches and retreats of the sun from which arise the regulated degrees of cold and heat. his annual circuit is in three hundred and sixty-five days, and nearly six hours more.[ ] at one time he bends his course to the north, at another to the south, and thus produces summer and winter, with the other two seasons, one of which succeeds the decline of winter, and the other that of summer. and so to these four changes of the seasons we attribute the origin and cause of all the productions both of sea and land. the moon completes the same course every month which the sun does in a year. the nearer she approaches to the sun, the dimmer light does she yield, and when most remote from it she shines with the fullest brilliancy; nor are her figure and form only changed in her wane, but her situation likewise, which is sometimes in the north and sometimes in the south. by this course she has a sort of summer and winter solstices; and by her influence she contributes to the nourishment and increase of animated beings, and to the ripeness and maturity of all vegetables. xx. but most worthy our admiration is the motion of those five stars which are falsely called wandering stars; for they cannot be said to wander which keep from all eternity their approaches and retreats, and have all the rest of their motions, in one regular constant and established order. what is yet more wonderful in these stars which we are speaking of is that sometimes they appear, and sometimes they disappear; sometimes they advance towards the sun, and sometimes they retreat; sometimes they precede him, and sometimes follow him; sometimes they move faster, sometimes slower, and sometimes they do not stir in the least, but for a while stand still. from these unequal motions of the planets, mathematicians have called that the "great year"[ ] in which the sun, moon, and five wandering stars, having finished their revolutions, are found in their original situation. in how long a time this is effected is much disputed, but it must be a certain and definite period. for the planet saturn (called by the greeks [greek: phainon]), which is farthest from the earth, finishes his course in about thirty years; and in his course there is something very singular, for sometimes he moves before the sun, sometimes he keeps behind it; at one time lying hidden in the night, at another again appearing in the morning; and ever performing the same motions in the same space of time without any alteration, so as to be for infinite ages regular in these courses. beneath this planet, and nearer the earth, is jupiter, called [greek: phaethôn], which passes the same orbit of the twelve signs[ ] in twelve years, and goes through exactly the same variety in its course that the star of saturn does. next to jupiter is the planet mars (in greek, [greek: pyroeis]), which finishes its revolution through the same orbit as the two previously mentioned,[ ] in twenty-four months, wanting six days, as i imagine. below this is mercury (called by the greeks [greek: stilbôn]), which performs the same course in little less than a year, and is never farther distant from the sun than the space of one sign, whether it precedes or follows it. the lowest of the five planets, and nearest the earth, is that of venus (called in greek [greek: phôsphoros]). before the rising of the sun, it is called the morning-star, and after the setting, the evening-star. it has the same revolution through the zodiac, both as to latitude and longitude, with the other planets, in a year, and never is more than two[ ] signs from the sun, whether it precedes or follows it. xxi. i cannot, therefore, conceive that this constant course of the planets, this just agreement in such various motions through all eternity, can be preserved without a mind, reason, and consideration; and since we may perceive these qualities in the stars, we cannot but place them in the rank of gods. those which are called the fixed stars have the same indications of reason and prudence. their motion is daily, regular, and constant. they do not move with the sky, nor have they an adhesion to the firmament, as they who are ignorant of natural philosophy affirm. for the sky, which is thin, transparent, and suffused with an equal heat, does not seem by its nature to have power to whirl about the stars, or to be proper to contain them. the fixed stars, therefore, have their own sphere, separate and free from any conjunction with the sky. their perpetual courses, with that admirable and incredible regularity of theirs, so plainly declare a divine power and mind to be in them, that he who cannot perceive that they are also endowed with divine power must be incapable of all perception whatever. in the heavens, therefore, there is nothing fortuitous, unadvised, inconstant, or variable: all there is order, truth, reason, and constancy; and all the things which are destitute of these qualities are counterfeit, deceitful, and erroneous, and have their residence about the earth[ ] beneath the moon, the lowest of all the planets. he, therefore, who believes that this admirable order and almost incredible regularity of the heavenly bodies, by which the preservation and entire safety of all things is secured, is destitute of intelligence, must be considered to be himself wholly destitute of all intellect whatever. i think, then, i shall not deceive myself in maintaining this dispute upon the principle of zeno, who went the farthest in his search after truth. xxii. zeno, then, defines nature to be "an artificial fire, proceeding in a regular way to generation;" for he thinks that to create and beget are especial properties of art, and that whatever may be wrought by the hands of our artificers is much more skilfully performed by nature, that is, by this artificial fire, which is the master of all other arts. according to this manner of reasoning, every particular nature is artificial, as it operates agreeably to a certain method peculiar to itself; but that universal nature which embraces all things is said by zeno to be not only artificial, but absolutely the artificer, ever thinking and providing all things useful and proper; and as every particular nature owes its rise and increase to its own proper seed, so universal nature has all her motions voluntary, has affections and desires (by the greeks called [greek: hormas]) productive of actions agreeable to them, like us, who have sense and understanding to direct us. such, then, is the intelligence of the universe; for which reason it may be properly termed prudence or providence (in greek, [greek: pronoia]), since her chiefest care and employment is to provide all things fit for its duration, that it may want nothing, and, above all, that it may be adorned with all perfection of beauty and ornament. xxiii. thus far have i spoken concerning the universe, and also of the stars; from whence it is apparent that there is almost an infinite number of gods, always in action, but without labor or fatigue; for they are not composed of veins, nerves, and bones; their food and drink are not such as cause humors too gross or too subtle; nor are their bodies such as to be subject to the fear of falls or blows, or in danger of diseases from a weariness of limbs. epicurus, to secure his gods from such accidents, has made them only outlines of deities, void of action; but our gods being of the most beautiful form, and situated in the purest region of the heavens, dispose and rule their course in such a manner that they seem to contribute to the support and preservation of all things. besides these, there are many other natures which have with reason been deified by the wisest grecians, and by our ancestors, in consideration of the benefits derived from them; for they were persuaded that whatever was of great utility to human kind must proceed from divine goodness, and the name of the deity was applied to that which the deity produced, as when we call corn ceres, and wine bacchus; whence that saying of terence,[ ] without ceres and bacchus, venus starves. and any quality, also, in which there was any singular virtue was nominated a deity, such as faith and wisdom, which are placed among the divinities in the capitol; the last by Æmilius scaurus, but faith was consecrated before by atilius calatinus. you see the temple of virtue and that of honor repaired by m. marcellus, erected formerly, in the ligurian war, by q. maximus. need i mention those dedicated to help, safety, concord, liberty, and victory, which have been called deities, because their efficacy has been so great that it could not have proceeded from any but from some divine power? in like manner are the names of cupid, voluptas, and of lubentine venus consecrated, though they were things vicious and not natural, whatever velleius may think to the contrary, for they frequently stimulate nature in too violent a manner. everything, then, from which any great utility proceeded was deified; and, indeed, the names i have just now mentioned are declaratory of the particular virtue of each deity. xxiv. it has been a general custom likewise, that men who have done important service to the public should be exalted to heaven by fame and universal consent. thus hercules, castor and pollux, Æsculapius, and liber became gods (i mean liber[ ] the son of semele, and not him[ ] whom our ancestors consecrated in such state and solemnity with ceres and libera; the difference in which may be seen in our mysteries.[ ] but because the offsprings of our bodies are called "liberi" (children), therefore the offsprings of ceres are called liber and libera (libera[ ] is the feminine, and liber the masculine); thus likewise romulus, or quirinus--for they are thought to be the same--became a god. they are justly esteemed as deities, since their souls subsist and enjoy eternity, from whence they are perfect and immortal beings. there is another reason, too, and that founded on natural philosophy, which has greatly contributed to the number of deities; namely, the custom of representing in human form a crowd of gods who have supplied the poets with fables, and filled mankind with all sorts of superstition. zeno has treated of this subject, but it has been discussed more at length by cleanthes and chrysippus. all greece was of opinion that coelum was castrated by his son saturn,[ ] and that saturn was chained by his son jupiter. in these impious fables, a physical and not inelegant meaning is contained; for they would denote that the celestial, most exalted, and ethereal nature--that is, the fiery nature, which produces all things by itself--is destitute of that part of the body which is necessary for the act of generation by conjunction with another. xxv. by saturn they mean that which comprehends the course and revolution of times and seasons; the greek name for which deity implies as much, for he is called [greek: kronos,] which is the same with [greek: chronos], that is, a "space of time." but he is called saturn, because he is filled (_saturatur_) with years; and he is usually feigned to have devoured his children, because time, ever insatiable, consumes the rolling years; but to restrain him from immoderate haste, jupiter has confined him to the course of the stars, which are as chains to him. jupiter (that is, _juvans pater_) signifies a "helping father," whom, by changing the cases, we call jove,[ ] _a juvando_. the poets call him "father of gods and men;"[ ] and our ancestors "the most good, the most great;" and as there is something more glorious in itself, and more agreeable to others, to be good (that is, beneficent) than to be great, the title of "most good" precedes that of "most great." this, then, is he whom ennius means in the following passage, before quoted-- look up to the refulgent heaven above, which all men call, unanimously, jove: which is more plainly expressed than in this other passage[ ] of the same poet-- on whose account i'll curse that flood of light, whate'er it is above that shines so bright. our augurs also mean the same, when, for the "thundering and lightning heaven," they say the "thundering and lightning jove." euripides, among many excellent things, has this: the vast, expanded, boundless sky behold, see it with soft embrace the earth enfold; this own the chief of deities above, and this acknowledge by the name of jove. xxvi. the air, according to the stoics, which is between the sea and the heaven, is consecrated by the name of juno, and is called the sister and wife of jove, because it resembles the sky, and is in close conjunction with it. they have made it feminine, because there is nothing softer. but i believe it is called juno, _a juvando_ (from helping). to make three separate kingdoms, by fable, there remained yet the water and the earth. the dominion of the sea is given, therefore, to neptune, a brother, as he is called, of jove; whose name, neptunus--as _portunus, a portu_, from a port--is derived _a nando_ (from swimming), the first letters being a little changed. the sovereignty and power over the earth is the portion of a god, to whom we, as well as the greeks, have given a name that denotes riches (in latin, _dis_; in greek, [greek: ploutôn]), because all things arise from the earth and return to it. he forced away proserpine (in greek called [greek: persephonê]), by which the poets mean the "seed of corn," from whence comes their fiction of ceres, the mother of proserpine, seeking for her daughter, who was hidden from her. she is called ceres, which is the same as geres--_a gerendis frugibus_[ ]--"from bearing fruit," the first letter of the word being altered after the manner of the greeks, for by them she is called [greek: dêmêtêr], the same as [greek: gêmêtêr].[ ] again, he (_qui magna vorteret_) "who brings about mighty changes" is called mavors; and minerva is so called because (_minueret_, or _minaretur_) she diminishes or menaces. xxvii. and as the beginnings and endings of all things are of the greatest importance, therefore they would have their sacrifices to begin with janus.[ ] his name is derived _ab eundo_, from passing; from whence thorough passages are called _jani_, and the outward doors of common houses are called _januæ_. the name of vesta is, from the greeks, the same with their [greek: hestia]. her province is over altars and hearths; and in the name of this goddess, who is the keeper of all things within, prayers and sacrifices are concluded. the _dii penates_, "household gods," have some affinity with this power, and are so called either from _penus_, "all kind of human provisions," or because _penitus insident_ (they reside within), from which, by the poets, they are called _penetrales_ also. apollo, a greek name, is called _sol_, the sun; and diana, _luna_, the moon. the sun (_sol_) is so named either because he is _solus_ (alone), so eminent above all the stars; or because he obscures all the stars, and appears alone as soon as he rises. _luna_, the moon, is so called _a lucendo_ (from shining); she bears the name also of lucina: and as in greece the women in labor invoke diana lucifera, so here they invoke juno lucina. she is likewise called diana _omnivaga_, not _a venando_ (from hunting), but because she is reckoned one of the seven stars that seem to wander.[ ] she is called diana because she makes a kind of day of the night;[ ] and presides over births, because the delivery is effected sometimes in seven, or at most in nine, courses of the moon; which, because they make _mensa spatia_ (measured spaces), are called _menses_ (months). this occasioned a pleasant observation of timæus (as he has many). having said in his history that "the same night in which alexander was born, the temple of diana at ephesus was burned down," he adds, "it is not in the least to be wondered at, because diana, being willing to assist at the labor of olympias,[ ] was absent from home." but to this goddess, because _ad res omnes veniret_--"she has an influence upon all things"--we have given the appellation of venus,[ ] from whom the word _venustas_ (beauty) is rather derived than venus from _venustas_. xxviii. do you not see, therefore, how, from the productions of nature and the useful inventions of men, have arisen fictitious and imaginary deities, which have been the foundation of false opinions, pernicious errors, and wretched superstitions? for we know how the different forms of the gods--their ages, apparel, ornaments; their pedigrees, marriages, relations, and everything belonging to them--are adapted to human weakness and represented with our passions; with lust, sorrow, and anger, according to fabulous history: they have had wars and combats, not only, as homer relates, when they have interested themselves in two different armies, but when they have fought battles in their own defence against the titans and giants. these stories, of the greatest weakness and levity, are related and believed with the most implicit folly. but, rejecting these fables with contempt, a deity is diffused in every part of nature; in earth under the name of ceres, in the sea under the name of neptune, in other parts under other names. yet whatever they are, and whatever characters and dispositions they have, and whatever name custom has given them, we are bound to worship and adore them. the best, the chastest, the most sacred and pious worship of the gods is to reverence them always with a pure, perfect, and unpolluted mind and voice; for our ancestors, as well as the philosophers, have separated superstition from religion. they who prayed whole days and sacrificed, that their children might survive them (_ut superstites essent_), were called superstitious, which word became afterward more general; but they who diligently perused, and, as we may say, read or practised over again, all the duties relating to the worship of the gods, were called _religiosi_--religious, from _relegendo_--"reading over again, or practising;" as _elegantes_, elegant, _ex eligendo_, "from choosing, making a good choice;" _diligentes_, diligent, _ex diligendo_, "from attending on what we love;" _intelligentes_, intelligent, from understanding--for the signification is derived in the same manner. thus are the words superstitious and religious understood; the one being a term of reproach, the other of commendation. i think i have now sufficiently demonstrated that there are gods, and what they are. xxix. i am now to show that the world is governed by the providence of the gods. this is an important point, which you academics endeavor to confound; and, indeed, the whole contest is with you, cotta; for your sect, velleius, know very little of what is said on different subjects by other schools. you read and have a taste only for your own books, and condemn all others without examination. for instance, when you mentioned yesterday[ ] that prophetic old dame [greek: pronoia], providence, invented by the stoics, you were led into that error by imagining that providence was made by them to be a particular deity that governs the whole universe, whereas it is only spoken in a short manner; as when it is said "the commonwealth of athens is governed by the council," it is meant "of the areopagus;"[ ] so when we say "the world is governed by providence," we mean "by the providence of the gods." to express ourselves, therefore, more fully and clearly, we say, "the world is governed by the providence of the gods." be not, therefore, lavish of your railleries, of which your sect has little to spare: if i may advise you, do not attempt it. it does not become you, it is not your talent, nor is it in your power. this is not applied to you in particular who have the education and politeness of a roman, but to all your sect in general, and especially to your leader[ ]--a man unpolished, illiterate, insulting, without wit, without reputation, without elegance. xxx. i assert, then, that the universe, with all its parts, was originally constituted, and has, without any cessation, been ever governed by the providence of the gods. this argument we stoics commonly divide into three parts; the first of which is, that the existence of the gods being once known, it must follow that the world is governed by their wisdom; the second, that as everything is under the direction of an intelligent nature, which has produced that beautiful order in the world, it is evident that it is formed from animating principles; the third is deduced from those glorious works which we behold in the heavens and the earth. first, then, we must either deny the existence of the gods (as democritus and epicurus by their doctrine of images in some sort do), or, if we acknowledge that there are gods, we must believe they are employed, and that, too, in something excellent. now, nothing is so excellent as the administration of the universe. the universe, therefore, is governed by the wisdom of the gods. otherwise, we must imagine that there is some cause superior to the deity, whether it be a nature inanimate, or a necessity agitated by a mighty force, that produces those beautiful works which we behold. the nature of the gods would then be neither supreme nor excellent, if you subject it to that necessity or to that nature, by which you would make the heaven, the earth, and the seas to be governed. but there is nothing superior to the deity; the world, therefore, must be governed by him: consequently, the deity is under no obedience or subjection to nature, but does himself rule over all nature. in effect, if we allow the gods have understanding, we allow also their providence, which regards the most important things; for, can they be ignorant of those important things, and how they are to be conducted and preserved, or do they want power to sustain and direct them? ignorance is inconsistent with the nature of the gods, and imbecility is repugnant to their majesty. from whence it follows, as we assert, that the world is governed by the providence of the gods. xxxi. but supposing, which is incontestable, that there are gods, they must be animated, and not only animated, but endowed with reason--united, as we may say, in a civil agreement and society, and governing together one universe, as a republic or city. thus the same reason, the same verity, the same law, which ordains good and prohibits evil, exists in the gods as it does in men. from them, consequently, we have prudence and understanding, for which reason our ancestors erected temples to the mind, faith, virtue, and concord. shall we not then allow the gods to have these perfections, since we worship the sacred and august images of them? but if understanding, faith, virtue, and concord reside in human kind, how could they come on earth, unless from heaven? and if we are possessed of wisdom, reason, and prudence, the gods must have the same qualities in a greater degree; and not only have them, but employ them in the best and greatest works. the universe is the best and greatest work; therefore it must be governed by the wisdom and providence of the gods. lastly, as we have sufficiently shown that those glorious and luminous bodies which we behold are deities--i mean the sun, the moon, the fixed and wandering stars, the firmament, and the world itself, and those other things also which have any singular virtue, and are of any great utility to human kind--it follows that all things are governed by providence and a divine mind. but enough has been said on the first part. xxxii. it is now incumbent on me to prove that all things are subjected to nature, and most beautifully directed by her. but, first of all, it is proper to explain precisely what that nature is, in order to come to the more easy understanding of what i would demonstrate. some think that nature is a certain irrational power exciting in bodies the necessary motions. others, that it is an intelligent power, acting by order and method, designing some end in every cause, and always aiming at that end, whose works express such skill as no art, no hand, can imitate; for, they say, such is the virtue of its seed, that, however small it is, if it falls into a place proper for its reception, and meets with matter conducive to its nourishment and increase, it forms and produces everything in its respective kind; either vegetables, which receive their nourishment from their roots; or animals, endowed with motion, sense, appetite, and abilities to beget their likeness. some apply the word nature to everything; as epicurus does, who acknowledges no cause, but atoms, a vacuum, and their accidents. but when we[ ] say that nature forms and governs the world, we do not apply it to a clod of earth, or piece of stone, or anything of that sort, whose parts have not the necessary cohesion,[ ] but to a tree, in which there is not the appearance of chance, but of order and a resemblance of art. xxxiii. but if the art of nature gives life and increase to vegetables, without doubt it supports the earth itself; for, being impregnated with seeds, she produces every kind of vegetable, and embracing their roots, she nourishes and increases them; while, in her turn, she receives her nourishment from the other elements, and by her exhalations gives proper sustenance to the air, the sky, and all the superior bodies. if nature gives vigor and support to the earth, by the same reason she has an influence over the rest of the world; for as the earth gives nourishment to vegetables, so the air is the preservation of animals. the air sees with us, hears with us, and utters sounds with us; without it, there would be no seeing, hearing, or sounding. it even moves with us; for wherever we go, whatever motion we make, it seems to retire and give place to us. that which inclines to the centre, that which rises from it to the surface, and that which rolls about the centre, constitute the universal world, and make one entire nature; and as there are four sorts of bodies, the continuance of nature is caused by their reciprocal changes; for the water arises from the earth, the air from the water, and the fire from the air; and, reversing this order, the air arises from fire, the water from the air, and from the water the earth, the lowest of the four elements, of which all beings are formed. thus by their continual motions backward and forward, upward and downward, the conjunction of the several parts of the universe is preserved; a union which, in the beauty we now behold it, must be eternal, or at least of a very long duration, and almost for an infinite space of time; and, whichever it is, the universe must of consequence be governed by nature. for what art of navigating fleets, or of marshalling an army, and--to instance the produce of nature--what vine, what tree, what animated form and conformation of their members, give us so great an indication of skill as appears in the universe? therefore we must either deny that there is the least trace of an intelligent nature, or acknowledge that the world is governed by it. but since the universe contains all particular beings, as well as their seeds, can we say that it is not itself governed by nature? that would be the same as saying that the teeth and the beard of man are the work of nature, but that the man himself is not. thus the effect would be understood to be greater than the cause. xxxiv. now, the universe sows, as i may say, plants, produces, raises, nourishes, and preserves what nature administers, as members and parts of itself. if nature, therefore, governs them, she must also govern the universe. and, lastly, in nature's administration there is nothing faulty. she produced the best possible effect out of those elements which existed. let any one show how it could have been better. but that can never be; and whoever attempts to mend it will either make it worse, or aim at impossibilities. but if all the parts of the universe are so constituted that nothing could be better for use or beauty, let us consider whether this is the effect of chance, or whether, in such a state they could possibly cohere, but by the direction of wisdom and divine providence. nature, therefore, cannot be void of reason, if art can bring nothing to perfection without it, and if the works of nature exceed those of art. how is it consistent with common-sense that when you view an image or a picture, you imagine it is wrought by art; when you behold afar off a ship under sail, you judge it is steered by reason and art; when you see a dial or water-clock,[ ] you believe the hours are shown by art, and not by chance; and yet that you should imagine that the universe, which contains all arts and the artificers, can be void of reason and understanding? but if that sphere which was lately made by our friend posidonius, the regular revolutions of which show the course of the sun, moon, and five wandering stars, as it is every day and night performed, were carried into scythia or britain, who, in those barbarous countries, would doubt that that sphere had been made so perfect by the exertion of reason? xxxv. yet these people[ ] doubt whether the universe, from whence all things arise and are made, is not the effect of chance, or some necessity, rather than the work of reason and a divine mind. according to them, archimedes shows more knowledge in representing the motions of the celestial globe than nature does in causing them, though the copy is so infinitely beneath the original. the shepherd in attius,[ ] who had never seen a ship, when he perceived from a mountain afar off the divine vessel of the argonauts, surprised and frighted at this new object, expressed himself in this manner: what horrid bulk is that before my eyes, which o'er the deep with noise and vigor flies? it turns the whirlpools up, its force so strong, and drives the billows as it rolls along. the ocean's violence it fiercely braves; runs furious on, and throws about the waves. swiftly impetuous in its course, and loud, like the dire bursting of a show'ry cloud; or, like a rock, forced by the winds and rain, now whirl'd aloft, then plunged into the main. but hold! perhaps the earth and neptune jar, and fiercely wage an elemental war; or triton with his trident has o'erthrown his den, and loosen'd from the roots the stone; the rocky fragment, from the bottom torn, is lifted up, and on the surface borne. at first he is in suspense at the sight of this unknown object; but on seeing the young mariners, and hearing their singing, he says, like sportive dolphins, with their snouts they roar;[ ] and afterward goes on, loud in my ears methinks their voices ring, as if i heard the god sylvanus sing. as at first view the shepherd thinks he sees something inanimate and insensible, but afterward, judging by more trustworthy indications, he begins to figure to himself what it is; so philosophers, if they are surprised at first at the sight of the universe, ought, when they have considered the regular, uniform, and immutable motions of it, to conceive that there is some being that is not only an inhabitant of this celestial and divine mansion, but a ruler and a governor, as architect of this mighty fabric. xxxvi. now, in my opinion, they[ ] do not seem to have even the least suspicion that the heavens and earth afford anything marvellous. for, in the first place, the earth is situated in the middle part of the universe, and is surrounded on all sides by the air, which we breathe, and which is called "aer,"[ ] which, indeed, is a greek word; but by constant use it is well understood by our countrymen, for, indeed, it is employed as a latin word. the air is encompassed by the boundless ether (sky), which consists of the fires above. this word we borrow also, for we use _æther_ in latin as well as _aer;_ though pacuvius thus expresses it, --this, of which i speak, in latin's _coelum_, _æther_ call'd in greek. as though he were not a greek into whose mouth he puts this sentence; but he is speaking in latin, though we listen as if he were speaking greek; for, as he says elsewhere, his speech discovers him a grecian born. but to return to more important matters. in the sky innumerable fiery stars exist, of which the sun is the chief, enlightening all with his refulgent splendor, and being by many degrees larger than the whole earth; and this multitude of vast fires are so far from hurting the earth, and things terrestrial, that they are of benefit to them; whereas, if they were moved from their stations, we should inevitably be burned through the want of a proper moderation and temperature of heat. xxxvii. is it possible for any man to behold these things, and yet imagine that certain solid and individual bodies move by their natural force and gravitation, and that a world so beautifully adorned was made by their fortuitous concourse? he who believes this may as well believe that if a great quantity of the one-and-twenty letters, composed either of gold or any other matter, were thrown upon the ground, they would fall into such order as legibly to form the annals of ennius. i doubt whether fortune could make a single verse of them. how, therefore, can these people assert that the world was made by the fortuitous concourse of atoms, which have no color, no quality--which the greeks call [greek: poiotês], no sense? or that there are innumerable worlds, some rising and some perishing, in every moment of time? but if a concourse of atoms can make a world, why not a porch, a temple, a house, a city, which are works of less labor and difficulty? certainly those men talk so idly and inconsiderately concerning this lower world that they appear to me never to have contemplated the wonderful magnificence of the heavens; which is the next topic for our consideration. well, then, did aristotle[ ] observe: "if there were men whose habitations had been always underground, in great and commodious houses, adorned with statues and pictures, furnished with everything which they who are reputed happy abound with; and if, without stirring from thence, they should be informed of a certain divine power and majesty, and, after some time, the earth should open, and they should quit their dark abode to come to us, where they should immediately behold the earth, the seas, the heavens; should consider the vast extent of the clouds and force of the winds; should see the sun, and observe his grandeur and beauty, and also his generative power, inasmuch as day is occasioned by the diffusion of his light through the sky; and when night has obscured the earth, they should contemplate the heavens bespangled and adorned with stars, the surprising variety of the moon in her increase and wane, the rising and setting of all the stars, and the inviolable regularity of their courses; when," says he, "they should see these things, they would undoubtedly conclude that there are gods, and that these are their mighty works." xxxviii. thus far aristotle. let us imagine, also, as great darkness as was formerly occasioned by the irruption of the fires of mount Ætna, which are said to have obscured the adjacent countries for two days to such a degree that no man could recognize his fellow; but on the third, when the sun appeared, they seemed to be risen from the dead. now, if we should be suddenly brought from a state of eternal darkness to see the light, how beautiful would the heavens seem! but our minds have become used to it from the daily practice and habituation of our eyes, nor do we take the trouble to search into the principles of what is always in view; as if the novelty, rather than the importance, of things ought to excite us to investigate their causes. is he worthy to be called a man who attributes to chance, not to an intelligent cause, the constant motion of the heavens, the regular courses of the stars, the agreeable proportion and connection of all things, conducted with so much reason that our intellect itself is unable to estimate it rightly? when we see machines move artificially, as a sphere, a clock, or the like, do we doubt whether they are the productions of reason? and when we behold the heavens moving with a prodigious celerity, and causing an annual succession of the different seasons of the year, which vivify and preserve all things, can we doubt that this world is directed, i will not say only by reason, but by reason most excellent and divine? for without troubling ourselves with too refined a subtlety of discussion, we may use our eyes to contemplate the beauty of those things which we assert have been arranged by divine providence. xxxix. first, let us examine the earth, whose situation is in the middle of the universe,[ ] solid, round, and conglobular by its natural tendency; clothed with flowers, herbs, trees, and fruits; the whole in multitudes incredible, and with a variety suitable to every taste: let us consider the ever-cool and running springs, the clear waters of the rivers, the verdure of their banks, the hollow depths of caves, the cragginess of rocks, the heights of impending mountains, and the boundless extent of plains, the hidden veins of gold and silver, and the infinite quarries of marble. what and how various are the kinds of animals, tame or wild? the flights and notes of birds? how do the beasts live in the fields and in the forests? what shall i say of men, who, being appointed, as we may say, to cultivate the earth, do not suffer its fertility to be choked with weeds, nor the ferocity of beasts to make it desolate; who, by the houses and cities which they build, adorn the fields, the isles, and the shores? if we could view these objects with the naked eye, as we can by the contemplation of the mind, nobody, at such a sight, would doubt there was a divine intelligence. but how beautiful is the sea! how pleasant to see the extent of it! what a multitude and variety of islands! how delightful are the coasts! what numbers and what diversity of inhabitants does it contain; some within the bosom of it, some floating on the surface, and others by their shells cleaving to the rocks! while the sea itself, approaching to the land, sports so closely to its shores that those two elements appear to be but one. next above the sea is the air, diversified by day and night: when rarefied, it possesses the higher region; when condensed, it turns into clouds, and with the waters which it gathers enriches the earth by the rain. its agitation produces the winds. it causes heat and cold according to the different seasons. it sustains birds in their flight; and, being inhaled, nourishes and preserves all animated beings. xl. add to these, which alone remaineth to be mentioned, the firmament of heaven, a region the farthest from our abodes, which surrounds and contains all things. it is likewise called ether, or sky, the extreme bounds and limits of the universe, in which the stars perform their appointed courses in a most wonderful manner; among which, the sun, whose magnitude far surpasses the earth, makes his revolution round it, and by his rising and setting causes day and night; sometimes coming near towards the earth, and sometimes going from it, he every year makes two contrary reversions[ ] from the extreme point of its course. in his retreat the earth seems locked up in sadness; in his return it appears exhilarated with the heavens. the moon, which, as mathematicians demonstrate, is bigger than half the earth, makes her revolutions through the same spaces[ ] as the sun; but at one time approaching, and at another receding from, the sun, she diffuses the light which she has borrowed from him over the whole earth, and has herself also many various changes in her appearance. when she is found under the sun, and opposite to it, the brightness of her rays is lost; but when the earth directly interposes between the moon and sun, the moon is totally eclipsed. the other wandering stars have their courses round the earth in the same spaces,[ ] and rise and set in the same manner; their motions are sometimes quick, sometimes slow, and often they stand still. there is nothing more wonderful, nothing more beautiful. there is a vast number of fixed stars, distinguished by the names of certain figures, to which we find they have some resemblance. xli. i will here, says balbus, looking at me, make use of the verses which, when you were young, you translated from aratus,[ ] and which, because they are in latin, gave me so much delight that i have many of them still in my memory. as then, we daily see, without any change or variation, --the rest[ ] swiftly pursue the course to which they're bound; and with the heavens the days and nights go round; the contemplation of which, to a mind desirous of observing the constancy of nature, is inexhaustible. the extreme top of either point is call'd the pole.[ ] about this the two [greek: arktoi] are turned, which never set; of these, the greeks one cynosura call, the other helice.[ ] the brightest stars,[ ] indeed, of helice are discernible all night, which are by us septentriones call'd. cynosura moves about the same pole, with a like number of stars, and ranged in the same order: this[ ] the phoenicians choose to make their guide when on the ocean in the night they ride. adorned with stars of more refulgent light, the other[ ] shines, and first appears at night. though this is small, sailors its use have found; more inward is its course, and short its round. xlii. the aspect of those stars is the more admirable, because, the dragon grim between them bends his way, as through the winding banks the currents stray, and up and down in sinuous bending rolls.[ ] his whole form is excellent; but the shape of his head and the ardor of his eyes are most remarkable. various the stars which deck his glittering head; his temples are with double glory spread; from his fierce eyes two fervid lights afar flash, and his chin shines with one radiant star; bow'd is his head; and his round neck he bends, and to the tail of helice[ ] extends. the rest of the dragon's body we see[ ] at every hour in the night. here[ ] suddenly the head a little hides itself, where all its parts, which are in sight, and those unseen in the same place unite. near to this head is placed the figure of a man that moves weary and sad, which the greeks engonasis do call, because he's borne[ ] about with bended knee. near him is placed the crown with a refulgent lustre graced. this indeed is at his back; but anguitenens (the snake-holder) is near his head:[ ] the greeks him ophiuchus call, renown'd the name. he strongly grasps the serpent round with both his hands; himself the serpent folds beneath his breast, and round his middle holds; yet gravely he, bright shining in the skies, moves on, and treads on nepa's[ ] breast and eyes. the septentriones[ ] are followed by-- arctophylax,[ ] that's said to be the same which we boötes call, who has the name, because he drives the greater bear along yoked to a wain. besides, in boötes, a star of glittering rays about his waist, arcturus called, a name renown'd, is placed.[ ] beneath which is the virgin of illustrious form, whose hand holds a bright spike. xliii. and truly these signs are so regularly disposed that a divine wisdom evidently appears in them: beneath the bear's[ ] head have the twins their seat, under his chest the crab, beneath his feet the mighty lion darts a trembling flame.[ ] the charioteer on the left side of gemini we see,[ ] and at his head behold fierce helice; on his left shoulder the bright goat appears. but to proceed-- this is indeed a great and glorious star, on th' other side the kids, inferior far, yield but a slender light to mortal eyes. under his feet the horned bull,[ ] with sturdy limbs, is placed: his head is spangled with a number of stars; these by the greeks are called the hyades, from raining; for [greek: hyein] is to rain: therefore they are injudiciously called _suculæ_ by our people, as if they had their name from [greek: hys], a sow, and not from [greek: hyô]. behind the lesser bear, cepheus[ ] follows with extended hands, for close behind the lesser bear he comes. before him goes cassiopea[ ] with a faintish light; but near her moves (fair and illustrious sight!) andromeda,[ ] who, with an eager pace, seems to avoid her parent's mournful face.[ ] with glittering mane the horse[ ] now seems to tread, so near he comes, on her refulgent head; with a fair star, that close to him appears, a double form[ ] and but one light he wears; by which he seems ambitious in the sky an everlasting knot of stars to tie. near him the ram, with wreathed horns, is placed; by whom the fishes[ ] are; of which one seems to haste somewhat before the other, to the blast of the north wind exposed. xliv. perseus is described as placed at the feet of andromeda: and him the sharp blasts of the north wind beat. near his left knee, but dim their light, their seat the small pleiades[ ] maintain. we find, not far from them, the lyre[ ] but slightly join'd. next is the winged bird,[ ] that seems to fly beneath the spacious covering of the sky. near the head of the horse[ ] lies the right hand of aquarius, then all aquarius himself.[ ] then capricorn, with half the form of beast, breathes chill and piercing colds from his strong breast, and in a spacious circle takes his round; when him, while in the winter solstice bound, the sun has visited with constant light, he turns his course, and shorter makes the night.[ ] not far from hence is seen the scorpion[ ] rising lofty from below; by him the archer,[ ] with his bended bow; near him the bird, with gaudy feathers spread; and the fierce eagle[ ] hovers o'er his head. next comes the dolphin;[ ] then bright orion,[ ] who obliquely moves; he is followed by the fervent dog,[ ] bright with refulgent stars: next the hare follows[ ] unwearied in his course. at the dog's tail argo[ ] moves on, and moving seems to sail; o'er her the ram and fishes have their place;[ ] the illustrious vessel touches, in her pace, the river's banks;[ ] which you may see winding and extending itself to a great length. the fetters[ ] at the fishes' tails are hung. by nepa's[ ] head behold the altar stand,[ ] which by the breath of southern winds is fann'd; near which the centaur[ ] hastens his mingled parts to join beneath the serpent,[ ] there extending his right hand, to where you see the monstrous scorpion stand, which he at the bright altar fiercely slays. here on her lower parts see hydra[ ] raise herself; whose bulk is very far extended. amid the winding of her body's placed the shining goblet;[ ] and the glossy crow[ ] plunges his beak into her parts below. antecanis beneath the twins is seen, call'd procyon by the greeks.[ ] can any one in his senses imagine that this disposition of the stars, and this heaven so beautifully adorned, could ever have been formed by a fortuitous concourse of atoms? or what other nature, being destitute of intellect and reason, could possibly have produced these effects, which not only required reason to bring them about, but the very character of which could not be understood and appreciated without the most strenuous exertions of well-directed reason? xlv. but our admiration is not limited to the objects here described. what is most wonderful is that the world is so durable, and so perfectly made for lasting that it is not to be impaired by time; for all its parts tend equally to the centre, and are bound together by a sort of chain, which surrounds the elements. this chain is nature, which being diffused through the universe, and performing all things with judgment and reason, attracts the extremities to the centre. if, then, the world is round, and if on that account all its parts, being of equal dimensions and relative proportions, mutually support and are supported by one another, it must follow that as all the parts incline to the centre (for that is the lowest place of a globe) there is nothing whatever which can put a stop to that propensity in the case of such great weights. for the same reason, though the sea is higher than the earth, yet because it has the like tendency, it is collected everywhere, equally concentres, and never overflows, and is never wasted. the air, which is contiguous, ascends by its lightness, but diffuses itself through the whole; therefore it is by nature joined and united to the sea, and at the same time borne by the same power towards the heaven, by the thinness and heat of which it is so tempered as to be made proper to supply life and wholesome air for the support of animated beings. this is encompassed by the highest region of the heavens, which is called the sky, which is joined to the extremity of the air, but retains its own heat pure and unmixed. xlvi. the stars have their revolutions in the sky, and are continued by the tendency of all parts towards the centre. their duration is perpetuated by their form and figure, for they are round; which form, as i think has been before observed, is the least liable to injury; and as they are composed of fire, they are fed by the vapors which are exhaled by the sun from the earth, the sea, and other waters; but when these vapors have nourished and refreshed the stars, and the whole sky, they are sent back to be exhaled again; so that very little is lost or consumed by the fire of the stars and the flame of the sky. hence we stoics conclude--which panætius[ ] is said to have doubted of--that the whole world at last would be consumed by a general conflagration, when, all moisture being exhausted, neither the earth could have any nourishment, nor the air return again, since water, of which it is formed, would then be all consumed; so that only fire would subsist; and from this fire, which is an animating power and a deity, a new world would arise and be re-established in the same beauty. i should be sorry to appear to you to dwell too long upon this subject of the stars, and more especially upon that of the planets, whose motions, though different, make a very just agreement. saturn, the highest, chills; mars, placed in the middle, burns; while jupiter, interposing, moderates their excess, both of light and heat. the two planets beneath mars[ ] obey the sun. the sun himself fills the whole universe with his own genial light; and the moon, illuminated by him, influences conception, birth, and maturity. and who is there who is not moved by this union of things, and by this concurrence of nature agreeing together, as it were, for the safety of the world? and yet i feel sure that none of these reflections have ever been made by these men. xlvii. let us proceed from celestial to terrestrial things. what is there in them which does not prove the principle of an intelligent nature? first, as to vegetables; they have roots to sustain their stems, and to draw from the earth a nourishing moisture to support the vital principle which those roots contain. they are clothed with a rind or bark, to secure them more thoroughly from heat and cold. the vines we see take hold on props with their tendrils, as if with hands, and raise themselves as if they were animated; it is even said that they shun cabbages and coleworts, as noxious and pestilential to them, and, if planted by them, will not touch any part. but what a vast variety is there of animals! and how wonderfully is every kind adapted to preserve itself! some are covered with hides, some clothed with fleeces, and some guarded with bristles; some are sheltered with feathers, some with scales; some are armed with horns, and some are furnished with wings to escape from danger. nature hath also liberally and plentifully provided for all animals their proper food. i could expatiate on the judicious and curious formation and disposition of their bodies for the reception and digestion of it, for all their interior parts are so framed and disposed that there is nothing superfluous, nothing that is not necessary for the preservation of life. besides, nature has also given these beasts appetite and sense; in order that by the one they may be excited to procure sufficient sustenance, and by the other they may distinguish what is noxious from what is salutary. some animals seek their food walking, some creeping, some flying, and some swimming; some take it with their mouth and teeth; some seize it with their claws, and some with their beaks; some suck, some graze, some bolt it whole, and some chew it. some are so low that they can with ease take such food as is to be found on the ground; but the taller, as geese, swans, cranes, and camels, are assisted by a length of neck. to the elephant is given a hand,[ ] without which, from his unwieldiness of body, he would scarce have any means of attaining food. xlviii. but to those beasts which live by preying on others, nature has given either strength or swiftness. on some animals she has even bestowed artifice and cunning; as on spiders, some of which weave a sort of net to entrap and destroy whatever falls into it, others sit on the watch unobserved to fall on their prey and devour it. the naker--by the greeks called _pinna_--has a kind of confederacy with the prawn for procuring food. it has two large shells open, into which when the little fishes swim, the naker, having notice given by the bite of the prawn, closes them immediately. thus, these little animals, though of different kinds, seek their food in common; in which it is matter of wonder whether they associate by any agreement, or are naturally joined together from their beginning. there is some cause to admire also the provision of nature in the case of those aquatic animals which are generated on land, such as crocodiles, river-tortoises, and a certain kind of serpents, which seek the water as soon as they are able to drag themselves along. we frequently put duck-eggs under hens, by which, as by their true mothers, the ducklings are at first hatched and nourished; but when they see the water, they forsake them and run to it, as to their natural abode: so strong is the impression of nature in animals for their own preservation. xlix. i have read that there is a bird called platalea (the shoveller), that lives by watching those fowls which dive into the sea for their prey, and when they return with it, he squeezes their heads with his beak till they drop it, and then seizes on it himself. it is said likewise that he is in the habit of filling his stomach with shell-fish, and when they are digested by the heat which exists in the stomach, they cast them up, and then pick out what is proper nourishment. the sea-frogs, they say, are wont to cover themselves with sand, and moving near the water, the fishes strike at them, as at a bait, and are themselves taken and devoured by the frogs. between the kite and the crow there is a kind of natural war, and wherever the one finds the eggs of the other, he breaks them. but who is there who can avoid being struck with wonder at that which has been noticed by aristotle, who has enriched us with so many valuable remarks? when the cranes[ ] pass the sea in search of warmer climes, they fly in the form of a triangle. by the first angle they repel the resisting air; on each side, their wings serve as oars to facilitate their flight; and the basis of their triangle is assisted by the wind in their stern. those which are behind rest their necks and heads on those which precede; and as the leader has not the same relief, because he has none to lean upon, he at length flies behind that he may also rest, while one of those which have been eased succeeds him, and through the whole flight each regularly takes his turn. i could produce many instances of this kind; but these may suffice. let us now proceed to things more familiar to us. the care of beasts for their own preservation, their circumspection while feeding, and their manner of taking rest in their lairs, are generally known, but still they are greatly to be admired. l. dogs cure themselves by a vomit, the egyptian ibis by a purge; from whence physicians have lately--i mean but few ages since--greatly improved their art. it is reported that panthers, which in barbarous countries are taken with poisoned flesh, have a certain remedy[ ] that preserves them from dying; and that in crete, the wild goats, when they are wounded with poisoned arrows, seek for an herb called dittany, which, when they have tasted, the arrows (they say) drop from their bodies. it is said also that deer, before they fawn, purge themselves with a little herb called hartswort.[ ] beasts, when they receive any hurt, or fear it, have recourse to their natural arms: the bull to his horns, the boar to his tusks, and the lion to his teeth. some take to flight, others hide themselves; the cuttle-fish vomits[ ] blood; the cramp-fish benumbs; and there are many animals that, by their intolerable stink, oblige their pursuers to retire. li. but that the beauty of the world might be eternal, great care has been taken by the providence of the gods to perpetuate the different kinds of animals, and vegetables, and trees, and all those things which sink deep into the earth, and are contained in it by their roots and trunks; in order to which every individual has within itself such fertile seed that many are generated from one; and in vegetables this seed is enclosed in the heart of their fruit, but in such abundance that men may plentifully feed on it, and the earth be always replanted. with regard to animals, do we not see how aptly they are formed for the propagation of their species? nature for this end created some males and some females. their parts are perfectly framed for generation, and they have a wonderful propensity to copulation. when the seed has fallen on the matrix, it draws almost all the nourishment to itself, by which the foetus is formed; but as soon as it is discharged from thence, if it is an animal that is nourished by milk, almost all the food of the mother turns into milk, and the animal, without any direction but by the pure instinct of nature, immediately hunts for the teat, and is there fed with plenty. what makes it evidently appear that there is nothing in this fortuitous, but the work of a wise and foreseeing nature, is, that those females which bring forth many young, as sows and bitches, have many teats, and those which bear a small number have but few. what tenderness do beasts show in preserving and raising up their young till they are able to defend themselves! they say, indeed, that fish, when they have spawned, leave their eggs; but the water easily supports them, and produces the young fry in abundance. lii. it is said, likewise, that tortoises and crocodiles, when they have laid their eggs on the land, only cover them with earth, and then leave them, so that their young are hatched and brought up without assistance; but fowls and other birds seek for quiet places to lay in, where they build their nests in the softest manner, for the surest preservation of their eggs; which, when they have hatched, they defend from the cold by the warmth of their wings, or screen them from the sultry heat of the sun. when their young begin to be able to use their wings, they attend and instruct them; and then their cares are at an end. human art and industry are indeed necessary towards the preservation and improvement of certain animals and vegetables; for there are several of both kinds which would perish without that assistance. there are likewise innumerable facilities (being different in different places) supplied to man to aid him in his civilization, and in procuring abundantly what he requires. the nile waters egypt, and after having overflowed and covered it the whole summer, it retires, and leaves the fields softened and manured for the reception of seed. the euphrates fertilizes mesopotamia, into which, as we may say, it carries yearly new fields.[ ] the indus, which is the largest of all rivers,[ ] not only improves and cultivates the ground, but sows it also; for it is said to carry with it a great quantity of grain. i could mention many other countries remarkable for something singular, and many fields, which are, in their own natures, exceedingly fertile. liii. but how bountiful is nature that has provided for us such an abundance of various and delicious food; and this varying with the different seasons, so that we may be constantly pleased with change, and satisfied with abundance! how seasonable and useful to man, to beasts, and even to vegetables, are the etesian winds[ ] she has bestowed, which moderate intemperate heat, and render navigation more sure and speedy! many things must be omitted on a subject so copious--and still a great deal must be said--for it is impossible to relate the great utility of rivers, the flux and reflux of the sea, the mountains clothed with grass and trees, the salt-pits remote from the sea-coasts, the earth replete with salutary medicines, or, in short, the innumerable designs of nature necessary for sustenance and the enjoyment of life. we must not forget the vicissitudes of day and night, ordained for the health of animated beings, giving them a time to labor and a time to rest. thus, if we every way examine the universe, it is apparent, from the greatest reason, that the whole is admirably governed by a divine providence for the safety and preservation of all beings. if it should be asked for whose sake this mighty fabric was raised, shall we say for trees and other vegetables, which, though destitute of sense, are supported by nature? that would be absurd. is it for beasts? nothing can be less probable than that the gods should have taken such pains for beings void of speech and understanding. for whom, then, will any one presume to say that the world was made? undoubtedly for reasonable beings; these are the gods and men, who are certainly the most perfect of all beings, as nothing is equal to reason. it is therefore credible that the universe, and all things in it, were made for the gods and for men. but we may yet more easily comprehend that the gods have taken great care of the interests and welfare of men, if we examine thoroughly into the structure of the body, and the form and perfection of human nature. there are three things absolutely necessary for the support of life--to eat, to drink, and to breathe. for these operations the mouth is most aptly framed, which, by the assistance of the nostrils, draws in the more air. liv. the teeth are there placed to divide and grind the food.[ ] the fore-teeth, being sharp and opposite to each other, cut it asunder, and the hind-teeth (called the grinders) chew it, in which office the tongue seems to assist. at the root of the tongue is the gullet, which receives whatever is swallowed: it touches the tonsils on each side, and terminates at the interior extremity of the palate. when, by the motions of the tongue, the food is forced into this passage, it descends, and those parts of the gullet which are below it are dilated, and those above are contracted. there is another passage, called by physicians the rough artery,[ ] which reaches to the lungs, for the entrance and return of the air we breathe; and as its orifice is joined to the roots of the tongue a little above the part to which the gullet is annexed, it is furnished with a sort of coverlid,[ ] lest, by the accidental falling of any food into it, the respiration should be stopped. as the stomach, which is beneath the gullet, receives the meat and drink, so the lungs and the heart draw in the air from without. the stomach is wonderfully composed, consisting almost wholly of nerves; it abounds with membranes and fibres, and detains what it receives, whether solid or liquid, till it is altered and digested. it sometimes contracts, sometimes dilates. it blends and mixes the food together, so that it is easily concocted and digested by its force of heat, and by the animal spirits is distributed into the other parts of the body. lv. as to the lungs, they are of a soft and spongy substance, which renders them the most commodious for respiration; they alternately dilate and contract to receive and return the air, that what is the chief animal sustenance may be always fresh. the juice,[ ] by which we are nourished, being separated from the rest of the food, passes the stomach and intestines to the liver, through open and direct passages, which lead from the mesentery to the gates of the liver (for so they call those vessels at the entrance of it). there are other passages from thence, through which the food has its course when it has passed the liver. when the bile, and those humors which proceed from the kidneys, are separated from the food, the remaining part turns to blood, and flows to those vessels at the entrance of the liver to which all the passages adjoin. the chyle, being conveyed from this place through them into the vessel called the hollow vein, is mixed together, and, being already digested and distilled, passes into the heart; and from the heart it is communicated through a great number of veins to every part of the body. it is not difficult to describe how the gross remains are detruded by the motion of the intestines, which contract and dilate; but that must be declined, as too indelicate for discourse. let us rather explain that other wonder of nature, the air, which is drawn into the lungs, receives heat both by that already in and by the coagitation of the lungs; one part is turned back by respiration, and the other is received into a place called the ventricle of the heart.[ ] there is another ventricle like it annexed to the heart, into which the blood flows from the liver through the hollow vein. thus by one ventricle the blood is diffused to the extremities through the veins, and by the other the breath is communicated through the arteries; and there are such numbers of both dispersed through the whole body that they manifest a divine art. why need i speak of the bones, those supports of the body, whose joints are so wonderfully contrived for stability, and to render the limbs complete with regard to motion and to every action of the body? or need i mention the nerves, by which the limbs are governed--their many interweavings, and their proceeding from the heart,[ ] from whence, like the veins and arteries, they have their origin, and are distributed through the whole corporeal frame? lvi. to this skill of nature, and this care of providence, so diligent and so ingenious, many reflections may be added, which show what valuable things the deity has bestowed on man. he has made us of a stature tall and upright, in order that we might behold the heavens, and so arrive at the knowledge of the gods; for men are not simply to dwell here as inhabitants of the earth, but to be, as it were, spectators of the heavens and the stars, which is a privilege not granted to any other kind of animated beings. the senses, which are the interpreters and messengers of things, are placed in the head, as in a tower, and wonderfully situated for their proper uses; for the eyes, being in the highest part, have the office of sentinels, in discovering to us objects; and the ears are conveniently placed in a high part of the person, being appointed to receive sound, which naturally ascends. the nostrils have the like situation, because all scent likewise ascends; and they have, with great reason, a near vicinity to the mouth, because they assist us in judging of meat and drink. the taste, which is to distinguish the quality of what we take; is in that part of the mouth where nature has laid open a passage for what we eat and drink. but the touch is equally diffused through the whole body, that we may not receive any blows, or the too rigid attacks of cold and heat, without feeling them. and as in building the architect averts from the eyes and nose of the master those things which must necessarily be offensive, so has nature removed far from our senses what is of the same kind in the human body. lvii. what artificer but nature, whose direction is incomparable, could have exhibited so much ingenuity in the formation of the senses? in the first place, she has covered and invested the eyes with the finest membranes, which she hath made transparent, that we may see through them, and firm in their texture, to preserve the eyes. she has made them slippery and movable, that they might avoid what would offend them, and easily direct the sight wherever they will. the actual organ of sight, which is called the pupil, is so small that it can easily shun whatever might be hurtful to it. the eyelids, which are their coverings, are soft and smooth, that they may not injure the eyes; and are made to shut at the apprehension of any accident, or to open at pleasure; and these movements nature has ordained to be made in an instant: they are fortified with a sort of palisade of hairs, to keep off what may be noxious to them when open, and to be a fence to their repose when sleep closes them, and allows them to rest as if they were wrapped up in a case. besides, they are commodiously hidden and defended by eminences on every side; for on the upper part the eyebrows turn aside the perspiration which falls from the head and forehead; the cheeks beneath rise a little, so as to protect them on the lower side; and the nose is placed between them as a wall of separation. the hearing is always open, for that is a sense of which we are in need even while we are sleeping; and the moment that any sound is admitted by it we are awakened even from sleep. it has a winding passage, lest anything should slip into it, as it might if it were straight and simple. nature also hath taken the same precaution in making there a viscous humor, that if any little creatures should endeavor to creep in, they might stick in it as in bird-lime. the ears (by which we mean the outward part) are made prominent, to cover and preserve the hearing, lest the sound should be dissipated and escape before the sense is affected. their entrances are hard and horny, and their form winding, because bodies of this kind better return and increase the sound. this appears in the harp, lute, or horn;[ ] and from all tortuous and enclosed places sounds are returned stronger. the nostrils, in like manner, are ever open, because we have a continual use for them; and their entrances also are rather narrow, lest anything noxious should enter them; and they have always a humidity necessary for the repelling dust and many other extraneous bodies. the taste, having the mouth for an enclosure, is admirably situated, both in regard to the use we make of it and to its security. lviii. besides, every human sense is much more exquisite than those of brutes; for our eyes, in those arts which come under their judgment, distinguish with great nicety; as in painting, sculpture, engraving, and in the gesture and motion of bodies. they understand the beauty, proportion, and, as i may so term it, the becomingness of colors and figures; they distinguish things of greater importance, even virtues and vices; they know whether a man is angry or calm, cheerful or sad, courageous or cowardly, bold or timorous. the judgment of the ears is not less admirably and scientifically contrived with regard to vocal and instrumental music. they distinguish the variety of sounds, the measure, the stops, the different sorts of voices, the treble and the base, the soft and the harsh, the sharp and the flat, of which human ears only are capable to judge. there is likewise great judgment in the smell, the taste, and the touch; to indulge and gratify which senses more arts have been invented than i could wish: it is apparent to what excess we have arrived in the composition of our perfumes, the preparation of our food, and the enjoyment of corporeal pleasures. lix. again, he who does not perceive the soul and mind of man, his reason, prudence, and discernment, to be the work of a divine providence, seems himself to be destitute of those faculties. while i am on this subject, cotta, i wish i had your eloquence: how would you illustrate so fine a subject! you would show the great extent of the understanding; how we collect our ideas, and join those which follow to those which precede; establish principles, draw consequences, define things separately, and comprehend them with accuracy; from whence you demonstrate how great is the power of intelligence and knowledge, which is such that even god himself has no qualities more admirable. how valuable (though you academics despise and even deny that we have it) is our knowledge of exterior objects, from the perception of the senses joined to the application of the mind; by which we see in what relation one thing stands to another, and by the aid of which we have invented those arts which are necessary for the support and pleasure of life. how charming is eloquence! how divine that mistress of the universe, as you call it! it teaches us what we were ignorant of, and makes us capable of teaching what we have learned. by this we exhort others; by this we persuade them; by this we comfort the afflicted; by this we deliver the affrighted from their fear; by this we moderate excessive joy; by this we assuage the passions of lust and anger. this it is which bound men by the chains of right and law, formed the bonds of civil society, and made us quit a wild and savage life. and it will appear incredible, unless you carefully observe the facts, how complete the work of nature is in giving us the use of speech; for, first of all, there is an artery from the lungs to the bottom of the mouth, through which the voice, having its original principle in the mind, is transmitted. then the tongue is placed in the mouth, bounded by the teeth. it softens and modulates the voice, which would otherwise be confusedly uttered; and, by pushing it to the teeth and other parts of the mouth, makes the sound distinct and articulate. we stoics, therefore, compare the tongue to the bow of an instrument, the teeth to the strings, and the nostrils to the sounding-board. lx. but how commodious are the hands which nature has given to man, and how beautifully do they minister to many arts! for, such is the flexibility of the joints, that our fingers are closed and opened without any difficulty. with their help, the hand is formed for painting, carving, and engraving; for playing on stringed instruments, and on the pipe. these are matters of pleasure. there are also works of necessity, such as tilling the ground, building houses, making cloth and habits, and working in brass and iron. it is the business of the mind to invent, the senses to perceive, and the hands to execute; so that if we have buildings, if we are clothed, if we live in safety, if we have cities, walls, habitations, and temples, it is to the hands we owe them. by our labor, that is, by our hands, variety and plenty of food are provided; for, without culture, many fruits, which serve either for present or future consumption, would not be produced; besides, we feed on flesh, fish, and fowl, catching some, and bringing up others. we subdue four-footed beasts for our carriage, whose speed and strength supply our slowness and inability. on some we put burdens, on others yokes. we convert the sagacity of the elephant and the quick scent of the dog to our own advantage. out of the caverns of the earth we dig iron, a thing entirely necessary for the cultivation of the ground. we discover the hidden veins of copper, silver, and gold, advantageous for our use and beautiful as ornaments. we cut down trees, and use every kind of wild and cultivated timber, not only to make fire to warm us and dress our meat, but also for building, that we may have houses to defend us from the heat and cold. with timber likewise we build ships, which bring us from all parts every commodity of life. we are the only animals who, from our knowledge of navigation, can manage what nature has made the most violent--the sea and the winds. thus we obtain from the ocean great numbers of profitable things. we are the absolute masters of what the earth produces. we enjoy the mountains and the plains. the rivers and the lakes are ours. we sow the seed, and plant the trees. we fertilize the earth by overflowing it. we stop, direct, and turn the rivers: in short, by our hands we endeavor, by our various operations in this world, to make, as it were, another nature. lxi. but what shall i say of human reason? has it not even entered the heavens? man alone of all animals has observed the courses of the stars, their risings and settings. by man the day, the month, the year, is determined. he foresees the eclipses of the sun and moon, and foretells them to futurity, marking their greatness, duration, and precise time. from the contemplation of these things the mind extracts the knowledge of the gods--a knowledge which produces piety, with which is connected justice, and all the other virtues; from which arises a life of felicity, inferior to that of the gods in no single particular, except in immortality, which is not absolutely necessary to happy living. in explaining these things, i think that i have sufficiently demonstrated the superiority of man to other animated beings; from whence we should infer that neither the form and position of his limbs nor that strength of mind and understanding could possibly be the effect of chance. lxii. i am now to prove, by way of conclusion, that every thing in this world of use to us was made designedly for us. first of all, the universe was made for the gods and men, and all things therein were prepared and provided for our service. for the world is the common habitation or city of the gods and men; for they are the only reasonable beings: they alone live by justice and law. as, therefore, it must be presumed the cities of athens and lacedæmon were built for the athenians and lacedæmonians, and as everything there is said to belong to those people, so everything in the universe may with propriety be said to belong to the gods and men, and to them alone. in the next place, though the revolutions of the sun, moon, and all the stars are necessary for the cohesion of the universe, yet may they be considered also as objects designed for the view and contemplation of man. there is no sight less apt to satiate the eye, none more beautiful, or more worthy to employ our reason and penetration. by measuring their courses we find the different seasons, their durations and vicissitudes, which, if they are known to men alone, we must believe were made only for their sake. does the earth bring forth fruit and grain in such excessive abundance and variety for men or for brutes? the plentiful and exhilarating fruit of the vine and the olive-tree are entirely useless to beasts. they know not the time for sowing, tilling, or for reaping in season and gathering in the fruits of the earth, or for laying up and preserving their stores. man alone has the care and advantage of these things. lxiii. thus, as the lute and the pipe were made for those, and those only, who are capable of playing on them, so it must be allowed that the produce of the earth was designed for those only who make use of them; and though some beasts may rob us of a small part, it does not follow that the earth produced it also for them. men do not store up corn for mice and ants, but for their wives, their children, and their families. beasts, therefore, as i said before, possess it by stealth, but their masters openly and freely. it is for us, therefore, that nature hath provided this abundance. can there be any doubt that this plenty and variety of fruit, which delight not only the taste, but the smell and sight, was by nature intended for men only? beasts are so far from being partakers of this design, that we see that even they themselves were made for man; for of what utility would sheep be, unless for their wool, which, when dressed and woven, serves us for clothing? for they are not capable of anything, not even of procuring their own food, without the care and assistance of man. the fidelity of the dog, his affectionate fawning on his master, his aversion to strangers, his sagacity in finding game, and his vivacity in pursuit of it, what do these qualities denote but that he was created for our use? why need i mention oxen? we perceive that their backs were not formed for carrying burdens, but their necks were naturally made for the yoke, and their strong broad shoulders to draw the plough. in the golden age, which poets speak of, they were so greatly beneficial to the husbandman in tilling the fallow ground that no violence was ever offered them, and it was even thought a crime to eat them: the iron age began the fatal trade of blood, and hammer'd the destructive blade; then men began to make the ox to bleed, and on the tamed and docile beast to feed[ ]. lxiv. it would take a long time to relate the advantages which we receive from mules and asses, which undoubtedly were designed for our use. what is the swine good for but to eat? whose life, chrysippus says, was given it but as salt[ ] to keep it from putrefying; and as it is proper food for man, nature hath made no animal more fruitful. what a multitude of birds and fishes are taken by the art and contrivance of man only, and which are so delicious to our taste that one would be tempted sometimes to believe that this providence which watches over us was an epicurean! though we think there are some birds--the alites and oscines[ ], as our augurs call them--which were made merely to foretell events. the large savage beasts we take by hunting, partly for food, partly to exercise ourselves in imitation of martial discipline, and to use those we can tame and instruct, as elephants, or to extract remedies for our diseases and wounds, as we do from certain roots and herbs, the virtues of which are known by long use and experience. represent to yourself the whole earth and seas as if before your eyes. you will see the vast and fertile plains, the thick, shady mountains, the immense pasturage for cattle, and ships sailing over the deep with incredible celerity; nor are our discoveries only on the face of the earth, but in its secret recesses there are many useful things, which being made for man, by man alone are discovered. lxv. another, and in my opinion the strongest, proof that the providence of the gods takes care of us is divination, which both of you, perhaps, will attack; you, cotta, because carneades took pleasure in inveighing against the stoics; and you, velleius, because there is nothing epicurus ridicules so much as the prediction of events. yet the truth of divination appears in many places, on many occasions, often in private, but particularly in public concerns. we receive many intimations from the foresight and presages of augurs and auspices; from oracles, prophecies, dreams, and prodigies; and it often happens that by these means events have proved happy to men, and imminent dangers have been avoided. this knowledge, therefore--call it either a kind of transport, or an art, or a natural faculty--is certainly found only in men, and is a gift from the immortal gods. if these proofs, when taken separately, should make no impression upon your mind, yet, when collected together, they must certainly affect you. besides, the gods not only provide for mankind universally, but for particular men. you may bring this universality to gradually a smaller number, and again you may reduce that smaller number to individuals. lxvi. for if the reasons which i have given prove to all of us that the gods take care of all men, in every country, in every part of the world separate from our continent, they take care of those who dwell on the same land with us, from east to west; and if they regard those who inhabit this kind of great island, which we call the globe of the earth, they have the like regard for those who possess the parts of this island--europe, asia, and africa; and therefore they favor the parts of these parts, as rome, athens, sparta, and rhodes; and particular men of these cities, separate from the whole; as curius, fabricius, coruncanius, in the war with pyrrhus; in the first punic war, calatinus, duillius, metellus, lutatius; in the second, maximus, marcellus, africanus; after these, paullus, gracchus, cato; and in our fathers' times, scipio, lælius. rome also and greece have produced many illustrious men, who we cannot believe were so without the assistance of the deity; which is the reason that the poets, homer in particular, joined their chief heroes--ulysses, agamemnon, diomedes, achilles--to certain deities, as companions in their adventures and dangers. besides, the frequent appearances of the gods, as i have before mentioned, demonstrate their regard for cities and particular men. this is also apparent indeed from the foreknowledge of events, which we receive either sleeping or waking. we are likewise forewarned of many things by the entrails of victims, by presages, and many other means, which have been long observed with such exactness as to produce an art of divination. there never, therefore, was a great man without divine inspiration. if a storm should damage the corn or vineyard of a person, or any accident should deprive him of some conveniences of life, we should not judge from thence that the deity hates or neglects him. the gods take care of great things, and disregard the small. but to truly great men all things ever happen prosperously; as has been sufficiently asserted and proved by us stoics, as well as by socrates, the prince of philosophers, in his discourses on the infinite advantages arising from virtue. lxvii. this is almost the whole that hath occurred to my mind on the nature of the gods, and what i thought proper to advance. do you, cotta, if i may advise, defend the same cause. remember that in rome you keep the first rank; remember that you are pontifex; and as your school is at liberty to argue on which side you please[ ], do you rather take mine, and reason on it with that eloquence which you acquired by your rhetorical exercises, and which the academy improved; for it is a pernicious and impious custom to argue against the gods, whether it be done seriously, or only in pretence and out of sport. * * * * * book iii. i. when balbus had ended this discourse, then cotta, with a smile, rejoined, you direct me too late which side to defend; for during the course of your argument i was revolving in my mind what objections to make to what you were saying, not so much for the sake of opposition, as of obliging you to explain what i did not perfectly comprehend; and as every one may use his own judgment, it is scarcely possible for me to think in every instance exactly what you wish. you have no idea, o cotta, said velleius, how impatient i am to hear what you have to say. for since our friend balbus was highly delighted with your discourse against epicurus, i ought in my turn to be solicitous to hear what you can say against the stoics; and i therefore will give you my best attention, for i believe you are, as usual, well prepared for the engagement. i wish, by hercules! i were, replies cotta; for it is more difficult to dispute with lucilius than it was with you. why so? says velleius. because, replies cotta, your epicurus, in my opinion, does not contend strongly for the gods: he only, for the sake of avoiding any unpopularity or punishment, is afraid to deny their existence; for when he asserts that the gods are wholly inactive and regardless of everything, and that they have limbs like ours, but make no use of them, he seems to jest with us, and to think it sufficient if he allows that there are beings of any kind happy and eternal. but with regard to balbus, i suppose you observed how many things were said by him, which, however false they may be, yet have a perfect coherence and connection; therefore, my design, as i said, in opposing him, is not so much to confute his principles as to induce him to explain what i do not clearly understand: for which reason, balbus, i will give you the choice, either to answer me every particular as i go on, or permit me to proceed without interruption. if you want any explanation, replies balbus, i would rather you would propose your doubts singly; but if your intention is rather to confute me than to seek instruction for yourself, it shall be as you please; i will either answer you immediately on every point, or stay till you have finished your discourse. ii. very well, says cotta; then let us proceed as our conversation shall direct. but before i enter on the subject, i have a word to say concerning myself; for i am greatly influenced by your authority, and your exhortation at the conclusion of your discourse, when you desired me to remember that i was cotta and pontifex; by which i presume you intimated that i should defend the sacred rites and religion and ceremonies which we received from our ancestors. most undoubtedly i always have, and always shall defend them, nor shall the arguments either of the learned or unlearned ever remove the opinions which i have imbibed from them concerning the worship of the immortal gods. in matters of religion i submit to the rules of the high-priests, t. coruncanius, p. scipio, and p. scævola; not to the sentiments of zeno, cleanthes, or chrysippus; and i pay a greater regard to what c. lælius, one of our augurs and wise men, has written concerning religion, in that noble oration of his, than to the most eminent of the stoics: and as the whole religion of the romans at first consisted in sacrifices and divination by birds, to which have since been added predictions, if the interpreters[ ] of the sibylline oracle or the aruspices have foretold any event from portents and prodigies, i have ever thought that there was no point of all these holy things which deserved to be despised. i have been even persuaded that romulus, by instituting divination, and numa, by establishing sacrifices, laid the foundation of rome, which undoubtedly would never have risen to such a height of grandeur if the gods had not been made propitious by this worship. these, balbus, are my sentiments both as a priest and as cotta. but you must bring me to your opinion by the force of your reason: for i have a right to demand from you, as a philosopher, a reason for the religion which you would have me embrace. but i must believe the religion of our ancestors without any proof. iii. what proof, says balbus, do you require of me? you have proposed, says cotta, four articles. first of all, you undertook to prove that there "are gods;" secondly, "of what kind and character they are;" thirdly, that "the universe is governed by them;" lastly, that "they provide for the welfare of mankind in particular." thus, if i remember rightly, you divided your discourse. exactly so, replies balbus; but let us see what you require. let us examine, says cotta, every proposition. the first one--that there are gods--is never contested but by the most impious of men; nay, though it can never be rooted out of my mind, yet i believe it on the authority of our ancestors, and not on the proofs which you have brought. why do you expect a proof from me, says balbus, if you thoroughly believe it? because, says cotta, i come to this discussion as if i had never thought of the gods, or heard anything concerning them. take me as a disciple wholly ignorant and unbiassed, and prove to me all the points which i ask. begin, then, replies balbus. i would first know, says cotta, why you have been so long in proving the existence of the gods, which you said was a point so very evident to all, that there was no need of any proof? in that, answers balbus, i have followed your example, whom i have often observed, when pleading in the forum, to load the judge with all the arguments which the nature of your cause would permit. this also is the practice of philosophers, and i have a right to follow it. besides, you may as well ask me why i look upon you with two eyes, since i can see you with one. iv. you shall judge, then, yourself, says cotta, if this is a very just comparison; for, when i plead, i do not dwell upon any point agreed to be self-evident, because long reasoning only serves to confound the clearest matters; besides, though i might take this method in pleading, yet i should not make use of it in such a discourse as this, which requires the nicest distinction. and with regard to your making use of one eye only when you look on me, there is no reason for it, since together they have the same view; and since nature, to which you attribute wisdom, has been pleased to give us two passages by which we receive light. but the truth is, that it was because you did not think that the existence of the gods was so evident as you could wish that you therefore brought so many proofs. it was sufficient for me to believe it on the tradition of our ancestors; and since you disregard authorities, and appeal to reason, permit my reason to defend them against yours. the proofs on which you found the existence of the gods tend only to render a proposition doubtful that, in my opinion, is not so; i have not only retained in my memory the whole of these proofs, but even the order in which you proposed them. the first was, that when we lift up our eyes towards the heavens, we immediately conceive that there is some divinity that governs those celestial bodies; on which you quoted this passage-- look up to the refulgent heaven above, which all men call, unanimously, jove; intimating that we should invoke that as jupiter, rather than our capitoline jove[ ], or that it is evident to the whole world that those bodies are gods which velleius and many others do not place even in the rank of animated beings. another strong proof, in your opinion, was that the belief of the existence of the gods was universal, and that mankind was daily more and more convinced of it. what! should an affair of such importance be left to the decision of fools, who, by your sect especially, are called madmen? v. but the gods have appeared to us, as to posthumius at the lake regillus, and to vatienus in the salarian way: something you mentioned, too, i know not what, of a battle of the locrians at sagra. do you believe that the tyndaridæ, as you called them; that is, men sprung from men, and who were buried in lacedæmon, as we learn from homer, who lived in the next age--do you believe, i say, that they appeared to vatienus on the road mounted on white horses, without any servant to attend them, to tell the victory of the romans to a country fellow rather than to m. cato, who was at that time the chief person of the senate? do you take that print of a horse's hoof which is now to be seen on a stone at regillus to be made by castor's horse? should you not believe, what is probable, that the souls of eminent men, such as the tyndaridæ, are divine and immortal, rather than that those bodies which had been reduced to ashes should mount on horses, and fight in an army? if you say that was possible, you ought to show how it is so, and not amuse us with fabulous old women's stories. do you take these for fabulous stories? says balbus. is not the temple, built by posthumius in honor of castor and pollux, to be seen in the forum? is not the decree of the senate concerning vatienus still subsisting? as to the affair of sagra, it is a common proverb among the greeks; when they would affirm anything strongly, they say "it is as certain as what passed at sagra." ought not such authorities to move you? you oppose me, replies cotta, with stories, but i ask reasons of you[ ]. * * * vi. we are now to speak of predictions. no one can avoid what is to come, and, indeed, it is commonly useless to know it; for it is a miserable case to be afflicted to no purpose, and not to have even the last, the common comfort, hope, which, according to your principles, none can have; for you say that fate governs all things, and call that fate which has been true from all eternity. what advantage, then, is the knowledge of futurity to us, or how does it assist us to guard against impending evils, since it will come inevitably? but whence comes that divination? to whom is owing that knowledge from the entrails of beasts? who first made observations from the voice of the crow? who invented the lots?[ ] not that i give no credit to these things, or that i despise attius navius's staff, which you mentioned; but i ought to be informed how these things are understood by philosophers, especially as the diviners are often wrong in their conjectures. but physicians, you say, are likewise often mistaken. what comparison can there be between divination, of the origin of which we are ignorant, and physic, which proceeds on principles intelligible to every one? you believe that the decii,[ ] in devoting themselves to death, appeased the gods. how great, then, was the iniquity of the gods that they could not be appeased but at the price of such noble blood! that was the stratagem of generals such as the greeks call [greek: stratêgêma], and it was a stratagem worthy such illustrious leaders, who consulted the public good even at the expense of their lives: they conceived rightly, what indeed happened, that if the general rode furiously upon the enemy, the whole army would follow his example. as to the voice of the fauns, i never heard it. if you assure me that you have, i shall believe you, though i really know not what a faun is. vii. i do not, then, o balbus, from anything that you have said, perceive as yet that it is proved that there are gods. i believe it, indeed, but not from any arguments of the stoics. cleanthes, you have said, attributes the idea that men have of the gods to four causes. in the first place (as i have already sufficiently mentioned), to a foreknowledge of future events; secondly, to tempests, and other shocks of nature; thirdly, to the utility and plenty of things we enjoy; fourthly, to the invariable order of the stars and the heavens. the arguments drawn from foreknowledge i have already answered. with regard to tempests in the air, the sea, and the earth, i own that many people are affrighted by them, and imagine that the immortal gods are the authors of them. but the question is, not whether there are people who believe that there are gods, but whether there are gods or not. as to the two other causes of cleanthes, one of which is derived from the great abundance of desirable things which we enjoy, the other from the invariable order of the seasons and the heavens, i shall treat on them when i answer your discourse concerning the providence of the gods--a point, balbus, upon which you have spoken at great length. i shall likewise defer till then examining the argument which you attribute to chrysippus, that "if there is in nature anything which surpasses the power of man to produce, there must consequently be some being better than man." i shall also postpone, till we come to that part of my argument, your comparison of the world to a fine house, your observations on the proportion and harmony of the universe, and those smart, short reasons of zeno which you quote; and i shall examine at the same time your reasons drawn from natural philosophy, concerning that fiery force and that vital heat which you regard as the principle of all things; and i will investigate, in its proper place, all that you advanced the other day on the existence of the gods, and on the sense and understanding which you attributed to the sun, the moon, and all the stars; and i shall ask you this question over and over again, by what proofs are you convinced yourself there are gods? viii. i thought, says balbus, that i had brought ample proofs to establish this point. but such is your manner of opposing, that, when you seem on the point of interrogating me, and when i am preparing to answer, you suddenly divert the discourse, and give me no opportunity to reply to you; and thus those most important points concerning divination and fate are neglected which we stoics have thoroughly examined, but which your school has only slightly touched upon. but they are not thought essential to the question in hand; therefore, if you think proper, do not confuse them together, that we in this discussion may come to a clear explanation of the subject of our present inquiry. very well, says cotta. since, then, you have divided the whole question into four parts, and i have said all that i had to say on the first, i will take the second into consideration; in which, when you attempted to show what the character of the gods was, you seemed to me rather to prove that there are none; for you said that it was the greatest difficulty to draw our minds from the prepossessions of the eyes; but that as nothing is more excellent than the deity, you did not doubt that the world was god, because there is nothing better in nature than the world, and so we may reasonably think it animated, or, rather, perceive it in our minds as clearly as if it were obvious to our eyes. now, in what sense do you say there is nothing better than the world? if you mean that there is nothing more beautiful, i agree with you; that there is nothing more adapted to our wants, i likewise agree with you: but if you mean that nothing is wiser than the world, i am by no means of your opinion. not that i find it difficult to conceive anything in my mind independent of my eyes; on the contrary, the more i separate my mind from my eyes, the less i am able to comprehend your opinion. ix. nothing is better than the world, you say. nor is there, indeed, anything on earth better than the city of rome; do you think, therefore, that our city has a mind; that it thinks and reasons; or that this most beautiful city, being void of sense, is not preferable to an ant, because an ant has sense, understanding, reason, and memory? you should consider, balbus, what ought to be allowed you, and not advance things because they please you. for that old, concise, and, as it seemed to you, acute syllogism of zeno has been all which you have so much enlarged upon in handling this topic: "that which reasons is superior to that which does not; nothing is superior to the world; therefore the world reasons." if you would prove also that the world can very well read a book, follow the example of zeno, and say, "that which can read is better than that which cannot; nothing is better than the world; the world therefore can read." after the same manner you may prove the world to be an orator, a mathematician, a musician--that it possesses all sciences, and, in short, is a philosopher. you have often said that god made all things, and that no cause can produce an effect unlike itself. from hence it will follow, not only that the world is animated, and is wise, but also plays upon the fiddle and the flute, because it produces men who play on those instruments. zeno, therefore, the chief of your sect, advances no argument sufficient to induce us to think that the world reasons, or, indeed, that it is animated at all, and consequently none to think it a deity; though it may be said that there is nothing superior to it, as there is nothing more beautiful, nothing more useful to us, nothing more adorned, and nothing more regular in its motions. but if the world, considered as one great whole, is not god, you should not surely deify, as you have done, that infinite multitude of stars which only form a part of it, and which so delight you with the regularity of their eternal courses; not but that there is something truly wonderful and incredible in their regularity; but this regularity of motion, balbus, may as well be ascribed to a natural as to a divine cause. x. what can be more regular than the flux and reflux of the euripus at chalcis, the sicilian sea, and the violence of the ocean in those parts[ ] where the rapid tide does europe from the libyan coast divide? the same appears on the spanish and british coasts. must we conclude that some deity appoints and directs these ebbings and flowings to certain fixed times? consider, i pray, if everything which is regular in its motion is deemed divine, whether it will not follow that tertian and quartan agues must likewise be so, as their returns have the greatest regularity. these effects are to be explained by reason; but, because you are unable to assign any, you have recourse to a deity as your last refuge. the arguments of chrysippus appeared to you of great weight; a man undoubtedly of great quickness and subtlety (i call those quick who have a sprightly turn of thought, and those subtle whose minds are seasoned by use as their hands are by labor): "if," says he, "there is anything which is beyond the power of man to produce, the being who produces it is better than man. man is unable to make what is in the world; the being, therefore, that could do it is superior to man. what being is there but a god superior to man? therefore there is a god." these arguments are founded on the same erroneous principles as zeno's, for he does not define what is meant by being better or more excellent, or distinguish between an intelligent cause and a natural cause. chrysippus adds, "if there are no gods, there is nothing better than man; but we cannot, without the highest arrogance, have this idea of ourselves." let us grant that it is arrogance in man to think himself better than the world; but to comprehend that he has understanding and reason, and that in orion and canicula there is neither, is no arrogance, but an indication of good sense. "since we suppose," continues he, "when we see a beautiful house, that it was built for the master, and not for mice, we should likewise judge that the world is the mansion of the gods." yes, if i believed that the gods built the world; but not if, as i believe, and intend to prove, it is the work of nature. xi. socrates, in xenophon, asks, "whence had man his understanding, if there was none in the world?" and i ask, whence had we speech, harmony, singing; unless we think it is the sun conversing with the moon when she approaches near it, or that the world forms an harmonious concert, as pythagoras imagines? this, balbus, is the effect of nature; not of that nature which proceeds artificially, as zeno says, and the character of which i shall presently examine into, but a nature which, by its own proper motions and mutations, modifies everything. for i readily agree to what you said about the harmony and general agreement of nature, which you pronounced to be firmly bound and united together, as it were, by ties of blood; but i do not approve of what you added, that "it could not possibly be so, unless it were so united by one divine spirit." on the contrary, the whole subsists by the power of nature, independently of the gods, and there is a kind of sympathy (as the greeks call it) which joins together all the parts of the universe; and the greater that is in its own power, the less is it necessary to have recourse to a divine intelligence. xii. but how will you get rid of the objections which carneades made? "if," says he, "there is no body immortal, there is none eternal; but there is no body immortal, nor even indivisible, or that cannot be separated and disunited; and as every animal is in its nature passive, so there is not one which is not subject to the impressions of extraneous bodies; none, that is to say, which can avoid the necessity of enduring and suffering: and if every animal is mortal, there is none immortal; so, likewise, if every animal may be cut up and divided, there is none indivisible, none eternal, but all are liable to be affected by, and compelled to submit to, external power. every animal, therefore, is necessarily mortal, dissoluble, and divisible." for as there is no wax, no silver, no brass which cannot be converted into something else, whatever is composed of wax, or silver, or brass may cease to be what it is. by the same reason, if all the elements are mutable, every body is mutable. now, according to your doctrine, all the elements are mutable; all bodies, therefore, are mutable. but if there were any body immortal, then all bodies would not be mutable. every body, then, is mortal; for every body is either water, air, fire, or earth, or composed of the four elements together, or of some of them. now, there is not one of all these elements that does not perish; for earthly bodies are fragile: water is so soft that the least shock will separate its parts, and fire and air yield to the least impulse, and are subject to dissolution; besides, any of these elements perish when converted into another nature, as when water is formed from earth, the air from water, and the sky from air, and when they change in the same manner back again. therefore, if there is nothing but what is perishable in the composition of all animals, there is no animal eternal. xiii. but, not to insist on these arguments, there is no animal to be found that had not a beginning, and will not have an end; for every animal being sensitive, they are consequently all sensible of cold and heat, sweet and bitter; nor can they have pleasing sensations without being subject to the contrary. as, therefore, they receive pleasure, they likewise receive pain; and whatever being is subject to pain must necessarily be subject to death. it must be allowed, therefore, that every animal is mortal. besides, a being that is not sensible of pleasure or pain cannot have the essence of an animal; if, then, on the one hand, every animal must be sensible of pleasure and pain, and if, on the other, every being that has these sensations cannot be immortal, we may conclude that as there is no animal insensible, there is none immortal. besides, there is no animal without inclination and aversion--an inclination to that which is agreeable to nature, and an aversion to the contrary: there are in the case of every animal some things which they covet, and others they reject. what they reject are repugnant to their nature, and consequently would destroy them. every animal, therefore, is inevitably subject to be destroyed. there are innumerable arguments to prove that whatever is sensitive is perishable; for cold, heat, pleasure, pain, and all that affects the sense, when they become excessive, cause destruction. since, then, there is no animal that is not sensitive, there is none immortal. xiv. the substance of an animal is either simple or compound; simple, if it is composed only of earth, of fire, of air, or of water (and of such a sort of being we can form no idea); compound, if it is formed of different elements, which have each their proper situation, and have a natural tendency to it--this element tending towards the highest parts, that towards the lowest, and another towards the middle. this conjunction may for some time subsist, but not forever; for every element must return to its first situation. no animal, therefore, is eternal. but your school, balbus, allows fire only to be the sole active principle; an opinion which i believe you derive from heraclitus, whom some men understand in one sense, some in another: but since he seems unwilling to be understood, we will pass him by. you stoics, then, say that fire is the universal principle of all things; that all living bodies cease to live on the extinction of that heat; and that throughout all nature whatever is sensible of that heat lives and flourishes. now, i cannot conceive that bodies should perish for want of heat, rather than for want of moisture or air, especially as they even die through excess of heat; so that the life of animals does not depend more on fire than on the other elements. however, air and water have this quality in common with fire and heat. but let us see to what this tends. if i am not mistaken, you believe that in all nature there is nothing but fire, which is self-animated. why fire rather than air, of which the life of animals consists, and which is called from thence _anima_,[ ] the soul? but how is it that you take it for granted that life is nothing but fire? it seems more probable that it is a compound of fire and air. but if fire is self-animated, unmixed with any other element, it must be sensitive, because it renders our bodies sensitive; and the same objection which i just now made will arise, that whatever is sensitive must necessarily be susceptible of pleasure and pain, and whatever is sensible of pain is likewise subject to the approach of death; therefore you cannot prove fire to be eternal. you stoics hold that all fire has need of nourishment, without which it cannot possibly subsist; that the sun, moon, and all the stars are fed either with fresh or salt waters; and the reason that cleanthes gives why the sun is retrograde, and does not go beyond the tropics in the summer or winter, is that he may not be too far from his sustenance. this i shall fully examine hereafter; but at present we may conclude that whatever may cease to be cannot of its own nature be eternal; that if fire wants sustenance, it will cease to be, and that, therefore, fire is not of its own nature eternal. xv. after all, what kind of a deity must that be who is not graced with one single virtue, if we should succeed in forming this idea of such a one? must we not attribute prudence to a deity? a virtue which consists in the knowledge of things good, bad, and indifferent. yet what need has a being for the discernment of good and ill who neither has nor can have any ill? of what use is reason to him? of what use is understanding? we men, indeed, find them useful to aid us in finding out things which are obscure by those which are clear to us; but nothing can be obscure to a deity. as to justice, which gives to every one his own, it is not the concern of the gods; since that virtue, according to your doctrine, received its birth from men and from civil society. temperance consists in abstinence from corporeal pleasures, and if such abstinence hath a place in heaven, so also must the pleasures abstained from. lastly, if fortitude is ascribed to the deity, how does it appear? in afflictions, in labor, in danger? none of these things can affect a god. how, then, can we conceive this to be a deity that makes no use of reason, and is not endowed with any virtue? however, when i consider what is advanced by the stoics, my contempt for the ignorant multitude vanishes. for these are their divinities. the syrians worshipped a fish. the egyptians consecrated beasts of almost every kind. the greeks deified many men; as alabandus[ ] at alabandæ, tenes at tenedos; and all greece pay divine honors to leucothea (who was before called ino), to her son palæmon, to hercules, to Æsculapius, and to the tyndaridæ; our own people to romulus, and to many others, who, as citizens newly admitted into the ancient body, they imagine have been received into heaven. these are the gods of the illiterate. xvi. what are the notions of you philosophers? in what respect are they superior to these ideas? i shall pass them over; for they are certainly very admirable. let the world, then, be a deity, for that, i conceive, is what you mean by the refulgent heaven above, which all men call, unanimously, jove. but why are we to add many more gods? what a multitude of them there is! at least, it seems so to me; for every constellation, according to you, is a deity: to some you give the name of beasts, as the goat, the scorpion, the bull, the lion; to others the names of inanimate things, as the ship, the altar, the crown. but supposing these were to be allowed, how can the rest be granted, or even so much as understood? when we call corn ceres, and wine bacchus, we make use of the common manner of speaking; but do you think any one so mad as to believe that his food is a deity? with regard to those who, you say, from having been men became gods, i should be very willing to learn of you, either how it was possible formerly, or, if it had ever been, why is it not so now? i do not conceive, as things are at present, how hercules, burn'd with fiery torches on mount oeta, as accius says, should rise, with the flames, to the eternal mansions of his father. besides, homer also says that ulysses[ ] met him in the shades below, among the other dead. but yet i should be glad to know which hercules we should chiefly worship; for they who have searched into those histories, which are but little known, tell us of several. the most ancient is he who fought with apollo about the tripos of delphi, and is son of jupiter and lisyto; and of the most ancient jupiters too, for we find many jupiters also in the grecian chronicles. the second is the egyptian hercules, and is believed to be the son of nilus, and to be the author of the phrygian characters. the third, to whom they offered sacrifices, is one of the idæi dactyli.[ ] the fourth is the son of jupiter and asteria, the sister of latona, chiefly honored by the tyrians, who pretend that carthago[ ] is his daughter. the fifth, called belus, is worshipped in india. the sixth is the son of alcmena by jupiter; but by the third jupiter, for there are many jupiters, as you shall soon see. xvii. since this examination has led me so far, i will convince you that in matters of religion i have learned more from the pontifical rites, the customs of our ancestors, and the vessels of numa,[ ] which lælius mentions in his little golden oration, than from all the learning of the stoics; for tell me, if i were a disciple of your school, what answer could i make to these questions? if there are gods, are nymphs also goddesses? if they are goddesses, are pans and satyrs in the same rank? but they are not; consequently, nymphs are not goddesses. yet they have temples publicly dedicated to them. what do you conclude from thence? others who have temples are not therefore gods. but let us go on. you call jupiter and neptune gods; their brother pluto, then, is one; and if so, those rivers also are deities which they say flow in the infernal regions--acheron, cocytus, pyriphlegethon; charon also, and cerberus, are gods; but that cannot be allowed; nor can pluto be placed among the deities. what, then, will you say of his brothers? thus reasons carneades; not with any design to destroy the existence of the gods (for what would less become a philosopher?), but to convince us that on that matter the stoics have said nothing plausible. if, then, jupiter and neptune are gods, adds he, can that divinity be denied to their father saturn, who is principally worshipped throughout the west? if saturn is a god, then must his father, coelus, be one too, and so must the parents of coelus, which are the sky and day, as also their brothers and sisters, which by ancient genealogists are thus named: love, deceit, fear, labor, envy, fate, old age, death, darkness, misery, lamentation, favor, fraud, obstinacy, the destinies, the hesperides, and dreams; all which are the offspring of erebus and night. these monstrous deities, therefore, must be received, or else those from whom they sprung must be disallowed. xviii. if you say that apollo, vulcan, mercury, and the rest of that sort are gods, can you doubt the divinity of hercules and Æsculapius, bacchus, castor and pollux? these are worshipped as much as those, and even more in some places. therefore they must be numbered among the gods, though on the mother's side they are only of mortal race. aristæus, who is said to have been the son of apollo, and to have found out the art of making oil from the olive; theseus, the son of neptune; and the rest whose fathers were deities, shall they not be placed in the number of the gods? but what think you of those whose mothers were goddesses? they surely have a better title to divinity; for, in the civil law, as he is a freeman who is born of a freewoman, so, in the law of nature, he whose mother is a goddess must be a god. the isle astypalæa religiously honor achilles; and if he is a deity, orpheus and rhesus are so, who were born of one of the muses; unless, perhaps, there may be a privilege belonging to sea marriages which land marriages have not. orpheus and rhesus are nowhere worshipped; and if they are therefore not gods, because they are nowhere worshipped as such, how can the others be deities? you, balbus, seemed to agree with me that the honors which they received were not from their being regarded as immortals, but as men richly endued with virtue. but if you think latona a goddess, how can you avoid admitting hecate to be one also, who was the daughter of asteria, latona's sister? certainly she is one, if we may judge by the altars erected to her in greece. and if hecate is a goddess, how can you refuse that rank to the eumenides? for they also have a temple at athens, and, if i understand right, the romans have consecrated a grove to them. the furies, too, whom we look upon as the inspectors into and scourges of impiety, i suppose, must have their divinity too. as you hold that there is some divinity presides over every human affair, there is one who presides over the travail of matrons, whose name, _natio_, is derived _a nascentibus_, from nativities, and to whom we used to sacrifice in our processions in the fields of ardæa; but if she is a deity, we must likewise acknowledge all those you mentioned, honor, faith, intellect, concord; by the same rule also, hope, juno, moneta,[ ] and every idle phantom, every child of our imagination, are deities. but as this consequence is quite inadmissible, do not you either defend the cause from which it flows. xix. what say you to this? if these are deities, which we worship and regard as such, why are not serapis and isis[ ] placed in the same rank? and if they are admitted, what reason have we to reject the gods of the barbarians? thus we should deify oxen, horses, the ibis, hawks, asps, crocodiles, fishes, dogs, wolves, cats, and many other beasts. if we go back to the source of this superstition, we must equally condemn all the deities from which they proceed. shall ino, whom the greeks call leucothea, and we matuta, be reputed a goddess, because she was the daughter of cadmus, and shall that title be refused to circe and pasiphae,[ ] who had the sun for their father, and perseis, daughter of the ocean, for their mother? it is true, circe has divine honors paid her by our colony of circæum; therefore you call her a goddess; but what will you say of medea, the granddaughter of the sun and the ocean, and daughter of Æetes and idyia? what will you say of her brother absyrtus, whom pacuvius calls Ægialeus, though the other name is more frequent in the writings of the ancients? if you did not deify one as well as the other, what will become of ino? for all these deities have the same origin. shall amphiaraus and tryphonius be called gods? our publicans, when some lands in boeotia were exempted from the tax, as belonging to the immortal gods, denied that any were immortal who had been men. but if you deify these, erechtheus surely is a god, whose temple and priest we have seen at athens. and can you, then, refuse to acknowledge also codrus, and many others who shed their blood for the preservation of their country? and if it is not allowable to consider all these men as gods, then, certainly, probabilities are not in favor of our acknowledging the _divinity_ of those previously mentioned beings from whom these have proceeded. it is easy to observe, likewise, that if in many countries people have paid divine honors to the memory of those who have signalized their courage, it was done in order to animate others to practise virtue, and to expose themselves the more willingly to dangers in their country's cause. from this motive the athenians have deified erechtheus and his daughters, and have erected also a temple, called leocorion, to the daughters of leus.[ ] alabandus is more honored in the city which he founded than any of the more illustrious deities; from thence stratonicus had a pleasant turn--as he had many--when he was troubled with an impertinent fellow who insisted that alabandus was a god, but that hercules was not; "very well," says he, "then let the anger of alabandus fall upon me, and that of hercules upon you." xx. do you not consider, balbus, to what lengths your arguments for the divinity of the heaven and the stars will carry you? you deify the sun and the moon, which the greeks take to be apollo and diana. if the moon is a deity, the morning-star, the other planets, and all the fixed stars are also deities; and why shall not the rainbow be placed in that number? for it is so wonderfully beautiful that it is justly said to be the daughter of thaumas.[ ] but if you deify the rainbow, what regard will you pay to the clouds? for the colors which appear in the bow are only formed of the clouds, one of which is said to have brought forth the centaurs; and if you deify the clouds, you cannot pay less regard to the seasons, which the roman people have really consecrated. tempests, showers, storms, and whirlwinds must then be deities. it is certain, at least, that our captains used to sacrifice a victim to the waves before they embarked on any voyage. as you deify the earth under the name of ceres,[ ] because, as you said, she bears fruits (_a gerendo_), and the ocean under that of neptune, rivers and fountains have the same right. thus we see that maso, the conqueror of corsica, dedicated a temple to a fountain, and the names of the tiber, spino, almo, nodinus, and other neighboring rivers are in the prayers[ ] of the augurs. therefore, either the number of such deities will be infinite, or we must admit none of them, and wholly disapprove of such an endless series of superstition. xxi. none of all these assertions, then, are to be admitted. i must proceed now, balbus, to answer those who say that, with regard to those deified mortals, so religiously and devoutly reverenced, the public opinion should have the force of reality. to begin, then: they who are called theologists say that there are three jupiters; the first and second of whom were born in arcadia; one of whom was the son of Æther, and father of proserpine and bacchus; the other the son of coelus, and father of minerva, who is called the goddess and inventress of war; the third one born of saturn in the isle of crete,[ ] where his sepulchre is shown. the sons of jupiter ([greek: dioskouroi]) also, among the greeks, have many names; first, the three who at athens have the title of anactes,[ ] tritopatreus, eubuleus, and dionysus, sons of the most ancient king jupiter and proserpine; the next are castor and pollux, sons of the third jupiter and leda; and, lastly, three others, by some called alco,[ ] melampus, and tmolus, sons of atreus, the son of pelops. as to the muses, there were at first four--thelxiope, aoede, arche, and melete--daughters of the second jupiter; afterward there were nine, daughters of the third jupiter and mnemosyne; there were also nine others, having the same appellations, born of pierus and antiopa, by the poets usually called pierides and pieriæ. though _sol_ (the sun) is so called, you say, because he is _solus_ (single); yet how many suns do theologists mention? there is one, the son of jupiter and grandson of Æther; another, the son of hyperion; a third, who, the egyptians say, was of the city heliopolis, sprung from vulcan, the son of nilus; a fourth is said to have been born at rhodes of acantho, in the times of the heroes, and was the grandfather of jalysus, camirus, and lindus; a fifth, of whom, it is pretended, aretes and circe were born at colchis. xxii. there are likewise several vulcans. the first (who had of minerva that apollo whom the ancient historians call the tutelary god of athens) was the son of coelus; the second, whom the egyptians call opas,[ ] and whom they looked upon as the protector of egypt, is the son of nilus; the third, who is said to have been the master of the forges at lemnos, was the son of the third jupiter and of juno; the fourth, who possessed the islands near sicily called vulcaniæ,[ ] was the son of menalius. one mercury had coelus for his father and dies for his mother; another, who is said to dwell in a cavern, and is the same as trophonius, is the son of valens and phoronis. a third, of whom, and of penelope, pan was the offspring, is the son of the third jupiter and maia. a fourth, whom the egyptians think it a crime to name, is the son of nilus. a fifth, whom we call, in their language, thoth, as with them the first month of the year is called, is he whom the people of pheneum[ ] worship, and who is said to have killed argus, to have fled for it into egypt, and to have given laws and learning to the egyptians. the first of the Æsculapii, the god of arcadia, who is said to have invented the probe and to have been the first person who taught men to use bandages for wounds, is the son of apollo. the second, who was killed with thunder, and is said to be buried in cynosura,[ ] is the brother of the second mercury. the third, who is said to have found out the art of purging the stomach, and of drawing teeth, is the son of arsippus and arsinoe; and in arcadia there is shown his tomb, and the wood which is consecrated to him, near the river lusium. xxiii. i have already spoken of the most ancient of the apollos, who is the son of vulcan, and tutelar god of athens. there is another, son of corybas, and native of crete, for which island he is said to have contended with jupiter himself. a third, who came from the regions of the hyperborei[ ] to delphi, is the son of the third jupiter and of latona. a fourth was of arcadia, whom the arcadians called nomio,[ ] because they regarded him as their legislator. there are likewise many dianas. the first, who is thought to be the mother of the winged cupid, is the daughter of jupiter and proserpine. the second, who is more known, is daughter of the third jupiter and of latona. the third, whom the greeks often call by her father's name, is the daughter of upis[ ] and glauce. there are many also of the dionysi. the first was the son of jupiter and proserpine. the second, who is said to have killed nysa, was the son of nilus. the third, who reigned in asia, and for whom the sabazia[ ] were instituted, was the son of caprius. the fourth, for whom they celebrate the orphic festivals, sprung from jupiter and luna. the fifth, who is supposed to have instituted the trieterides, was the son of nysus and thyone. the first venus, who has a temple at elis, was the daughter of coelus and dies. the second arose out of the froth of the sea, and became, by mercury, the mother of the second cupid. the third, the daughter of jupiter and diana, was married to vulcan, but is said to have had anteros by mars. the fourth was a syrian, born of tyro, who is called astarte, and is said to have been married to adonis. i have already mentioned one minerva, mother of apollo. another, who is worshipped at sais, a city in egypt, sprung from nilus. the third, whom i have also mentioned, was daughter of jupiter. the fourth, sprung from jupiter and coryphe, the daughter of the ocean; the arcadians call her coria, and make her the inventress of chariots. a fifth, whom they paint with wings at her heels, was daughter of pallas, and is said to have killed her father for endeavoring to violate her chastity. the first cupid is said to be the son of mercury and the first diana; the second, of mercury and the second venus; the third, who is the same as anteros, of mars and the third venus. all these opinions arise from old stories that were spread in greece; the belief in which, balbus, you well know, ought to be stopped, lest religion should suffer. but you stoics, so far from refuting them, even give them authority by the mysterious sense which you pretend to find in them. can you, then, think, after this plain refutation, that there is need to employ more subtle reasonings? but to return from this digression. xxiv. we see that the mind, faith, hope, virtue, honor, victory, health, concord, and things of such kind, are purely natural, and have nothing of divinity in them; for either they are inherent in us, as the mind, faith, hope, virtue, and concord are; or else they are to be desired, as honor, health, and victory. i know indeed that they are useful to us, and see that statues have been religiously erected for them; but as to their divinity, i shall begin to believe it when you have proved it for certain. of this kind i may particularly mention fortune, which is allowed to be ever inseparable from inconstancy and temerity, which are certainly qualities unworthy of a divine being. but what delight do you take in the explication of fables, and in the etymology of names?--that coelus was castrated by his son, and that saturn was bound in chains by his son! by your defence of these and such like fictions you would make the authors of them appear not only not to be madmen, but to have been even very wise. but the pains which you take with your etymologies deserve our pity. that saturn is so called because _se saturat annis_, he is full of years; mavors, mars, because _magna vortit_, he brings about mighty changes; minerva, because _minuit_, she diminishes, or because _minatur_, she threatens; venus, because _venit ad omnia_, she comes to all; ceres, _a gerendo_, from bearing. how dangerous is this method! for there are many names would puzzle you. from what would you derive vejupiter and vulcan? though, indeed, if you can derive neptune _a nando_, from swimming, in which you seem to me to flounder about yourself more than neptune, you may easily find the origin of all names, since it is founded only upon the conformity of some one letter. zeno first, and after him cleanthes and chrysippus, are put to the unnecessary trouble of explaining mere fables, and giving reasons for the several appellations of every deity; which is really owning that those whom we call gods are not the representations of deities, but natural things, and that to judge otherwise is an error. xxv. yet this error has so much prevailed that even pernicious things have not only the title of divinity ascribed to them, but have also sacrifices offered to them; for fever has a temple on the palatine hill, and orbona another near that of the lares, and we see on the esquiline hill an altar consecrated to ill-fortune. let all such errors be banished from philosophy, if we would advance, in our dispute concerning the immortal gods, nothing unworthy of immortal beings. i know myself what i ought to believe; which is far different from what you have said. you take neptune for an intelligence pervading the sea. you have the same opinion of ceres with regard to the earth. i cannot, i own, find out, or in the least conjecture, what that intelligence of the sea or the earth is. to learn, therefore, the existence of the gods, and of what description and character they are, i must apply elsewhere, not to the stoics. let us proceed to the two other parts of our dispute: first, "whether there is a divine providence which governs the world;" and lastly, "whether that providence particularly regards mankind;" for these are the remaining propositions of your discourse; and i think that, if you approve of it, we should examine these more accurately. with all my heart, says velleius, for i readily agree to what you have hitherto said, and expect still greater things from you. i am unwilling to interrupt you, says balbus to cotta, but we shall take another opportunity, and i shall effectually convince you. but[ ] * * * xxvi. shall i adore, and bend the suppliant knee, who scorn their power and doubt their deity? does not niobe here seem to reason, and by that reasoning to bring all her misfortunes upon herself? but what a subtle expression is the following! on strength of will alone depends success; a maxim capable of leading us into all that is bad. though i'm confined, his malice yet is vain, his tortured heart shall answer pain for pain; his ruin soothe my soul with soft content, lighten my chains, and welcome banishment! this, now, is reason; that reason which you say the divine goodness has denied to the brute creation, kindly to bestow it on men alone. how great, how immense the favor! observe the same medea flying from her father and her country: the guilty wretch from her pursuer flies. by her own hands the young absyrtus slain, his mangled limbs she scatters o'er the plain, that the fond sire might sink beneath his woe, and she to parricide her safety owe. reflection, as well as wickedness, must have been necessary to the preparation of such a fact; and did he too, who prepared that fatal repast for his brother, do it without reflection? revenge as great as atreus' injury shall sink his soul and crown his misery. xxvii. did not thyestes himself, not content with having defiled his brother's bed (of which atreus with great justice thus complains, when faithless comforts, in the lewd embrace, with vile adultery stain a royal race, the blood thus mix'd in fouler currents flows, taints the rich soil, and breeds unnumber'd woes)-- did he not, i say, by that adultery, aim at the possession of the crown? atreus thus continues: a lamb, fair gift of heaven, with golden fleece, promised in vain to fix my crown in peace; but base thyestes, eager for the prey, crept to my bed, and stole the gem away. do you not perceive that thyestes must have had a share of reason proportionable to the greatness of his crimes--such crimes as are not only represented to us on the stage, but such as we see committed, nay, often exceeded, in the common course of life? the private houses of individual citizens, the public courts, the senate, the camp, our allies, our provinces, all agree that reason is the author of all the ill, as well as of all the good, which is done; that it makes few act well, and that but seldom, but many act ill, and that frequently; and that, in short, the gods would have shown greater benevolence in denying us any reason at all than in sending us that which is accompanied with so much mischief; for as wine is seldom wholesome, but often hurtful in diseases, we think it more prudent to deny it to the patient than to run the risk of so uncertain a remedy; so i do not know whether it would not be better for mankind to be deprived of wit, thought, and penetration, or what we call reason, since it is a thing pernicious to many and very useful to few, than to have it bestowed upon them with so much liberality and in such abundance. but if the divine will has really consulted the good of man in this gift of reason, the good of those men only was consulted on whom a well-regulated one is bestowed: how few those are, if any, is very apparent. we cannot admit, therefore, that the gods consulted the good of a few only; the conclusion must be that they consulted the good of none. xxviii. you answer that the ill use which a great part of mankind make of reason no more takes away the goodness of the gods, who bestow it as a present of the greatest benefit to them, than the ill use which children make of their patrimony diminishes the obligation which they have to their parents for it. we grant you this; but where is the similitude? it was far from deianira's design to injure hercules when she made him a present of the shirt dipped in the blood of the centaurs. nor was it a regard to the welfare of jason of pheræ that influenced the man who with his sword opened his imposthume, which the physicians had in vain attempted to cure. for it has often happened that people have served a man whom they intended to injure, and have injured one whom they designed to serve; so that the effect of the gift is by no means always a proof of the intention of the giver; neither does the benefit which may accrue from it prove that it came from the hands of a benefactor. for, in short, what debauchery, what avarice, what crime among men is there which does not owe its birth to thought and reflection, that is, to reason? for all opinion is reason: right reason, if men's thoughts are conformable to truth; wrong reason, if they are not. the gods only give us the mere faculty of reason, if we have any; the use or abuse of it depends entirely upon ourselves; so that the comparison is not just between the present of reason given us by the gods, and a patrimony left to a son by his father; for, after all, if the injury of mankind had been the end proposed by the gods, what could they have given them more pernicious than reason? for what seed could there be of injustice, intemperance, and cowardice, if reason were not laid as the foundation of these vices? xxix. i mentioned just now medea and atreus, persons celebrated in heroic poems, who had used this reason only for the contrivance and practice of the most flagitious crimes; but even the trifling characters which appear in comedies supply us with the like instances of this reasoning faculty; for example, does not he, in the eunuch, reason with some subtlety?-- what, then, must i resolve upon? she turn'd me out-of-doors; she sends for me back again; shall i go? no, not if she were to beg it of me. another, in the twins, making no scruple of opposing a received maxim, after the manner of the academics, asserts that when a man is in love and in want, it is pleasant to have a father covetous, crabbed, and passionate, who has no love or affection for his children. this unaccountable opinion he strengthens thus: you may defraud him of his profits, or forge letters in his name, or fright him by your servant into compliance; and what you take from such an old hunks, how much more pleasantly do you spend it! on the contrary, he says that an easy, generous father is an inconvenience to a son in love; for, says he, i can't tell how to abuse so good, so prudent a parent, who always foreruns my desires, and meets me purse in hand, to support me in my pleasures: this easy goodness and generosity quite defeat all my frauds, tricks, and stratagems.[ ] what are these frauds, tricks, and stratagems but the effects of reason? o excellent gift of the gods! without this phormio could not have said, find me out the old man: i have something hatching for him in my head. xxx. but let us pass from the stage to the bar. the prætor[ ] takes his seat. to judge whom? the man who set fire to our archives. how secretly was that villany conducted! q. sosius, an illustrious roman knight, of the picene field,[ ] confessed the fact. who else is to be tried? he who forged the public registers--alenus, an artful fellow, who counterfeited the handwriting of the six officers.[ ] let us call to mind other trials: that on the subject of the gold of tolosa, or the conspiracy of jugurtha. let us trace back the informations laid against tubulus for bribery in his judicial office; and, since that, the proceedings of the tribune peduceus concerning the incest of the vestals. let us reflect upon the trials which daily happen for assassinations, poisonings, embezzlement of public money, frauds in wills, against which we have a new law; then that action against the advisers or assisters of any theft; the many laws concerning frauds in guardianship, breaches of trust in partnerships and commissions in trade, and other violations of faith in buying, selling, borrowing, or lending; the public decree on a private affair by the lætorian law;[ ] and, lastly, that scourge of all dishonesty, the law against fraud, proposed by our friend aquillius; that sort of fraud, he says, by which one thing is pretended and another done. can we, then, think that this plentiful fountain of evil sprung from the immortal gods? if they have given reason to man, they have likewise given him subtlety, for subtlety is only a deceitful manner of applying reason to do mischief. to them likewise we must owe deceit, and every other crime, which, without the help of reason, would neither have been thought of nor committed. as the old woman wished that to the fir which on mount pelion grew the axe had ne'er been laid,[ ] so we should wish that the gods had never bestowed this ability on man, the abuse of which is so general that the small number of those who make a good use of it are often oppressed by those who make a bad use of it; so that it seems to be given rather to help vice than to promote virtue among us. xxxi. this, you insist on it, is the fault of man, and not of the gods. but should we not laugh at a physician or pilot, though they are weak mortals, if they were to lay the blame of their ill success on the violence of the disease or the fury of the tempest? had there not been danger, we should say, who would have applied to you? this reasoning has still greater force against the deity. the fault, you say, is in man, if he commits crimes. but why was not man endued with a reason incapable of producing any crimes? how could the gods err? when we leave our effects to our children, it is in hopes that they may be well bestowed; in which we may be deceived, but how can the deity be deceived? as phoebus when he trusted his chariot to his son phaëthon, or as neptune when he indulged his son theseus in granting him three wishes, the consequence of which was the destruction of hippolitus? these are poetical fictions; but truth, and not fables, ought to proceed from philosophers. yet if those poetical deities had foreseen that their indulgence would have proved fatal to their sons, they must have been thought blamable for it. aristo of chios used often to say that the philosophers do hurt to such of their disciples as take their good doctrine in a wrong sense; thus the lectures of aristippus might produce debauchees, and those of zeno pedants. if this be true, it were better that philosophers should be silent than that their disciples should be corrupted by a misapprehension of their master's meaning; so if reason, which was bestowed on mankind by the gods with a good design, tends only to make men more subtle and fraudulent, it had been better for them never to have received it. there could be no excuse for a physician who prescribes wine to a patient, knowing that he will drink it and immediately expire. your providence is no less blamable in giving reason to man, who, it foresaw, would make a bad use of it. will you say that it did not foresee it? nothing could please me more than such an acknowledgment. but you dare not. i know what a sublime idea you entertain of her. xxxii. but to conclude. if folly, by the unanimous consent of philosophers, is allowed to be the greatest of all evils, and if no one ever attained to true wisdom, we, whom they say the immortal gods take care of, are consequently in a state of the utmost misery. for that nobody is well, or that nobody can be well, is in effect the same thing; and, in my opinion, that no man is truly wise, or that no man can be truly wise, is likewise the same thing. but i will insist no further on so self-evident a point. telamon in one verse decides the question. if, says he, there is a divine providence, good men would be happy, bad men miserable. but it is not so. if the gods had regarded mankind, they should have made them all virtuous; but if they did not regard the welfare of all mankind, at least they ought to have provided for the happiness of the virtuous. why, therefore, was the carthaginian in spain suffered to destroy those best and bravest men, the two scipios? why did maximus[ ] lose his son, the consul? why did hannibal kill marcellus? why did cannæ deprive us of paulus? why was the body of regulus delivered up to the cruelty of the carthaginians? why was not africanus protected from violence in his own house? to these, and many more ancient instances, let us add some of later date. why is rutilius, my uncle, a man of the greatest virtue and learning, now in banishment? why was my own friend and companion drusus assassinated in his own house? why was scævola, the high-priest, that pattern of moderation and prudence, massacred before the statue of vesta? why, before that, were so many illustrious citizens put to death by cinna? why had marius, the most perfidious of men, the power to cause the death of catulus, a man of the greatest dignity? but there would be no end of enumerating examples of good men made miserable and wicked men prosperous. why did that marius live to an old age, and die so happily at his own house in his seventh consulship? why was that inhuman wretch cinna permitted to enjoy so long a reign? xxxiii. he, indeed, met with deserved punishment at last. but would it not have been better that these inhumanities had been prevented than that the author of them should be punished afterward? varius, a most impious wretch, was tortured and put to death. if this was his punishment for the murdering drusus by the sword, and metellus by poison, would it not have been better to have preserved their lives than to have their deaths avenged on varius? dionysius was thirty-eight years a tyrant over the most opulent and flourishing city; and, before him, how many years did pisistratus tyrannize in the very flower of greece! phalaris and apollodorus met with the fate they deserved, but not till after they had tortured and put to death multitudes. many robbers have been executed; but the number of those who have suffered for their crimes is short of those whom they have robbed and murdered. anaxarchus,[ ] a scholar of democritus, was cut to pieces by command of the tyrant of cyprus; and zeno of elea[ ] ended his life in tortures. what shall i say of socrates,[ ] whose death, as often as i read of it in plato, draws fresh tears from my eyes? if, therefore, the gods really see everything that happens to men, you must acknowledge they make no distinction between the good and the bad. xxxiv. diogenes the cynic used to say of harpalus, one of the most fortunate villains of his time, that the constant prosperity of such a man was a kind of witness against the gods. dionysius, of whom we have before spoken, after he had pillaged the temple of proserpine at locris, set sail for syracuse, and, having a fair wind during his voyage, said, with a smile, "see, my friends, what favorable winds the immortal gods bestow upon church-robbers." encouraged by this prosperous event, he proceeded in his impiety. when he landed at peloponnesus, he went into the temple of jupiter olympius, and disrobed his statue of a golden mantle of great weight, an ornament which the tyrant gelo[ ] had given out of the spoils of the carthaginians, and at the same time, in a jesting manner, he said "that a golden mantle was too heavy in summer and too cold in winter;" and then, throwing a woollen cloak over the statue, added, "this will serve for all seasons." at another time, he ordered the golden beard of Æsculapius of epidaurus to be taken away, saying that "it was absurd for the son to have a beard, when his father had none." he likewise robbed the temples of the silver tables, which, according to the ancient custom of greece, bore this inscription, "to the good gods," saying "he was willing to make use of their goodness;" and, without the least scruple, took away the little golden emblems of victory, the cups and coronets, which were in the stretched-out hands of the statues, saying "he did not take, but receive them; for it would be folly not to accept good things from the gods, to whom we are constantly praying for favors, when they stretch out their hands towards us." and, last of all, all the things which he had thus pillaged from the temples were, by his order, brought to the market-place and sold by the common crier; and, after he had received the money for them, he commanded every purchaser to restore what he had bought, within a limited time, to the temples from whence they came. thus to his impiety towards the gods he added injustice to man. xxxv. yet neither did olympian jove strike him with his thunder, nor did Æsculapius cause him to die by tedious diseases and a lingering death. he died in his bed, had funeral honors[ ] paid to him, and left his power, which he had wickedly obtained, as a just and lawful inheritance to his son. it is not without concern that i maintain a doctrine which seems to authorize evil, and which might probably give a sanction to it, if conscience, without any divine assistance, did not point out, in the clearest manner, the difference between virtue and vice. without conscience man is contemptible. for as no family or state can be supposed to be formed with any reason or discipline if there are no rewards for good actions nor punishment for crimes, so we cannot believe that a divine providence regulates the world if there is no distinction between the honest and the wicked. but the gods, you say, neglect trifling things: the little fields or vineyards of particular men are not worthy their attention; and if blasts or hail destroy their product, jupiter does not regard it, nor do kings extend their care to the lower offices of government. this argument might have some weight if, in bringing rutilius as an instance, i had only complained of the loss of his farm at formiæ; but i spoke of a personal misfortune, his banishment.[ ] xxxvi. all men agree that external benefits, such as vineyards, corn, olives, plenty of fruit and grain, and, in short, every convenience and property of life, are derived from the gods; and, indeed, with reason, since by our virtue we claim applause, and in virtue we justly glory, which we could have no right to do if it was the gift of the gods, and not a personal merit. when we are honored with new dignities, or blessed with increase of riches; when we are favored by fortune beyond our expectation, or luckily delivered from any approaching evil, we return thanks for it to the gods, and assume no praise to ourselves. but who ever thanked the gods that he was a good man? we thank them, indeed, for riches, health, and honor. for these we invoke the all-good and all-powerful jupiter; but not for wisdom, temperance, and justice. no one ever offered a tenth of his estate to hercules to be made wise. it is reported, indeed, of pythagoras that he sacrificed an ox to the muses upon having made some new discovery in geometry;[ ] but, for my part, i cannot believe it, because he refused to sacrifice even to apollo at delos, lest he should defile the altar with blood. but to return. it is universally agreed that good fortune we must ask of the gods, but wisdom must arise from ourselves; and though temples have been consecrated to the mind, to virtue, and to faith, yet that does not contradict their being inherent in us. in regard to hope, safety, assistance, and victory, we must rely upon the gods for them; from whence it follows, as diogenes said, that the prosperity of the wicked destroys the idea of a divine providence. xxxvii. but good men have sometimes success. they have so; but we cannot, with any show of reason, attribute that success to the gods. diagoras, who is called the atheist, being at samothrace, one of his friends showed him several pictures[ ] of people who had endured very dangerous storms; "see," says he, "you who deny a providence, how many have been saved by their prayers to the gods." "ay," says diagoras, "i see those who were saved, but where are those painted who were shipwrecked?" at another time, he himself was in a storm, when the sailors, being greatly alarmed, told him they justly deserved that misfortune for admitting him into their ship; when he, pointing to others under the like distress, asked them "if they believed diagoras was also aboard those ships?" in short, with regard to good or bad fortune, it matters not what you are, or how you have lived. the gods, like kings, regard not everything. what similitude is there between them? if kings neglect anything, want of knowledge may be pleaded in their defence; but ignorance cannot be brought as an excuse for the gods. xxxviii. your manner of justifying them is somewhat extraordinary, when you say that if a wicked man dies without suffering for his crimes, the gods inflict a punishment on his children, his children's children, and all his posterity. o wonderful equity of the gods! what city would endure the maker of a law which should condemn a son or a grandson for a crime committed by the father or the grandfather? shall tantalus' unhappy offspring know no end, no close, of this long scene of woe? when will the dire reward of guilt be o'er, and myrtilus demand revenge no more?[ ] whether the poets have corrupted the stoics, or the stoics given authority to the poets, i cannot easily determine. both alike are to be condemned. if those persons whose names have been branded in the satires of hipponax or archilochus[ ] were driven to despair, it did not proceed from the gods, but had its origin in their own minds. when we see Ægistus and paris lost in the heat of an impure passion, why are we to attribute it to a deity, when the crime, as it were, speaks for itself? i believe that those who recover from illness are more indebted to the care of hippocrates than to the power of Æsculapius; that sparta received her laws from lycurgus[ ] rather than from apollo; that those eyes of the maritime coast, corinth and carthage, were plucked out, the one by critolaus, the other by hasdrubal, without the assistance of any divine anger, since you yourselves confess that a deity cannot possibly be angry on any provocation. xxxix. but could not the deity have assisted and preserved those eminent cities? undoubtedly he could; for, according to your doctrine, his power is infinite, and without the least labor; and as nothing but the will is necessary to the motion of our bodies, so the divine will of the gods, with the like ease, can create, move, and change all things. this you hold, not from a mere phantom of superstition, but on natural and settled principles of reason; for matter, you say, of which all things are composed and consist, is susceptible of all forms and changes, and there is nothing which cannot be, or cease to be, in an instant; and that divine providence has the command and disposal of this universal matter, and consequently can, in any part of the universe, do whatever she pleases: from whence i conclude that this providence either knows not the extent of her power, or neglects human affairs, or cannot judge what is best for us. providence, you say, does not extend her care to particular men; there is no wonder in that, since she does not extend it to cities, or even to nations, or people. if, therefore, she neglects whole nations, is it not very probable that she neglects all mankind? but how can you assert that the gods do not enter into all the little circumstances of life, and yet hold that they distribute dreams among men? since you believe in dreams, it is your part to solve this difficulty. besides, you say we ought to call upon the gods. those who call upon the gods are individuals. divine providence, therefore, regards individuals, which consequently proves that they are more at leisure than you imagine. let us suppose the divine providence to be greatly busied; that it causes the revolutions of the heavens, supports the earth, and rules the seas; why does it suffer so many gods to be unemployed? why is not the superintendence of human affairs given to some of those idle deities which you say are innumerable? this is the purport of what i had to say concerning "the nature of the gods;" not with a design to destroy their existence, but merely to show what an obscure point it is, and with what difficulties an explanation of it is attended. xl. balbus, observing that cotta had finished his discourse--you have been very severe, says he, against a divine providence, a doctrine established by the stoics with piety and wisdom; but, as it grows too late, i shall defer my answer to another day. our argument is of the greatest importance; it concerns our altars,[ ] our hearths, our temples, nay, even the walls of our city, which you priests hold sacred; you, who by religion defend rome better than she is defended by her ramparts. this is a cause which, while i have life, i think i cannot abandon without impiety. there is nothing, replied cotta, which i desire more than to be confuted. i have not pretended to decide this point, but to give you my private sentiments upon it; and am very sensible of your great superiority in argument. no doubt of it, says velleius; we have much to fear from one who believes that our dreams are sent from jupiter, which, though they are of little weight, are yet of more importance than the discourse of the stoics concerning the nature of the gods. the conversation ended here, and we parted. velleius judged that the arguments of cotta were truest; but those of balbus seemed to me to have the greater probability.[ ] on the commonwealth. * * * * * preface by the editor. this work was one of cicero's earlier treatises, though one of those which was most admired by his contemporaries, and one of which he himself was most proud. it was composed b.c. it was originally in two books: then it was altered and enlarged into nine, and finally reduced to six. with the exception of the dream of scipio, in the last book, the whole treatise was lost till the year , when the librarian of the vatican discovered a portion of them among the palimpsests in that library. what he discovered is translated here; but it is in a most imperfect and mutilated state. the form selected was that of a dialogue, in imitation of those of plato; and the several conferences were supposed to have taken place during the latin holidays, b.c., in the consulship of caius sempronius, tuditanus, and marcus aquilius. the speakers are scipio africanus the younger, in whose garden the scene is laid; caius lælius; lucius furius philus; marcus manilius; spurius mummius, the brother of the taker of corinth, a stoic; quintus Ælius tubero, a nephew of africanus; publius rutilius rufus; quintus mucius scævola, the tutor of cicero; and caius fannius, who was absent, however, on the second day of the conference. in the first book, the first thirty-three pages are wanting, and there are chasms amounting to thirty-eight pages more. in this book scipio asserts the superiority of an active over a speculative career; and after analyzing and comparing the monarchical, aristocratic, and democratic forms of government, gives a preference to the first; although his idea of a perfect constitution would be one compounded of three kinds in due proportion. there are a few chasms in the earlier part of the second book, and the latter part of it is wholly lost. in it scipio was led on to give an account of the rise and progress of the roman constitution, from which he passed on to the examination of the great moral obligations which are the foundations of all political union. of the remaining books we have only a few disjointed fragments, with the exception, as has been before mentioned, of the dream of scipio in the sixth. * * * * * introduction to the first book, by the original translator. cicero introduces his subject by showing that men were not born for the mere abstract study of philosophy, but that the study of philosophic truth should always be made as practical as possible, and applicable to the great interests of philanthropy and patriotism. cicero endeavors to show the benefit of mingling the contemplative or philosophic with the political and active life, according to that maxim of plato--"happy is the nation whose philosophers are kings, and whose kings are philosophers." this kind of introduction was the more necessary because many of the ancient philosophers, too warmly attached to transcendental metaphysics and sequestered speculations, had affirmed that true philosophers ought not to interest themselves in the management of public affairs. thus, as m. villemain observes, it was a maxim of the epicureans, "sapiens ne accedat ad rempublicam" (let no wise man meddle in politics). the pythagoreans had enforced the same principle with more gravity. aristotle examines the question on both sides, and concludes in favor of active life. among aristotle's disciples, a writer, singularly elegant and pure, had maintained the pre-eminence of the contemplative life over the political or active one, in a work which cicero cites with admiration, and to which he seems to have applied for relief whenever he felt harassed and discouraged in public business. but here this great man was interested by the subject he discusses, and by the whole course of his experience and conduct, to refute the dogmas of that pusillanimous sophistry and selfish indulgence by bringing forward the most glorious examples and achievements of patriotism. in this strain he had doubtless commenced his exordium, and in this strain we find him continuing it at the point in which the palimpsest becomes legible. he then proceeds to introduce his illustrious interlocutors, and leads them at first to discourse on the astronomical laws that regulate the revolutions of our planet. from this, by a very graceful and beautiful transition, he passes on to the consideration of the best forms of political constitutions that had prevailed in different nations, and those modes of government which had produced the greatest benefits in the commonwealths of antiquity. this first book is, in fact, a splendid epitome of the political science of the age of cicero, and probably the most eloquent plea in favor of mixed monarchy to be found in all literature. * * * * * book i. i. [without the virtue of patriotism], neither caius duilius, nor aulus atilius,[ ] nor lucius metellus, could have delivered rome by their courage from the terror of carthage; nor could the two scipios, when the fire of the second punic war was kindled, have quenched it in their blood; nor, when it revived in greater force, could either quintus maximus[ ] have enervated it, or marcus marcellus have crushed it; nor, when it was repulsed from the gates of our own city, would scipio have confined it within the walls of our enemies. but cato, at first a new and unknown man, whom all we who aspire to the same honors consider as a pattern to lead us on to industry and virtue, was undoubtedly at liberty to enjoy his repose at tusculum, a most salubrious and convenient retreat. but he, mad as some people think him, though no necessity compelled him, preferred being tossed about amidst the tempestuous waves of politics, even till extreme old age, to living with all imaginable luxury in that tranquillity and relaxation. i omit innumerable men who have separately devoted themselves to the protection of our commonwealth; and those whose lives are within the memory of the present generation i will not mention, lest any one should complain that i had invidiously forgotten himself or some one of his family. this only i insist on--that so great is the necessity of this virtue which nature has implanted in man, and so great is the desire to defend the common safety of our country, that its energy has continually overcome all the blandishments of pleasure and repose. ii. nor is it sufficient to possess this virtue as if it were some kind of art, unless we put it in practice. an art, indeed, though not exercised, may still be retained in knowledge; but virtue consists wholly in its proper use and action. now, the noblest use of virtue is the government of the commonwealth, and the carrying-out in real action, not in words only, of all those identical theories which those philosophers discuss at every corner. for nothing is spoken by philosophers, so far as they speak correctly and honorably, which has not been discovered and confirmed by those persons who have been the founders of the laws of states. for whence comes piety, or from whom has religion been derived? whence comes law, either that of nations, or that which is called the civil law? whence comes justice, faith, equity? whence modesty, continence, the horror of baseness, the desire of praise and renown? whence fortitude in labors and perils? doubtless, from those who have instilled some of these moral principles into men by education, and confirmed others by custom, and sanctioned others by laws. moreover, it is reported of xenocrates, one of the sublimest philosophers, that when some one asked him what his disciples learned, he replied, "to do that of their own accord which they might be compelled to do by law." that citizen, therefore, who obliges all men to those virtuous actions, by the authority of laws and penalties, to which the philosophers can scarcely persuade a few by the force of their eloquence, is certainly to be preferred to the sagest of the doctors who spend their lives in such discussions. for which of their exquisite orations is so admirable as to be entitled to be preferred to a well-constituted government, public justice, and good customs? certainly, just as i think that magnificent and imperious cities (as ennius says) are superior to castles and villages, so i imagine that those who regulate such cities by their counsel and authority are far preferable, with respect to real wisdom, to men who are unacquainted with any kind of political knowledge. and since we are strongly prompted to augment the prosperity of the human race, and since we do endeavor by our counsels and exertions to render the life of man safer and wealthier, and since we are incited to this blessing by the spur of nature herself, let us hold on that course which has always been pursued by all the best men, and not listen for a moment to the signals of those who sound a retreat so loudly that they sometimes call back even those who have made considerable progress. iii. these reasons, so certain and so evident, are opposed by those who, on the other side, argue that the labors which must necessarily be sustained in maintaining the commonwealth form but a slight impediment to the vigilant and industrious, and are only a contemptible obstacle in such important affairs, and even in common studies, offices, and employments. they add the peril of life, that base fear of death, which has ever been opposed by brave men, to whom it appears far more miserable to die by the decay of nature and old age than to be allowed an opportunity of gallantly sacrificing that life for their country which must otherwise be yielded up to nature. on this point, however, our antagonists esteem themselves copious and eloquent when they collect all the calamities of heroic men, and the injuries inflicted on them by their ungrateful countrymen. for on this subject they bring forward those notable examples among the greeks; and tell us that miltiades, the vanquisher and conqueror of the persians, before even those wounds were healed which he had received in that most glorious victory, wasted away in the chains of his fellow-citizens that life which had been preserved from the weapons of the enemy. they cite themistocles, expelled and proscribed by the country which he had rescued, and forced to flee, not to the grecian ports which he had preserved, but to the bosom of the barbarous power which he had defeated. there is, indeed, no deficiency of examples to illustrate the levity and cruelty of the athenians to their noblest citizens--examples which, originating and multiplying among them, are said at different times to have abounded in our own most august empire. for we are told: of the exile of camillus, the disgrace of ahala, the unpopularity of nasica, the expulsion of lænas,[ ] the condemnation of opimius, the flight of metellus, the cruel destruction of caius marius, the massacre of our chieftains, and the many atrocious crimes which followed. my own history is by no means free from such calamities; and i imagine that when they recollect that by my counsel and perils they were preserved in life and liberty, they are led by that consideration to bewail my misfortunes more deeply and affectionately. but i cannot tell why those who sail over the seas for the sake of knowledge and experience [should wonder at seeing still greater hazards braved in the service of the commonwealth]. iv. [since], on my quitting the consulship, i swore in the assembly of the roman people, who re-echoed my words, that i had saved the commonwealth, i console myself with this remembrance for all my cares, troubles, and injuries. although my misfortune had more of honor than misfortune, and more of glory than disaster; and i derive greater pleasure from the regrets of good men than sorrow from the exultation of the worthless. but even if it had happened otherwise, how could i have complained, as nothing befell me which was either unforeseen, or more painful than i expected, as a return for my illustrious actions? for i was one who, though it was in my power to reap more profit from leisure than most men, on account of the diversified sweetness of my studies, in which i had lived from boyhood--or, if any public calamity had happened, to have borne no more than an equal share with the rest of my countrymen in the misfortune--i nevertheless did not hesitate to oppose myself to the most formidable tempests and torrents of sedition, for the sake of saving my countrymen, and at my own proper danger to secure the common safety of all the rest. for our country did not beget and educate us with the expectation of receiving no support, as i may call it, from us; nor for the purpose of consulting nothing but our convenience, to supply us with a secure refuge for idleness and a tranquil spot for rest; but rather with a view of turning to her own advantage the nobler portion of our genius, heart, and counsel; giving us back for our private service only what she can spare from the public interests. v. those apologies, therefore, in which men take refuge as an excuse for their devoting themselves with more plausibility to mere inactivity do certainly not deserve to be listened to; when, for instance, they tell us that those who meddle with public affairs are generally good-for-nothing men, with whom it is discreditable to be compared, and miserable and dangerous to contend, especially when the multitude is in an excited state. on which account it is not the part of a wise man to take the reins, since he cannot restrain the insane and unregulated movements of the common people. nor is it becoming to a man of liberal birth, say they, thus to contend with such vile and unrefined antagonists, or to subject one's self to the lashings of contumely, or to put one's self in the way of injuries which ought not to be borne by a wise man. as if to a virtuous, brave, and magnanimous man there could be a juster reason for seeking the government than this--to avoid being subjected to worthless men, and to prevent the commonwealth from being torn to pieces by them; when, even if they were then desirous to save her, they would not have the power. vi. but this restriction who can approve, which would interdict the wise man from taking any share in the government beyond such as the occasion and necessity may compel him to? as if any greater necessity could possibly happen to any man than happened to me. in which, how could i have acted if i had not been consul at the time? and how could i have been a consul unless i had maintained that course of life from my childhood which raised me from the order of knights, in which i was born, to the very highest station? you cannot produce _extempore_, and just when you please, the power of assisting a commonwealth, although it may be severely pressed by dangers, unless you have attained the position which enables you legally to do so. and what most surprises me in the discourses of learned men, is to hear those persons who confess themselves incapable of steering the vessel of the state in smooth seas (which, indeed, they never learned, and never cared to know) profess themselves ready to assume the helm amidst the fiercest tempests. for those men are accustomed to say openly, and indeed to boast greatly, that they have never learned, and have never taken the least pains to explain, the principles of either establishing or maintaining a commonwealth; and they look on this practical science as one which belongs not to men of learning and wisdom, but to those who have made it their especial study. how, then, can it be reasonable for such men to promise their assistance to the state, when they shall be compelled to it by necessity, while they are ignorant how to govern the republic when no necessity presses upon it, which is a much more easy task? indeed, though it were true that the wise man loves not to thrust himself of his own accord into the administration of public affairs, but that if circumstances oblige him to it, then he does not refuse the office, yet i think that this science of civil legislation should in no wise be neglected by the philosopher, because all resources ought to be ready to his hand, which he knows not how soon he may be called on to use. vii. i have spoken thus at large for this reason, because in this work i have proposed to myself and undertaken a discussion on the government of a state; and in order to render it useful, i was bound, in the first place, to do away with this pusillanimous hesitation to mingle in public affairs. if there be any, therefore, who are too much influenced by the authority of the philosophers, let them consider the subject for a moment, and be guided by the opinions of those men whose authority and credit are greatest among learned men; whom i look upon, though some of them have not personally governed any state, as men who have nevertheless discharged a kind of office in the republic, inasmuch as they have made many investigations into, and left many writings concerning, state affairs. as to those whom the greeks entitle the seven wise men, i find that they almost all lived in the middle of public business. nor, indeed, is there anything in which human virtue can more closely resemble the divine powers than in establishing new states, or in preserving those already established. viii. and concerning these affairs, since it has been our good fortune to achieve something worthy of memorial in the government of our country, and also to have acquired some facility of explaining the powers and resources of politics, we can treat of this subject with the weight of personal experience and the habit of instruction and illustration. whereas before us many have been skilful in theory, though no exploits of theirs are recorded; and many others have been men of consideration in action, but unfamiliar with the arts of exposition. nor, indeed, is it at all our intention to establish a new and self-invented system of government; but our purpose is rather to recall to memory a discussion of the most illustrious men of their age in our commonwealth, which you and i, in our youth, when at smyrna, heard mentioned by publius rutilius rufus, who reported to us a conference of many days in which, in my opinion, there was nothing omitted that could throw light on political affairs. ix. for when, in the year of the consulship of tuditanus and aquilius, scipio africanus, the son of paulus Æmilius, formed the project of spending the latin holidays at his country-seat, where his most intimate friends had promised him frequent visits during this season of relaxation, on the first morning of the festival, his nephew, quintus tubero, made his appearance; and when scipio had greeted him heartily and embraced him--how is it, my dear tubero, said he, that i see you so early? for these holidays must afford you a capital opportunity of pursuing your favorite studies. ah! replied tubero, i can study my books at any time, for they are always disengaged; but it is a great privilege, my scipio, to find you at leisure, especially in this restless period of public affairs. you certainly have found me so, said scipio, but, to speak truth, i am rather relaxing from business than from study. nay, said tubero, you must try to relax from your studies too, for here are several of us, as we have appointed, all ready, if it suits your convenience, to aid you in getting through this leisure time of yours. i am very willing to consent, answered scipio, and we may be able to compare notes respecting the several topics that interest us. x. be it so, said tubero; and since you invite me to discussion, and present the opportunity, let us first examine, before any one else arrives, what can be the nature of the parhelion, or double sun, which was mentioned in the senate. those that affirm they witnessed this prodigy are neither few nor unworthy of credit, so that there is more reason for investigation than incredulity.[ ] ah! said scipio, i wish we had our friend panætius with us, who is fond of investigating all things of this kind, but especially all celestial phenomena. as for my opinion, tubero, for i always tell you just what i think, i hardly agree in these subjects with that friend of mine, since, respecting things of which we can scarcely form a conjecture as to their character, he is as positive as if he had seen them with his own eyes and felt them with his own hands. and i cannot but the more admire the wisdom of socrates, who discarded all anxiety respecting things of this kind, and affirmed that these inquiries concerning the secrets of nature were either above the efforts of human reason, or were absolutely of no consequence at all to human life. but, then, my africanus, replied tubero, of what credit is the tradition which states that socrates rejected all these physical investigations, and confined his whole attention to men and manners? for, with respect to him what better authority can we cite than plato? in many passages of whose works socrates speaks in such a manner that even when he is discussing morals, and virtues, and even public affairs and politics, he endeavors to interweave, after the fashion of pythagoras, the doctrines of arithmetic, geometry, and harmonic proportions with them. that is true, replied scipio; but you are aware, i believe, that plato, after the death of socrates, was induced to visit egypt by his love of science, and that after that he proceeded to italy and sicily, from his desire of understanding the pythagorean dogmas; that he conversed much with archytas of tarentum and timæus of locris; that he collected the works of philolaus; and that, finding in these places the renown of pythagoras flourishing, he addicted himself exceedingly to the disciples of pythagoras, and their studies; therefore, as he loved socrates with his whole heart, and wished to attribute all great discoveries to him, he interwove the socratic elegance and subtlety of eloquence with somewhat of the obscurity of pythagoras, and with that notorious gravity of his diversified arts. xi. when scipio had spoken thus, he suddenly saw lucius furius approaching, and saluting him, and embracing him most affectionately, he gave him a seat on his own couch. and as soon as publius rutilius, the worthy reporter of the conference to us, had arrived, when we had saluted him, he placed him by the side of tubero. then said furius, what is it that you are about? has our entrance at all interrupted any conversation of yours? by no means, said scipio, for you yourself too are in the habit of investigating carefully the subject which tubero was a little before proposing to examine; and our friend rutilius, even under the walls of numantia, was in the habit at times of conversing with me on questions of the same kind. what, then, was the subject of your discussion? said philus. we were talking, said scipio, of the double suns that recently appeared, and i wish, philus, to hear what you think of them. xii. just as he was speaking, a boy announced that lælius was coming to call on him, and that he had already left his house. then scipio, putting on his sandals and robes, immediately went forth from his chamber, and when he had walked a little time in the portico, he met lælius, and welcomed him and those that accompanied him, namely, spurius mummius, to whom he was greatly attached, and c. fannius and quintus scævola, sons-in-law of lælius, two very intelligent young men, and now of the quæstorian age.[ ] when he had saluted them all, he returned through the portico, placing lælius in the middle; for there was in their friendship a sort of law of reciprocal courtesy, so that in the camp lælius paid scipio almost divine honors, on account of his eminent renown in war and in private life; in his turn scipio reverenced lælius, even as a father, because he was older than himself. then after they had exchanged a few words, as they walked up and down, scipio, to whom their visit was extremely welcome and agreeable, wished to assemble them in a sunny corner of the gardens, because it was still winter; and when they had agreed to this, there came in another friend, a learned man, much beloved and esteemed by all of them, m. manilius, who, after having been most warmly welcomed by scipio and the rest, seated himself next to lælius. xiii. then philus, commencing the conversation, said: it does not appear to me that the presence of our new guests need alter the subject of our discussion, but only that it should induce us to treat it more philosophically, and in a manner more worthy of our increased audience. what do you allude to? said lælius; or what was the discussion we broke in upon? scipio was asking me, replied philus, what i thought of the parhelion, or mock sun, whose recent apparition was so strongly attested. _lælius._ do you say then, my philus, that we have sufficiently examined those questions which concern our own houses and the commonwealth, that we begin to investigate the celestial mysteries? and philus replied: do you think, then, that it does not concern our houses to know what happens in that vast home which is not included in walls of human fabrication, but which embraces the entire universe--a home which the gods share with us, as the common country of all intelligent beings? especially when, if we are ignorant of these things, there are also many great practical truths which result from them, and which bear directly on the welfare of our race, of which we must be also ignorant. and here i can speak for myself, as well as for you, lælius, and all men who are ambitious of wisdom, that the knowledge and consideration of the facts of nature are by themselves very delightful. _lælius._ i have no objection to the discussion, especially as it is holiday-time with us. but cannot we have the pleasure of hearing you resume it, or are we come too late? _philus_. we have not yet commenced the discussion, and since the question remains entire and unbroken, i shall have the greatest pleasure, my lælius, in handing over the argument to you. _lælius._ no, i had much rather hear you, unless, indeed, manilius thinks himself able to compromise the suit between the two suns, that they may possess heaven as joint sovereigns without intruding on each other's empire. then manilius said: are you going, lælius, to ridicule a science in which, in the first place, i myself excel; and, secondly, without which no one can distinguish what is his own, and what is another's? but to return to the point. let us now at present listen to philus, who seems to me to have started a greater question than any of those that have engaged the attention of either publius mucius or myself. xiv. then philus said: i am not about to bring you anything new, or anything which has been thought over or discovered by me myself. but i recollect that caius sulpicius gallus, who was a man of profound learning, as you are aware, when this same thing was reported to have taken place in his time, while he was staying in the house of marcus marcellus, who had been his colleague in the consulship, asked to see a celestial globe which marcellus's grandfather had saved after the capture of syracuse from that magnificent and opulent city, without bringing to his own home any other memorial out of so great a booty; which i had often heard mentioned on account of the great fame of archimedes; but its appearance, however, did not seem to me particularly striking. for that other is more elegant in form, and more generally known, which was made by the same archimedes, and deposited by the same marcellus in the temple of virtue at rome. but as soon as gallus had begun to explain, in a most scientific manner, the principle of this machine, i felt that the sicilian geometrician must have possessed a genius superior to anything we usually conceive to belong to our nature. for gallus assured us that that other solid and compact globe was a very ancient invention, and that the first model had been originally made by thales of miletus. that afterward eudoxus of cnidus, a disciple of plato, had traced on its surface the stars that appear in the sky, and that many years subsequently, borrowing from eudoxus this beautiful design and representation, aratus had illustrated it in his verses, not by any science of astronomy, but by the ornament of poetic description. he added that the figure of the globe, which displayed the motions of the sun and moon, and the five planets, or wandering stars, could not be represented by the primitive solid globe; and that in this the invention of archimedes was admirable, because he had calculated how a single revolution should maintain unequal and diversified progressions in dissimilar motions. in fact, when gallus moved this globe, we observed that the moon succeeded the sun by as many turns of the wheel in the machine as days in the heavens. from whence it resulted that the progress of the sun was marked as in the heavens, and that the moon touched the point where she is obscured by the earth's shadow at the instant the sun appears opposite.[ ] * * * xv. * * *[ ] i had myself a great affection for this gallus, and i know that he was very much beloved and esteemed by my father paulus. i recollect that when i was very young, when my father, as consul, commanded in macedonia, and we were in the camp, our army was seized with a pious terror, because suddenly, in a clear night, the bright and full moon became eclipsed. and gallus, who was then our lieutenant, the year before that in which he was elected consul, hesitated not, next morning, to state in the camp that it was no prodigy, and that the phenomenon which had then appeared would always appear at certain periods, when the sun was so placed that he could not affect the moon with his light. but do you mean, said tubero, that he dared to speak thus to men almost entirely uneducated and ignorant? _scipio._ he did, and with great * * * for his opinion was no result of insolent ostentation, nor was his language unbecoming the dignity of so wise a man: indeed, he performed a very noble action in thus freeing his countrymen from the terrors of an idle superstition. xvi. and they relate that in a similar way, in the great war in which the athenians and lacedæmonians contended with such violent resentment, the famous pericles, the first man of his country in credit, eloquence, and political genius, observing the athenians overwhelmed with an excessive alarm during an eclipse of the sun which caused a sudden darkness, told them, what he had learned in the school of anaxagoras, that these phenomena necessarily happened at precise and regular periods when the body of the moon was interposed between the sun and the earth, and that if they happened not before every new moon, still they could not possibly happen except at the exact time of the new moon. and when he had proved this truth by his reasonings, he freed the people from their alarms; for at that period the doctrine was new and unfamiliar that the sun was accustomed to be eclipsed by the interposition of the moon, which fact they say that thales of miletus was the first to discover. afterward my friend ennius appears to have been acquainted with the same theory, who, writing about [ ] years after the foundation of rome, says, "in the nones of june the sun was covered by the moon and night." the calculations in the astronomical art have attained such perfection that from that day, thus described to us by ennius and recorded in the pontifical registers, the anterior eclipses of the sun have been computed as far back as the nones of july in the reign of romulus, when that eclipse took place, in the obscurity of which it was affirmed that virtue bore romulus to heaven, in spite of the perishable nature which carried him off by the common fate of humanity. xvii. then said tubero: do not you think, scipio, that this astronomical science, which every day proves so useful, just now appeared in a different light to you,[ ] * * * which the rest may see. moreover, who can think anything in human affairs of brilliant importance who has penetrated this starry empire of the gods? or who can think anything connected with mankind long who has learned to estimate the nature of eternity? or glorious who is aware of the insignificance of the size of the earth, even in its whole extent, and especially in the portion which men inhabit? and when we consider that almost imperceptible point which we ourselves occupy unknown to the majority of nations, can we still hope that our name and reputation can be widely circulated? and then our estates and edifices, our cattle, and the enormous treasures of our gold and silver, can they be esteemed or denominated as desirable goods by him who observes their perishable profit, and their contemptible use, and their uncertain domination, often falling into the possession of the very worst men? how happy, then, ought we to esteem that man who alone has it in his power, not by the law of the romans, but by the privilege of philosophers, to enjoy all things as his own; not by any civil bond, but by the common right of nature, which denies that anything can really be possessed by any one but him who understands its true nature and use; who reckons our dictatorships and consulships rather in the rank of necessary offices than desirable employments, and thinks they must be endured rather as acquittances of our debt to our country than sought for the sake of emolument or glory--the man, in short, who can apply to himself the sentence which cato tells us my ancestor africanus loved to repeat, "that he was never so busy as when he did nothing, and never less solitary than when alone." for who can believe that dionysius, when after every possible effort he ravished from his fellow-citizens their liberty, had performed a nobler work than archimedes, when, without appearing to be doing anything, he manufactured the globe which we have just been describing? who does not see that those men are in reality more solitary who, in the midst of a crowd, find no one with whom they can converse congenially than those who, without witnesses, hold communion with themselves, and enter into the secret counsels of the sagest philosophers, while they delight themselves in their writings and discoveries? and who would think any one richer than the man who is in want of nothing which nature requires; or more powerful than he who has attained all that she has need of; or happier than he who is free from all mental perturbation; or more secure in future than he who carries all his property in himself, which is thus secured from shipwreck? and what power, what magistracy, what royalty, can be preferred to a wisdom which, looking down on all terrestrial objects as low and transitory things, incessantly directs its attention to eternal and immutable verities, and which is persuaded that though others are called men, none are really so but those who are refined by the appropriate acts of humanity? in this sense an expression of plato or some other philosopher appears to me exceedingly elegant, who, when a tempest had driven his ship on an unknown country and a desolate shore, during the alarms with which their ignorance of the region inspired his companions, observed, they say, geometrical figures traced in the sand, on which he immediately told them to be of good cheer, for he had observed the indications of man. a conjecture he deduced, not from the cultivation of the soil which he beheld, but from the symbols of science. for this reason, tubero, learning and learned men, and these your favorite studies, have always particularly pleased me. xviii. then lælius replied: i cannot venture, scipio, to answer your arguments, or to [maintain the discussion either against] you, philus, or manilius.[ ] * * * we had a friend in tubero's father's family, who in these respects may serve him as a model. sextus so wise, and ever on his guard. wise and cautious indeed he was, as ennius justly describes him--not because he searched for what he could never find, but because he knew how to answer those who prayed for deliverance from cares and difficulties. it is he who, reasoning against the astronomical studies of gallus, used frequently to repeat these words of achilles in the iphigenia[ ]: they note the astrologic signs of heaven, whene'er the goats or scorpions of great jove, or other monstrous names of brutal forms, rise in the zodiac; but not one regards the sensible facts of earth, on which we tread, while gazing on the starry prodigies. he used, however, to say (and i have often listened to him with pleasure) that for his part he thought that zethus, in the piece of pacuvius, was too inimical to learning. he much preferred the neoptolemus of ennius, who professes himself desirous of philosophizing only in moderation; for that he did not think it right to be wholly devoted to it. but though the studies of the greeks have so many charms for you, there are others, perhaps, nobler and more extensive, which we may be better able to apply to the service of real life, and even to political affairs. as to these abstract sciences, their utility, if they possess any, lies principally in exciting and stimulating the abilities of youth, so that they more easily acquire more important accomplishments. xix. then tubero said: i do not mean to disagree with you, lælius; but, pray, what do you call more important studies? _lælius._ i will tell you frankly, though perhaps you will think lightly of my opinion, since you appeared so eager in interrogating scipio respecting the celestial phenomena; but i happen to think that those things which are every day before our eyes are more particularly deserving of our attention. why should the child of paulus Æmilius, the nephew of Æmilius, the descendant of such a noble family and so glorious a republic, inquire how there can be two suns in heaven, and not ask how there can be two senates in one commonwealth, and, as it were, two distinct peoples? for, as you see, the death of tiberius gracchus, and the whole system of his tribuneship, has divided one people into two parties. but the slanderers and the enemies of scipio, encouraged by p. crassus and appius claudius, maintained, after the death of these two chiefs, a division of nearly half the senate, under the influence of metellus and mucius. nor would they permit the man[ ] who alone could have been of service to help us out of our difficulties during the movement of the latins and their allies towards rebellion, violating all our treaties in the presence of factious triumvirs, and creating every day some fresh intrigue, to the disturbance of the worthier and wealthier citizens. this is the reason, young men, if you will listen to me, why you should regard this new sun with less alarm; for, whether it does exist, or whether it does not exist, it is, as you see, quite harmless to us. as to the manner of its existence, we can know little or nothing; and even if we obtained the most perfect understanding of it, this knowledge would make us but little wiser or happier. but that there should exist a united people and a united senate is a thing which actually may be brought about, and it will be a great evil if it is not; and that it does not exist at present we are aware; and we see that if it can be effected, our lives will be both better and happier. xx. then mucius said: what, then, do you consider, my lælius, should be our best arguments in endeavoring to bring about the object of your wishes? _lælius._ those sciences and arts which teach us how we may be most useful to the state; for i consider that the most glorious office of wisdom, and the noblest proof and business of virtue. in order, therefore, that we may consecrate these holidays as much as possible to conversations which may be profitable to the commonwealth, let us beg scipio to explain to us what in his estimation appears to be the best form of government. then let us pass on to other points, the knowledge of which may lead us, as i hope, to sound political views, and unfold the causes of the dangers which now threaten us. xxi. when philus, manilius, and mummius had all expressed their great approbation of this idea[ ] * * * i have ventured [to open our discussion] in this way, not only because it is but just that on state politics the chief man in the state should be the principal speaker, but also because i recollect that you, scipio, were formerly very much in the habit of conversing with panætius and polybius, two greeks, exceedingly learned in political questions, and that you are master of many arguments by which you prove that by far the best condition of government is that which our ancestors have handed down to us. and as you, therefore, are familiar with this subject, if you will explain to us your views respecting the general principles of a state (i speak for my friends as well as myself), we shall feel exceedingly obliged to you. xxii. then scipio said: i must acknowledge that there is no subject of meditation to which my mind naturally turns with more ardor and intensity than this very one which lælius has proposed to us. and, indeed, as i see that in every profession, every artist who would distinguish himself, thinks of, and aims at, and labors for no other object but that of attaining perfection in his art, should not i, whose main business, according to the example of my father and my ancestors, is the advancement and right administration of government, be confessing myself more indolent than any common mechanic if i were to bestow on this noblest of sciences less attention and labor than they devote to their insignificant trades? however, i am neither entirely satisfied with the decisions which the greatest and wisest men of greece have left us; nor, on the other hand, do i venture to prefer my own opinions to theirs. therefore, i must request you not to consider me either entirely ignorant of the grecian literature, nor yet disposed, especially in political questions, to yield it the pre-eminence over our own; but rather to regard me as a true-born roman, not illiberally instructed by the care of my father, and inflamed with the desire of knowledge, even from my boyhood, but still even more familiar with domestic precepts and practices than the literature of books. xxiii. on this philus said: i have no doubt, my scipio, that no one is superior to you in natural genius, and that you are very far superior to every one in the practical experience of national government and of important business. we are also acquainted with the course which your studies have at all times taken; and if, as you say, you have given so much attention to this science and art of politics, we cannot be too much obliged to lælius for introducing the subject: for i trust that what we shall hear from you will be far more useful and available than all the writings put together which the greeks have written for us. then scipio replied: you are raising a very high expectation of my discourse, such as is a most oppressive burden to a man who is required to discuss grave subjects. and philus said: although that may be a difficulty, my scipio, still you will be sure to conquer it, as you always do; nor is there any danger of eloquence failing you, when you begin to speak on the affairs of a commonwealth. xxiv. then scipio proceeded: i will do what you wish, as far as i can; and i shall enter into the discussion under favor of that rule which, i think, should be adopted by all persons in disputations of this kind, if they wish to avoid being misunderstood; namely, that when men have agreed respecting the proper name of the matter under discussion, it should be stated what that name exactly means, and what it legitimately includes. and when that point is settled, then it is fit to enter on the discussion; for it will never be possible to arrive at an understanding of what the character of the subject of the discussion is, unless one first understands exactly what it is. since, then, our investigations relate to a commonwealth, we must first examine what this name properly signifies. and when lælius had intimated his approbation of this course, scipio continued: i shall not adopt, said he, in so clear and simple a manner that system of discussion which goes back to first principles; as learned men often do in this sort of discussion, so as to go back to the first meeting of male and female, and then to the first birth and formation of the first family, and define over and over again what there is in words, and in how many manners each thing is stated. for, as i am speaking to men of prudence, who have acted with the greatest glory in the commonwealth, both in peace and war, i will take care not to allow the subject of the discussion itself to be clearer than my explanation of it. nor have i undertaken this task with the design of examining all its minuter points, like a school-master; nor will i promise you in the following discourse not to omit any single particular. then lælius said: for my part, i am impatient for exactly that kind of disquisition which you promise us. xxv. well, then, said africanus, a commonwealth is a constitution of the entire people. but the people is not every association of men, however congregated, but the association of the entire number, bound together by the compact of justice, and the communication of utility. the first cause of this association is not so much the weakness of man as a certain spirit of congregation which naturally belongs to him. for the human race is not a race of isolated individuals, wandering and solitary; but it is so constituted that even in the affluence of all things [and without any need of reciprocal assistance, it spontaneously seeks society]. xxvi. [it is necessary to presuppose] these original seeds, as it were, since we cannot discover any primary establishment of the other virtues, or even of a commonwealth itself. these unions, then, formed by the principle which i have mentioned, established their headquarters originally in certain central positions, for the convenience of the whole population; and having fortified them by natural and artificial means, they called this collection of houses a city or town, distinguished by temples and public squares. every people, therefore, which consists of such an association of the entire multitude as i have described, every city which consists of an assemblage of the people, and every commonwealth which embraces every member of these associations, must be regulated by a certain authority, in order to be permanent. this intelligent authority should always refer itself to that grand first principle which established the commonwealth. it must be deposited in the hands of one supreme person, or intrusted to the administration of certain delegated rulers, or undertaken by the whole multitude. when the direction of all depends on one person, we call this individual a king, and this form of political constitution a kingdom. when it is in the power of privileged delegates, the state is said to be ruled by an aristocracy; and when the people are all in all, they call it a democracy, or popular constitution. and if the tie of social affection, which originally united men in political associations for the sake of public interest, maintains its force, each of these forms of government is, i will not say perfect, nor, in my opinion, essentially good, but tolerable, and such that one may accidentally be better than another: either a just and wise king, or a selection of the most eminent citizens, or even the populace itself (though this is the least commendable form), may, if there be no interference of crime and cupidity, form a constitution sufficiently secure. xxvii. but in a monarchy the other members of the state are often too much deprived of public counsel and jurisdiction; and under the rule of an aristocracy the multitude can hardly possess its due share of liberty, since it is allowed no share in the public deliberation, and no power. and when all things are carried by a democracy, although it be just and moderate, yet its very equality is a culpable levelling, inasmuch as it allows no gradations of rank. therefore, even if cyrus, the king of the persians, was a most righteous and wise monarch, i should still think that the interest of the people (for this is, as i have said before, the same as the commonwealth) could not be very effectually promoted when all things depended on the beck and nod of one individual. and though at present the people of marseilles, our clients, are governed with the greatest justice by elected magistrates of the highest rank, still there is always in this condition of the people a certain appearance of servitude; and when the athenians, at a certain period, having demolished their areopagus, conducted all public affairs by the acts and decrees of the democracy alone, their state, as it no longer contained a distinct gradation of ranks, was no longer able to retain its original fair appearance. xxviii. i have reasoned thus on the three forms of government, not looking on them in their disorganized and confused conditions, but in their proper and regular administration. these three particular forms, however, contained in themselves, from the first, the faults and defects i have mentioned; but they have also other dangerous vices, for there is not one of these three forms of government which has not a precipitous and slippery passage down to some proximate abuse. for, after thinking of that endurable, or, as you will have it, most amiable king, cyrus--to name him in preference to any one else--then, to produce a change in our minds, we behold the barbarous phalaris, that model of tyranny, to which the monarchical authority is easily abused by a facile and natural inclination. and, in like manner, along-side of the wise aristocracy of marseilles, we might exhibit the oligarchical faction of the thirty tyrants which once existed at athens. and, not to seek for other instances, among the same athenians, we can show you that when unlimited power was cast into the hands of the people, it inflamed the fury of the multitude, and aggravated that universal license which ruined their state.[ ] * * * xxix. the worst condition of things sometimes results from a confusion of those factious tyrannies into which kings, aristocrats, and democrats are apt to degenerate. for thus, from these diverse elements, there occasionally arises (as i have said before) a new kind of government. and wonderful indeed are the revolutions and periodical returns in natural constitutions of such alternations and vicissitudes, which it is the part of the wise politician to investigate with the closest attention. but to calculate their approach, and to join to this foresight the skill which moderates the course of events, and retains in a steady hand the reins of that authority which safely conducts the people through all the dangers to which they expose themselves, is the work of a most illustrious citizen, and of almost divine genius. there is a fourth kind of government, therefore, which, in my opinion, is preferable to all these: it is that mixed and moderate government which is composed of the three particular forms which i have already noticed. xxx. _lælius._ i am not ignorant, scipio, that such is your opinion, for i have often heard you say so. but i do not the less desire, if it is not giving you too much trouble, to hear which you consider the best of these three forms of commonwealths. for it may be of some use in considering[ ] * * * xxxi. * * * and each commonwealth corresponds to the nature and will of him who governs it. therefore, in no other constitution than that in which the people exercise sovereign power has liberty any sure abode, than which there certainly is no more desirable blessing. and if it be not equally established for every one, it is not even liberty at all. and how can there be this character of equality, i do not say under a monarchy, where slavery is least disguised or doubtful, but even in those constitutions in which the people are free indeed in words, for they give their suffrages, they elect officers, they are canvassed and solicited for magistracies; but yet they only grant those things which they are obliged to grant whether they will or not, and which are not really in their free power, though others ask them for them? for they are not themselves admitted to the government, to the exercise of public authority, or to offices of select judges, which are permitted to those only of ancient families and large fortunes. but in a free people, as among the rhodians and athenians, there is no citizen who[ ] * * * xxxii. * * * no sooner is one man, or several, elevated by wealth and power, than they say that * * * arise from their pride and arrogance, when the idle and the timid give way, and bow down to the insolence of riches. but if the people knew how to maintain its rights, then they say that nothing could be more glorious and prosperous than democracy; inasmuch as they themselves would be the sovereign dispensers of laws, judgments, war, peace, public treaties, and, finally, of the fortune and life of each individual citizen; and this condition of things is the only one which, in their opinion, can be really called a commonwealth, that is to say, a constitution of the people. it is on this principle that, according to them, a people often vindicates its liberty from the domination of kings and nobles; while, on the other hand, kings are not sought for among free peoples, nor are the power and wealth of aristocracies. they deny, moreover, that it is fair to reject this general constitution of freemen, on account of the vices of the unbridled populace; but that if the people be united and inclined, and directs all its efforts to the safety and freedom of the community, nothing can be stronger or more unchangeable; and they assert that this necessary union is easily obtained in a republic so constituted that the good of all classes is the same; while the conflicting interests that prevail in other constitutions inevitably produce dissensions; therefore, say they, when the senate had the ascendency, the republic had no stability; and when kings possess the power, this blessing is still more rare, since, as ennius expresses it, in kingdoms there's no faith, and little love. wherefore, since the law is the bond of civil society, and the justice of the law equal, by what rule can the association of citizens be held together, if the condition of the citizens be not equal? for if the fortunes of men cannot be reduced to this equality--if genius cannot be equally the property of all--rights, at least, should be equal among those who are citizens of the same republic. for what is a republic but an association of rights?[ ] * * * xxxiii. but as to the other political constitutions, these democratical advocates do not think they are worthy of being distinguished by the name which they claim. for why, say they, should we apply the name of king, the title of jupiter the beneficent, and not rather the title of tyrant, to a man ambitious of sole authority and power, lording it over a degraded multitude? for a tyrant may be as merciful as a king may be oppressive; so that the whole difference to the people is, whether they serve an indulgent master or a cruel one, since serve some one they must. but how could sparta, at the period of the boasted superiority of her political institution, obtain a constant enjoyment of just and virtuous kings, when they necessarily received an hereditary monarch, good, bad, or indifferent, because he happened to be of the blood royal? as to aristocrats, who will endure, say they, that men should distinguish themselves by such a title, and that not by the voice of the people, but by their own votes? for how is such a one judged to be best either in learning, sciences, or arts?[ ] * * * xxxiv. * * * if it does so by hap-hazard, it will be as easily upset as a vessel if the pilot were chosen by lot from among the passengers. but if a people, being free, chooses those to whom it can trust itself--and, if it desires its own preservation, it will always choose the noblest--then certainly it is in the counsels of the aristocracy that the safety of the state consists, especially as nature has not only appointed that these superior men should excel the inferior sort in high virtue and courage, but has inspired the people also with the desire of obedience towards these, their natural lords. but they say this aristocratical state is destroyed by the depraved opinions of men, who, through ignorance of virtue (which, as it belongs to few, can be discerned and appreciated by few), imagine that not only rich and powerful men, but also those who are nobly born, are necessarily the best. and so when, through this popular error, the riches, and not the virtue, of a few men has taken possession of the state, these chiefs obstinately retain the title of nobles, though they want the essence of nobility. for riches, fame, and power, without wisdom and a just method of regulating ourselves and commanding others, are full of discredit and insolent arrogance; nor is there any kind of government more deformed than that in which the wealthiest are regarded as the noblest. but when virtue governs the commonwealth, what can be more glorious? when he who commands the rest is himself enslaved by no lust or passion; when he himself exhibits all the virtues to which he incites and educates the citizens; when he imposes no law on the people which he does not himself observe, but presents his life as a living law to his fellow-countrymen; if a single individual could thus suffice for all, there would be no need of more; and if the community could find a chief ruler thus worthy of all their suffrages, none would require elected magistrates. it was the difficulty of forming plans which transferred the government from a king into the hands of many; and the error and temerity of the people likewise transferred it from the hands of the many into those of the few. thus, between the weakness of the monarch and the rashness of the multitude, the aristocrats have occupied the middle place, than which nothing can be better arranged; and while they superintend the public interest, the people necessarily enjoy the greatest possible prosperity, being free from all care and anxiety, having intrusted their security to others, who ought sedulously to defend it, and not allow the people to suspect that their advantage is neglected by their rulers. for as to that equality of rights which democracies so loudly boast of, it can never be maintained; for the people themselves, so dissolute and so unbridled, are always inclined to flatter a number of demagogues; and there is in them a very great partiality for certain men and dignities, so that their equality, so called, becomes most unfair and iniquitous. for as equal honor is given to the most noble and the most infamous, some of whom must exist in every state, then the equity which they eulogize becomes most inequitable--an evil which never can happen in those states which are governed by aristocracies. these reasonings, my lælius, and some others of the same kind, are usually brought forward by those that so highly extol this form of political constitution. xxxv. then lælius said: but you have not told us, scipio, which of these three forms of government you yourself most approve. _scipio._ you are right to shape your question, which of the three i most approve, for there is not one of them which i approve at all by itself, since, as i told you, i prefer that government which is mixed and composed of all these forms, to any one of them taken separately. but if i must confine myself to one of these particular forms simply and exclusively, i must confess i prefer the royal one, and praise that as the first and best. in this, which i here choose to call the primitive form of government, i find the title of father attached to that of king, to express that he watches over the citizens as over his children, and endeavors rather to preserve them in freedom than reduce them to slavery. so that it is more advantageous for those who are insignificant in property and capacity to be supported by the care of one excellent and eminently powerful man. the nobles here present themselves, who profess that they can do all this in much better style; for they say that there is much more wisdom in many than in one, and at least as much faith and equity. and, last of all, come the people, who cry with a loud voice that they will render obedience neither to the one nor the few; that even to brute beasts nothing is so dear as liberty; and that all men who serve either kings or nobles are deprived of it. thus, the kings attract us by affection, the nobles by talent, the people by liberty; and in the comparison it is hard to choose the best. _lælius._ i think so too, but yet it is impossible to despatch the other branches of the question, if you leave this primary point undetermined. xxxvi. _scipio._ we must then, i suppose, imitate aratus, who, when he prepared himself to treat of great things, thought himself in duty bound to begin with jupiter. _lælius._ wherefore jupiter? and what is there in this discussion which resembles that poem? _scipio._ why, it serves to teach us that we cannot better commence our investigations than by invoking him whom, with one voice, both learned and unlearned extol as the universal king of all gods and men. how so? said lælius. do you, then, asked scipio, believe in nothing which is not before your eyes? whether these ideas have been established by the chiefs of states for the benefit of society, that there might be believed to exist one universal monarch in heaven, at whose nod (as homer expresses it) all olympus trembles, and that he might be accounted both king and father of all creatures; for there is great authority, and there are many witnesses, if you choose to call all many, who attest that all nations have unanimously recognized, by the decrees of their chiefs, that nothing is better than a king, since they think that all the gods are governed by the divine power of one sovereign; or if we suspect that this opinion rests on the error of the ignorant, and should be classed among the fables, let us listen to those universal testimonies of erudite men, who have, as it were, seen with their eyes those things to the knowledge of which we can hardly attain by report. what men do you mean? said lælius. those, replied scipio, who, by the investigation of nature, have arrived at the opinion that the whole universe [is animated] by a single mind[ ]. * * * xxxvii. but if you please, my lælius, i will bring forward evidences which are neither too ancient nor in any respect barbarous. those, said lælius, are what i want. _scipio._ you are aware that it is now not four centuries since this city of ours has been without kings. _lælius._ you are correct; it is less than four centuries. _scipio._ well, then, what are four centuries in the age of a state or city? is it a long time? _lælius._ it hardly amounts to the age of maturity. _scipio._ you say truly; and yet not four centuries have elapsed since there was a king in rome. _lælius._ and he was a proud king. _scipio._ but who was his predecessor? _lælius._ he was an admirably just one; and, indeed, we must bestow the same praise on all his predecessors as far back as romulus, who reigned about six centuries ago. _scipio._ even he, then, is not very ancient. _lælius._ no; he reigned when greece was already becoming old. _scipio._ agreed. was romulus, then, think you, king of a barbarous people? _lælius._ why, as to that, if we were to follow the example of the greeks, who say that all people are either greeks or barbarians, i am afraid that we must confess that he was a king of barbarians; but if this name belongs rather to manners than to languages, then i believe the greeks were just as barbarous as the romans. then scipio said: but with respect to the present question, we do not so much need to inquire into the nation as into the disposition. for if intelligent men, at a period so little remote, desired the government of kings, you will confess that i am producing authorities that are neither antiquated, rude, nor insignificant. xxxviii. then lælius said: i see, scipio, that you are very sufficiently provided with authorities; but with me, as with every fair judge, authorities are worth less than arguments. scipio replied: then, lælius, you shall yourself make use of an argument derived from your own senses. _lælius._ what senses do you mean? _scipio._ the feelings which you experience when at any time you happen to feel angry with any one. _lælius._ that happens rather oftener than i could wish. _scipio._ well, then, when you are angry, do you permit your anger to triumph over your judgment? no, by hercules! said lælius; i imitate the famous archytas of tarentum, who, when he came to his villa, and found all its arrangements were contrary to his orders, said to his steward, "ah! you unlucky scoundrel, i would flog you to death, if it were not that i am in a rage with you." capital, said scipio. archytas, then, regarded unreasonable anger as a kind of sedition and rebellion of nature which he sought to appease by reflection. and so, if we examine avarice, the ambition of power or of glory, or the lusts of concupiscence and licentiousness, we shall find a certain conscience in the mind of man, which, like a king, sways by the force of counsel all the inferior faculties and propensities; and this, in truth, is the noblest portion of our nature; for when conscience reigns, it allows no resting-place to lust, violence, or temerity. _lælius._ you have spoken the truth. _scipio._ well, then, does a mind thus governed and regulated meet your approbation? _lælius._ more than anything upon earth. _scipio._ then you would not approve that the evil passions, which are innumerable, should expel conscience, and that lusts and animal propensities should assume an ascendency over us? _lælius._ for my part, i can conceive nothing more wretched than a mind thus degraded, or a man animated by a soul so licentious. _scipio._ you desire, then, that all the faculties of the mind should submit to a ruling power, and that conscience should reign over them all? _lælius._ certainly, that is my wish. _scipio._ how, then, can you doubt what opinion to form on the subject of the commonwealth? in which, if the state is thrown into many hands, it is very plain that there will be no presiding authority; for if power be not united, it soon comes to nothing. xxxix. then lælius asked: but what difference is there, i should like to know, between the one and the many, if justice exists equally in many? and scipio said: since i see, my lælius, that the authorities i have adduced have no great influence on you, i must continue to employ you yourself as my witness in proof of what i am saying. in what way, said lælius, are you going to make me again support your argument? _scipio._ why, thus: i recollect, when we were lately at formiæ, that you told your servants repeatedly to obey the orders of more than one master only. _lælius._ to be sure, those of my steward. _scipio._ what do you at home? do you commit your affairs to the hands of many persons? _lælius._ no, i trust them to myself alone. _scipio._ well, in your whole establishment, is there any other master but yourself? _lælius._ not one. _scipio._ then i think you must grant me that, as respects the state, the government of single individuals, provided they are just, is superior to any other. _lælius._ you have conducted me to this conclusion, and i entertain very nearly that opinion. xl. and scipio said: you would still further agree with me, my lælius, if, omitting the common comparisons, that one pilot is better fitted to steer a ship, and a physician to treat an invalid, provided they be competent men in their respective professions, than many could be, i should come at once to more illustrious examples. _lælius._ what examples do you mean? _scipio._ do not you observe that it was the cruelty and pride of one single tarquin only that made the title of king unpopular among the romans? _lælius._ yes, i acknowledge that. _scipio._ you are also aware of this fact, on which i think i shall debate in the course of the coming discussion, that after the expulsion of king tarquin, the people was transported by a wonderful excess of liberty. then innocent men were driven into banishment; then the estates of many individuals were pillaged, consulships were made annual, public authorities were overawed by mobs, popular appeals took place in all cases imaginable; then secessions of the lower orders ensued, and, lastly, those proceedings which tended to place all powers in the hands of the populace. _lælius._ i must confess this is all too true. all these things now, said scipio, happened during periods of peace and tranquillity, for license is wont to prevail when there is little to fear, as in a calm voyage or a trifling disease. but as we observe the voyager and the invalid implore the aid of some one competent director, as soon as the sea grows stormy and the disease alarming, so our nation in peace and security commands, threatens, resists, appeals from, and insults its magistrates, but in war obeys them as strictly as kings; for public safety is, after all, rather more valuable than popular license. and in the most serious wars, our countrymen have even chosen the entire command to be deposited in the hands of some single chief, without a colleague; the very name of which magistrate indicates the absolute character of his power. for though he is evidently called dictator because he is appointed (dicitur), yet do we still observe him, my lælius, in our sacred books entitled magister populi (the master of the people). this is certainly the case, said lælius. our ancestors, therefore, said scipio, acted wisely.[ ] * * * xli. when the people is deprived of a just king, as ennius says, after the death of one of the best of monarchs, they hold his memory dear, and, in the warmth of their discourse, they cry, o romulus! o prince divine, sprung from the might of mars to be thy country's guardian! o our sire! be our protector still, o heaven-begot! not heroes, nor lords alone, did they call those whom they lawfully obeyed; nor merely as kings did they proclaim them; but they pronounced them their country's guardians, their fathers, and their gods. nor, indeed, without cause, for they added, thou, prince, hast brought us to the gates of light. and truly they believed that life and honor and glory had arisen to them from the justice of their king. the same good-will would doubtless have remained in their descendants, if the same virtues had been preserved on the throne; but, as you see, by the injustice of one man the whole of that kind of constitution fell into ruin. i see it indeed, said lælius, and i long to know the history of these political revolutions both in our own commonwealth and in every other. xlii. and scipio said: when i shall have explained my opinion respecting the form of government which i prefer, i shall be able to speak to you more accurately respecting the revolutions of states, though i think that such will not take place so easily in the mixed form of government which i recommend. with respect, however, to absolute monarchy, it presents an inherent and invincible tendency to revolution. no sooner does a king begin to be unjust than this entire form of government is demolished, and he at once becomes a tyrant, which is the worst of all governments, and one very closely related to monarchy. if this state falls into the hands of the nobles, which is the usual course of events, it becomes an aristocracy, or the second of the three kinds of constitutions which i have described; for it is, as it were, a royal--that is to say, a paternal--council of the chief men of the state consulting for the public benefit. or if the people by itself has expelled or slain a tyrant, it is moderate in its conduct as long as it has sense and wisdom, and while it rejoices in its exploit, and applies itself to maintaining the constitution which it has established. but if ever the people has raised its forces against a just king and robbed him of his throne, or, as has frequently happened, has tasted the blood of its legitimate nobles, and subjected the whole commonwealth to its own license, you can imagine no flood or conflagration so terrible, or any whose violence is harder to appease than this unbridled insolence of the populace. xliii. then we see realized that which plato so vividly describes, if i can but express it in our language. it is by no means easy to do it justice in translation: however, i will try. when, says plato, the insatiate jaws of the populace are fired with the thirst of liberty, and when the people, urged on by evil ministers, drains in its thirst the cup, not of tempered liberty, but unmitigated license, then the magistrates and chiefs, if they are not utterly subservient and remiss, and shameless promoters of the popular licentiousness, are pursued, incriminated, accused, and cried down under the title of despots and tyrants. i dare say you recollect the passage. yes, said lælius, it is familiar to me. _scipio._ plato thus proceeds: then those who feel in duty bound to obey the chiefs of the state are persecuted by the insensate populace, who call them voluntary slaves. but those who, though invested with magistracies, wish to be considered on an equality with private individuals, and those private individuals who labor to abolish all distinctions between their own class and the magistrates, are extolled with acclamations and overwhelmed with honors, so that it inevitably happens in a commonwealth thus revolutionized that liberalism abounds in all directions, due authority is found wanting even in private families, and misrule seems to extend even to the animals that witness it. then the father fears the son, and the son neglects the father. all modesty is banished; they become far too liberal for that. no difference is made between the citizen and the alien; the master dreads and cajoles his scholars, and the scholars despise their masters. the young men assume the gravity of sages, and sages must stoop to the follies of children, lest they should be hated and oppressed by them. the very slaves even are under but little restraint; wives boast the same rights as their husbands; dogs, horses, and asses are emancipated in this outrageous excess of freedom, and run about so violently that they frighten the passengers from the road. at length the termination of all this infinite licentiousness is, that the minds of the citizens become so fastidious and effeminate, that when they observe even the slightest exertion of authority they grow angry and seditious, and thus the laws begin to be neglected, so that the people are absolutely without any master at all. then lælius said: you have very accurately rendered the opinions which he expressed. xliv. _scipio._ now, to return to the argument of my discourse. it appears that this extreme license, which is the only liberty in the eyes of the vulgar, is, according to plato, such that from it as a sort of root tyrants naturally arise and spring up. for as the excessive power of an aristocracy occasions the destruction of the nobles, so this excessive liberalism of democracies brings after it the slavery of the people. thus we find in the weather, the soil, and the animal constitution the most favorable conditions are sometimes suddenly converted by their excess into the contrary, and this fact is especially observable in political governments; and this excessive liberty soon brings the people collectively and individually to an excessive servitude. for, as i said, this extreme liberty easily introduces the reign of tyranny, the severest of all unjust slaveries. in fact, from the midst of this unbridled and capricious populace, they elect some one as a leader in opposition to their afflicted and expelled nobles: some new chief, forsooth, audacious and impure, often insolently persecuting those who have deserved well of the state, and ready to gratify the populace at his neighbor's expense as well as his own. then, since the private condition is naturally exposed to fears and alarms, the people invest him with many powers, and these are continued in his hands. such men, like pisistratus of athens, will soon find an excuse for surrounding themselves with body-guards, and they will conclude by becoming tyrants over the very persons who raised them to dignity. if such despots perish by the vengeance of the better citizens, as is generally the case, the constitution is re-established; but if they fall by the hands of bold insurgents, then the same faction succeeds them, which is only another species of tyranny. and the same revolution arises from the fair system of aristocracy when any corruption has betrayed the nobles from the path of rectitude. thus the power is like the ball which is flung from hand to hand: it passes from kings to tyrants, from tyrants to the aristocracy, from them to democracy, and from these back again to tyrants and to factions; and thus the same kind of government is seldom long maintained. xlv. since these are the facts of experience, royalty is, in my opinion, very far preferable to the three other kinds of political constitutions. but it is itself inferior to that which is composed of an equal mixture of the three best forms of government, united and modified by one another. i wish to establish in a commonwealth a royal and pre-eminent chief. another portion of power should be deposited in the hands of the aristocracy, and certain things should be reserved to the judgment and wish of the multitude. this constitution, in the first place, possesses that great equality without which men cannot long maintain their freedom; secondly, it offers a great stability, while the particular separate and isolated forms easily fall into their contraries; so that a king is succeeded by a despot, an aristocracy by a faction, a democracy by a mob and confusion; and all these forms are frequently sacrificed to new revolutions. in this united and mixed constitution, however, similar disasters cannot happen without the greatest vices in public men. for there can be little to occasion revolution in a state in which every person is firmly established in his appropriate rank, and there are but few modes of corruption into which we can fall. xlvi. but i fear, lælius, and you, my amiable and learned friends, that if i were to dwell any longer on this argument, my words would seem rather like the lessons of a master, and not like the free conversation of one who is uniting with you in the consideration of truth. i shall therefore pass on to those things which are familiar to all, and which i have long studied. and in these matters i believe, i feel, and i affirm that of all governments there is none which, either in its entire constitution or the distribution of its parts, or in the discipline of its manners, is comparable to that which our fathers received from our earliest ancestors, and which they have handed down to us. and since you wish to hear from me a development of this constitution, with which you are all acquainted, i shall endeavor to explain its true character and excellence. thus keeping my eye fixed on the model of our roman commonwealth, i shall endeavor to accommodate to it all that i have to say on the best form of government. and by treating the subject in this way, i think i shall be able to accomplish most satisfactorily the task which lælius has imposed on me. xlvii. _lælius._ it is a task most properly and peculiarly your own, my scipio; for who can speak so well as you either on the subject of the institutions of our ancestors, since you yourself are descended from most illustrious ancestors, or on that of the best form of a constitution which, if we possess (though at this moment we do not, still), when we do possess such a thing, who will be more flourishing in it than you? or on that of providing counsels for the future, as you, who, by dispelling two mighty perils from our city, have provided for its safety forever? fragments. xlviii. as our country is the source of the greatest benefits, and is a parent dearer than those who have given us life, we owe her still warmer gratitude than belongs to our human relations. * * * nor would carthage have continued to flourish during six centuries without wisdom and good institutions. * * * in truth, says cicero, although the reasonings of those men may contain most abundant fountains of science and virtue; still, if we compare them with the achievements and complete actions of statesmen, they will seem not to have been of so much service in the actual business of men as of amusement for their leisure. * * * * * introduction to the second book, by the original translator. in this second book of his commonwealth, cicero gives us a spirited and eloquent review of the history and successive developments of the roman constitution. he bestows the warmest praises on its early kings, points out the great advantages which had resulted from its primitive monarchical system, and explains how that system had been gradually broken up. in order to prove the importance of reviving it, he gives a glowing picture of the evils and disasters that had befallen the roman state in consequence of that overcharge of democratic folly and violence which had gradually gained an alarming preponderance, and describes, with a kind of prophetic sagacity, the fruit of his political experience, the subsequent revolutions of the roman state, which such a state of things would necessarily bring about. book ii. i. [when, therefore, he observed all his friends kindled with the de]sire of hearing him, scipio thus opened the discussion. i will commence, said scipio, with a sentiment of old cato, whom, as you know, i singularly loved and exceedingly admired, and to whom, in compliance with the judgment of both my parents, and also by my own desire, i was entirely devoted during my youth; of whose discourse, indeed, i could never have enough, so much experience did he possess as a statesman respecting the republic which he had so long governed, both in peace and war, with so much success. there was also an admirable propriety in his style of conversation, in which wit was tempered with gravity; a wonderful aptitude for acquiring, and at the same time communicating, information; and his life was in perfect correspondence and unison with his language. he used to say that the government of rome was superior to that of other states for this reason, because in nearly all of them there had been single individuals, each of whom had regulated their commonwealth according to their own laws and their own ordinances. so minos had done in crete, and lycurgus in sparta; and in athens, which experienced so many revolutions, first theseus, then draco, then solon, then clisthenes, afterward many others; and, lastly, when it was almost lifeless and quite prostrate, that great and wise man, demetrius phalereus, supported it. but our roman constitution, on the contrary, did not spring from the genius of one individual, but from that of many; and it was established, not in the lifetime of one man, but in the course of several ages and centuries. for, added he, there never yet existed any genius so vast and comprehensive as to allow nothing at any time to escape its attention; and all the geniuses in the world united in a single mind could never, within the limits of a single life, exert a foresight sufficiently extensive to embrace and harmonize all, without the aid of experience and practice. thus, according to cato's usual habit, i now ascend in my discourse to the "origin of the people," for i like to adopt the expression of cato. i shall also more easily execute my proposed task if i thus exhibit to you our political constitution in its infancy, progress, and maturity, now so firm and fully established, than if, after the example of socrates in the books of plato, i were to delineate a mere imaginary republic. ii. when all had signified their approbation, scipio resumed: what commencement of a political constitution can we conceive more brilliant, or more universally known, than the foundation of rome by the hand of romulus? and he was the son of mars: for we may grant this much to the common report existing among men, especially as it is not merely ancient, but one also which has been wisely maintained by our ancestors, in order that those who have done great service to communities may enjoy the reputation of having received from the gods, not only their genius, but their very birth. it is related, then, that soon after the birth of romulus and his brother remus, amulius, king of alba, fearing that they might one day undermine his authority, ordered that they should be exposed on the banks of the tiber; and that in this situation the infant romulus was suckled by a wild beast; that he was afterward educated by the shepherds, and brought up in the rough way of living and labors of the countrymen; and that he acquired, when he grew up, such superiority over the rest by the vigor of his body and the courage of his soul, that all the people who at that time inhabited the plains in the midst of which rome now stands, tranquilly and willingly submitted to his government. and when he had made himself the chief of those bands, to come from fables to facts, he took alba longa, a powerful and strong city at that time, and slew its king, amulius. iii. having acquired this glory, he conceived the design (as they tell us) of founding a new city and establishing a new state. as respected the site of his new city, a point which requires the greatest foresight in him who would lay the foundation of a durable commonwealth, he chose the most convenient possible position. for he did not advance too near the sea, which he might easily have done with the forces under his command, either by entering the territory of the rutuli and aborigines, or by founding his citadel at the mouth of the tiber, where many years after ancus martius established a colony. but romulus, with admirable genius and foresight, observed and perceived that sites very near the sea are not the most favorable positions for cities which would attain a durable prosperity and dominion. and this, first, because maritime cities are always exposed, not only to many attacks, but to perils they cannot provide against. for the continued land gives notice, by many indications, not only of any regular approaches, but also of any sudden surprises of an enemy, and announces them beforehand by the mere sound. there is no adversary who, on an inland territory, can arrive so swiftly as to prevent our knowing not only his existence, but his character too, and where he comes from. but a maritime and naval enemy can fall upon a town on the sea-coast before any one suspects that he is about to come; and when he does come, nothing exterior indicates who he is, or whence he comes, or what he wishes; nor can it even be determined and distinguished on all occasions whether he is a friend or a foe. iv. but maritime cities are likewise naturally exposed to corrupt influences, and revolutions of manners. their civilization is more or less adulterated by new languages and customs, and they import not only foreign merchandise, but foreign fashions, to such a degree that nothing can continue unalloyed in the national institutions. those who inhabit these maritime towns do not remain in their native place, but are urged afar from their homes by winged hope and speculation. and even when they do not desert their country in person, still their minds are always expatiating and voyaging round the world. nor, indeed, was there any cause which more deeply undermined corinth and carthage, and at last overthrew them both, than this wandering and dispersion of their citizens, whom the passion of commerce and navigation had induced to abandon the cultivation of their lands and their attention to military pursuits. the proximity of the sea likewise administers to maritime cities a multitude of pernicious incentives to luxury, which are either acquired by victory or imported by commerce; and the very agreeableness of their position nourishes many expensive and deceitful gratifications of the passions. and what i have spoken of corinth may be applied, for aught i know, without incorrectness to the whole of greece. for the peloponnesus itself is almost wholly on the sea-coast; nor, besides the phliasians, are there any whose lands do not touch the sea; and beyond the peloponnesus, the Ænianes, the dorians, and the dolopes are the only inland people. why should i speak of the grecian islands, which, girded by the waves, seem all afloat, as it were, together with the institutions and manners of their cities? and these things, i have before noticed, do not respect ancient greece only; for which of all those colonies which have been led from greece into asia, thracia, italy, sicily, and africa, with the single exception of magnesia, is there that is not washed by the sea? thus it seems as if a sort of grecian coast had been annexed to territories of the barbarians. for among the barbarians themselves none were heretofore a maritime people, if we except the carthaginians and etruscans; one for the sake of commerce, the other of pillage. and this is one evident reason of the calamities and revolutions of greece, because she became infected with the vices which belong to maritime cities, which i just now briefly enumerated. but yet, notwithstanding these vices, they have one great advantage, and one which is of universal application, namely, that there is a great facility for new inhabitants flocking to them. and, again, that the inhabitants are enabled to export and send abroad the produce of their native lands to any nation they please, which offers them a market for their goods. v. by what divine wisdom, then, could romulus embrace all the benefits that could belong to maritime cities, and at the same time avoid the dangers to which they are exposed, except, as he did, by building his city on the bank of an inexhaustible river, whose equal current discharges itself into the sea by a vast mouth, so that the city could receive all it wanted from the sea, and discharge its superabundant commodities by the same channel? and in the same river a communication is found by which it not only receives from the sea all the productions necessary to the conveniences and elegances of life, but those also which are brought from the inland districts. so that romulus seems to me to have divined and anticipated that this city would one day become the centre and abode of a powerful and opulent empire; for there is no other part of italy in which a city could be situated so as to be able to maintain so wide a dominion with so much ease. vi. as to the natural fortifications of rome, who is so negligent and unobservant as not to have them depicted and deeply stamped on his memory? such is the plan and direction of the walls, which, by the prudence of romulus and his royal successors, are bounded on all sides by steep and rugged hills; and the only aperture between the esquiline and quirinal mountains is enclosed by a formidable rampart, and surrounded by an immense fosse. and as for our fortified citadel, it is so secured by a precipitous barrier and enclosure of rocks, that, even in that horrible attack and invasion of the gauls, it remained impregnable and inviolable. moreover, the site which he selected had also an abundance of fountains, and was healthy, though it was in the midst of a pestilential region; for there are hills which at once create a current of fresh air, and fling an agreeable shade over the valleys. vii. these things he effected with wonderful rapidity, and thus established the city, which, from his own name romulus, he determined to call rome. and in order to strengthen his new city, he conceived a design, singular enough, and even a little rude, yet worthy of a great man, and of a genius which discerned far away in futurity the means of strengthening his power and his people. the young sabine females of honorable birth who had come to rome, attracted by the public games and spectacles which romulus then, for the first time, established as annual games in the circus, were suddenly carried off at the feast of consus[ ] by his orders, and were given in marriage to the men of the noblest families in rome. and when, on this account, the sabines had declared war against rome, the issue of the battle being doubtful and undecided, romulus made an alliance with tatius, king of the sabines, at the intercession of the matrons themselves who had been carried off. by this compact he admitted the sabines into the city, gave them a participation in the religious ceremonies, and divided his power with their king. viii. but after the death of tatius, the entire government was again vested in the hands of romulus, although, besides making tatius his own partner, he had also elected some of the chiefs of the sabines into the royal council, who on account of their affectionate regard for the people were called _patres_, or fathers. he also divided the people into three tribes, called after the name of tatius, and his own name, and that of locumo, who had fallen as his ally in the sabine war; and also into thirty curiæ, designated by the names of those sabine virgins, who, after being carried off at the festivals, generously offered themselves as the mediators of peace and coalition. but though these orders were established in the life of tatius, yet, after his death, romulus reigned with still greater power by the counsel and authority of the senate. ix. in this respect he approved and adopted the principle which lycurgus but little before had applied to the government of lacedæmon; namely, that the monarchical authority and the royal power operate best in the government of states when to this supreme authority is joined the influence of the noblest of the citizens. therefore, thus supported, and, as it were, propped up by this council or senate, romulus conducted many wars with the neighboring nations in a most successful manner; and while he refused to take any portion of the booty to his own palace, he did not cease to enrich the citizens. he also cherished the greatest respect for that institution of hierarchical and ecclesiastical ordinances which we still retain to the great benefit of the commonwealth; for in the very commencement of his government he founded the city with religious rites, and in the institution of all public establishments he was equally careful in attending to these sacred ceremonials, and associated with himself on these occasions priests that were selected from each of the tribes. he also enacted that the nobles should act as patrons and protectors to the inferior citizens, their natural clients and dependants, in their respective districts, a measure the utility of which i shall afterward notice.--the judicial punishments were mostly fines of sheep and oxen; for the property of the people at that time consisted in their fields and cattle, and this circumstance has given rise to the expressions which still designate real and personal wealth. thus the people were kept in order rather by mulctations than by bodily inflictions. x. after romulus had thus reigned thirty-seven years, and established these two great supports of government, the hierarchy and the senate, having disappeared in a sudden eclipse of the sun, he was thought worthy of being added to the number of the gods--an honor which no mortal man ever was able to attain to but by a glorious pre-eminence of virtue. and this circumstance was the more to be admired in the case of romulus because most of the great men that have been deified were so exalted to celestial dignities by the people, in periods very little enlightened, when fiction was easy and ignorance went hand-in-hand with credulity. but with respect to romulus we know that he lived less than six centuries ago, at a time when science and literature were already advanced, and had got rid of many of the ancient errors that had prevailed among less civilized peoples. for if, as we consider proved by the grecian annals, rome was founded in the seventh olympiad, the life of romulus was contemporary with that period in which greece already abounded in poets and musicians--an age when fables, except those concerning ancient matters, received little credit. for, one hundred and eight years after the promulgation of the laws of lycurgus, the first olympiad was established, which indeed, through a mistake of names, some authors have supposed constituted, by lycurgus likewise. and homer himself, according to the best computation, lived about thirty years before the time of lycurgus. we must conclude, therefore, that homer flourished very many years before the date of romulus. so that, as men had now become learned, and as the times themselves were not destitute of knowledge, there was not much room left for the success of mere fictions. antiquity indeed has received fables that have at times been sufficiently improbable: but this epoch, which was already so cultivated, disdaining every fiction that was impossible, rejected[ ] * * * we may therefore, perhaps, attach some credit to this story of romulus's immortality, since human life was at that time experienced, cultivated, and instructed. and doubtless there was in him such energy of genius and virtue that it is not altogether impossible to believe the report of proculus julius, the husbandman, of that glorification having befallen romulus which for many ages we have denied to less illustrious men. at all events, proculus is reported to have stated in the council, at the instigation of the senators, who wished to free themselves from all suspicion of having been accessaries to the death of romulus, that he had seen him on that hill which is now called the quirinal, and that he had commanded him to inform the people that they should build him a temple on that same hill, and offer him sacrifices under the name of quirinus. xi. you see, therefore, that the genius of this great man did not merely establish the constitution of a new people, and then leave them, as it were, crying in their cradle; but he still continued to superintend their education till they had arrived at an adult and wellnigh a mature age. then lælius said: we now see, my scipio, what you meant when you said that you would adopt a new method of discussing the science of government, different from any found in the writings of the greeks. for that prime master of philosophy, whom none ever surpassed in eloquence, i mean plato, chose an open plain on which to build an imaginary city after his own taste--a city admirably conceived, as none can deny, but remote enough from the real life and manners of men. others, without proposing to themselves any model or type of government whatever, have argued on the constitutions and forms of states. you, on the contrary, appear to be about to unite these two methods; for, as far as you have gone, you seem to prefer attributing to others your discoveries, rather than start new theories under your own name and authority, as socrates has done in the writings of plato. thus, in speaking of the site of rome, you refer to a systematic policy, to the acts of romulus, which were many of them the result of necessity or chance; and you do not allow your discourse to run riot over many states, but you fix and concentrate it on our own commonwealth. proceed, then, in the course you have adopted; for i see that you intend to examine our other kings, in your pursuit of a perfect republic, as it were. xii. therefore, said scipio, when that senate of romulus which was composed of the nobles, whom the king himself respected so highly that he designated them _patres_, or fathers, and their children patricians, attempted after the death of romulus to conduct the government without a king, the people would not suffer it, but, amidst their regret for romulus, desisted not from demanding a fresh monarch. the nobles then prudently resolved to establish an interregnum--a new political form, unknown to other nations. it was not without its use, however, since, during the interval which elapsed before the definitive nomination of the new king, the state was not left without a ruler, nor subjected too long to the same governor, nor exposed to the fear lest some one, in consequence of the prolonged enjoyment of power, should become more unwilling to lay it aside, or more powerful if he wished to secure it permanently for himself. at which time this new nation discovered a political provision which had escaped the spartan lycurgus, who conceived that the monarch ought not to be elective--if indeed it is true that this depended on lycurgus--but that it was better for the lacedæmonians to acknowledge as their sovereign the next heir of the race of hercules, whoever he might be: but our romans, rude as they were, saw the importance of appointing a king, not for his family, but for his virtue and experience. xiii. and fame having recognized these eminent qualities in numa pompilius, the roman people, without partiality for their own citizens, committed itself, by the counsel of the senators, to a king of foreign origin, and summoned this sabine from the city of cures to rome, that he might reign over them. numa, although the people had proclaimed him king in their comitia curiata, did nevertheless himself pass a lex curiata respecting his own authority; and observing that the institutions of romulus had too much excited the military propensities of the people, he judged it expedient to recall them from this habit of warfare by other employments. xiv. and, in the first place, he divided severally among the citizens the lands which romulus had conquered, and taught them that even without the aid of pillage and devastation they could, by the cultivation of their own territories, procure themselves all kinds of commodities. and he inspired them with the love of peace and tranquillity, in which faith and justice are likeliest to flourish, and extended the most powerful protection to the people in the cultivation of their fields and the enjoyment of their produce. pompilius likewise having created hierarchical institutions of the highest class, added two augurs to the old number. he intrusted the superintendence of the sacred rites to five pontiffs, selected from the body of the nobles; and by those laws which we still preserve on our monuments he mitigated, by religious ceremonials, the minds that had been too long inflamed by military enthusiasm and enterprise. he also established the flamines and the salian priests and the vestal virgins, and regulated all departments of our ecclesiastical policy with the most pious care. in the ordinance of sacrifices, he wished that the ceremonial should be very arduous and the expenditure very light. he thus appointed many observances, whose knowledge is extremely important, and whose expense far from burdensome. thus in religious worship he added devotion and removed costliness. he was also the first to introduce markets, games, and the other usual methods of assembling and uniting men. by these establishments, he inclined to benevolence and amiability spirits whom the passion for war had rendered savage and ferocious. having thus reigned in the greatest peace and concord thirty-nine years--for in dates we mainly follow our polybius, than whom no one ever gave more attention to the investigation of the history of the times--he departed this life, having corroborated the two grand principles of political stability, religion and clemency. xv. when scipio had concluded these remarks, is it not, said manilius, a true tradition which is current, that our king numa was a disciple of pythagoras himself, or that at least he was a pythagorean in his doctrines? for i have often heard this from my elders, and we know that it is the popular opinion; but it does not seem to be clearly proved by the testimony of our public annals. then scipio replied: the supposition is false, my manilius; it is not merely a fiction, but a ridiculous and bungling one too; and we should not tolerate those statements, even in fiction, relating to facts which not only did not happen, but which never could have happened. for it was not till the fourth year of the reign of tarquinius superbus that pythagoras is ascertained to have come to sybaris, crotona, and this part of italy. and the sixty-second olympiad is the common date of the elevation of tarquin to the throne, and of the arrival of pythagoras. from which it appears, when we calculate the duration of the reigns of the kings, that about one hundred and forty years must have elapsed after the death of numa before pythagoras first arrived in italy. and this fact, in the minds of men who have carefully studied the annals of time, has never been at all doubted. o ye immortal gods! said manilius, how deep and how inveterate is this error in the minds of men! however, it costs me no effort to concede that our roman sciences were not imported from beyond the seas, but that they sprung from our own indigenous and domestic virtues. xvi. you will become still more convinced of this fact, said africanus, when tracing the progress of our commonwealth as it became gradually developed to its best and maturest condition. and you will find yet further occasion to admire the wisdom of our ancestors on this very account, since you will perceive, that even those things which they borrowed from foreigners received a much higher improvement among us than they possessed in the countries from whence they were imported among us; and you will learn that the roman people was aggrandized, not by chance or hazard, but rather by counsel and discipline, to which fortune indeed was by no means unfavorable. xvii. after the death of king pompilius, the people, after a short period of interregnum, chose tullus hostilius for their king, in the comitia curiata; and tullus, after numa's example, consulted the people in their curias to procure a sanction for his government. his excellence chiefly appeared in his military glory and great achievements in war. he likewise, out of his military spoils, constructed and decorated the house of comitia and the senate-house. he also settled the ceremonies of the proclamation of hostilities, and consecrated their righteous institution by the religious sanction of the fetial priests, so that every war which was not duly announced and declared might be adjudged illegal, unjust, and impious. and observe how wisely our kings at that time perceived that certain rights ought to be allowed to the people, of which we shall have a good deal to say hereafter. tullus did not even assume the ensigns of royalty without the approbation of the people; and when he appointed twelve lictors, with their axes to go before him[ ] * * * xviii. * * * [_manilius_.] this commonwealth of rome, which you are so eloquently describing, did not creep towards perfection; it rather flew at once to the maturity of its grandeur. [_scipio._] after tullus, ancus martius, a descendant of numa by his daughter, was appointed king by the people. he also procured the passing of a law[ ] through the comitia curiata respecting his government. this king having conquered the latins, admitted them to the rights of citizens of rome. he added to the city the aventine and cælian hills; he distributed the lands he had taken in war; he bestowed on the public all the maritime forests he had acquired; and he built the city ostia, at the mouth of the tiber, and colonized it. when he had thus reigned twenty-three years, he died. then said lælius: doubtless this king deserves our praises, but the roman history is obscure. we possess, indeed, the name of this monarch's mother, but we know nothing of his father. it is so, said scipio; but in those ages little more than the names of the kings were recorded. xix. for the first time at this period, rome appears to have become more learned by the study of foreign literature; for it was no longer a little rivulet, flowing from greece towards the walls of our city, but an overflowing river of grecian sciences and arts. this is generally attributed to demaratus, a corinthian, the first man of his country in reputation, honor, and wealth; who, not being able to bear the despotism of cypselus, tyrant of corinth, fled with large treasures, and arrived at tarquinii, the most flourishing city in etruria. there, understanding that the domination of cypselus was thoroughly established, he, like a free and bold-hearted man, renounced his country, and was admitted into the number of the citizens of tarquinii, and fixed his residence in that city. and having married a woman of the city, he instructed his two sons, according to the method of greek education, in all kinds of sciences and arts.[ ] * * * xx. * * * [one of these sons] was easily admitted to the rights of citizenship at rome; and on account of his accomplished manners and learning, he became a favorite of our king ancus to such a degree that he was a partner in all his counsels, and was looked upon almost as his associate in the government. he, besides, possessed wonderful affability, and was very kind in assistance, support, protection, and even gifts of money, to the citizens. when, therefore, ancus died, the people by their unanimous suffrages chose for their king this lucius tarquinius (for he had thus transformed the greek name of his family, that he might seem in all respects to imitate the customs of his adopted countrymen). and when he, too, had procured the passing of a law respecting his authority, he commenced his reign by doubling the original number of the senators. the ancient senators he called patricians of the major families (_patres majorum gentium_), and he asked their votes first; and those new senators whom he himself had added, he entitled patricians of minor families. after this, he established the order of knights, on the plan which we maintain to this day. he would not, however, change the denomination of the tatian, rhamnensian, and lucerian orders, though he wished to do so, because attus nævius, an augur of the highest reputation, would not sanction it. and, indeed, i am aware that the corinthians were remarkably attentive to provide for the maintenance and good condition of their cavalry by taxes levied on the inheritance of widows and orphans. to the first equestrian orders lucius also added new ones, composing a body of three hundred knights. and this number he doubled, after having conquered the Æquicoli, a large and ferocious people, and dangerous enemies of the roman state. having likewise repulsed from our walls an invasion of the sabines, he routed them by the aid of his cavalry, and subdued them. he also was the first person who instituted the grand games which are now called the roman games. he fulfilled his vow to build a temple to the all-good and all-powerful jupiter in the capitol--a vow which he made during a battle in the sabine war--and died after a reign of thirty-eight years. xxi. then lælius said: all that you have been relating corroborates the saying of cato, that the constitution of the roman commonwealth is not the work of one man, or one age; for we can clearly see what a great progress in excellent and useful institutions was continued under each successive king. but we are now arrived at the reign of a monarch who appears to me to have been of all our kings he who had the greatest foresight in matters of political government. so it appears to me, said scipio; for after tarquinius priscus comes servius sulpicius, who was the first who is reported to have reigned without an order from the people. he is supposed to have been the son of a female slave at tarquinii, by one of the soldiers or clients of king priscus; and as he was educated among the servants of this prince, and waiting on him at table, the king soon observed the fire of his genius, which shone forth even from his childhood, so skilful was he in all his words and actions. therefore, tarquin, whose own children were then very young, so loved servius that he was very commonly believed to be his own son, and he instructed him with the greatest care in all the sciences with which he was acquainted, according to the most exact discipline of the greeks. but when tarquin had perished by the plots of the sons of ancus, and servius (as i have said) had begun to reign, not by the order, but yet with the good-will and consent, of the citizens--because, as it was falsely reported that priscus was recovering from his wounds, servius, arrayed in the royal robes, delivered judgment, freed the debtors at his own expense, and, exhibiting the greatest affability, announced that he delivered judgment at the command of priscus--he did not commit himself to the senate; but, after priscus was buried, he consulted the people respecting his authority, and, being authorized by them to assume the dominion, he procured a law to be passed through the comitia curiata, confirming his government. he then, in the first place, avenged the injuries of the etruscans by arms. after which[ ] * * * xxii. * * * he enrolled eighteen centuries of knights of the first order. afterward, having created a great number of knights from the common mass of the people, he divided the rest of the people into five classes, distinguishing between the seniors and the juniors. these he so constituted as to place the suffrages, not in the hands of the multitude, but in the power of the men of property. and he took care to make it a rule of ours, as it ought to be in every government, that the greatest number should not have the greatest weight. you are well acquainted with this institution, otherwise i would explain it to you; but you are familiar with the whole system, and know how the centuries of knights, with six suffrages, and the first class, comprising eighty centuries, besides one other century which was allotted to the artificers, on account of their utility to the state, produce eighty-nine centuries. if to these there are added twelve centuries--for that is the number of the centuries of the knights which remain[ ]--the entire force of the state is summed up; and the arrangement is such that the remaining and far more numerous multitude, which is distributed through the ninety-six last centuries, is not deprived of a right of suffrage, which would be an arrogant measure; nor, on the other hand, permitted to exert too great a preponderance in the government, which would be dangerous. in this arrangement, servius was very cautious in his choice of terms and denominations. he called the rich _assidui_, because they afforded pecuniary succor[ ] to the state. as to those whoso fortune did not exceed pence, or those who had nothing but their labor, he called them _proletarii_ classes, as if the state should expect from them a hardy progeny[ ] and population. even a single one of the ninety-six last centuries contained numerically more citizens than the entire first class. thus, no one was excluded from his right of voting, yet the preponderance of votes was secured to those who had the deepest stake in the welfare of the state. moreover, with reference to the accensi, velati, trumpeters, hornblowers, proletarii[ ] * * * xxiii. * * * that that republic is arranged in the best manner which, being composed in due proportions of those three elements, the monarchical, the aristocratical, and the democratic, does not by punishment irritate a fierce and savage mind. * * * [a similar institution prevailed at carthage], which was sixty-five years more ancient than rome, since it was founded thirty-nine years before the first olympiad; and that most ancient law-giver lycurgus made nearly the same arrangements. thus the system of regular subordination, and this mixture of the three principal forms of government, appear to me common alike to us and them. but there is a peculiar advantage in our commonwealth, than which nothing can be more excellent, which i shall endeavor to describe as accurately as possible, because it is of such a character that nothing analogous can be discovered in ancient states; for these political elements which i have noticed were so united in the constitutions of rome, of sparta, and of carthage, that they were not counterbalanced by any modifying power. for in a state in which one man is invested with a perpetual domination, especially of the monarchical character, although there be a senate in it, as there was in rome under the kings, and in sparta, by the laws of lycurgus, or even where the people exercise a sort of jurisdiction, as they used in the days of our monarchy, the title of king must still be pre-eminent; nor can such a state avoid being, and being called, a kingdom. and this kind of government is especially subject to frequent revolutions, because the fault of a single individual is sufficient to precipitate it into the most pernicious disasters. in itself, however, royalty is not only not a reprehensible form of government, but i do not know whether it is not far preferable to all other simple constitutions, if i approved of any simple constitution whatever. but this preference applies to royalty so long only as it maintains its appropriate character; and this character provides that one individual's perpetual power, and justice, and universal wisdom should regulate the safety, equality, and tranquillity of the whole people. but many privileges must be wanting to communities that live under a king; and, in the first place, liberty, which does not consist in slavery to a just master, but in slavery to no master at all[ ] * * * xxiv. * * * [let us now pass on to the reign of the seventh and last king of rome, tarquinius superbus.] and even this unjust and cruel master had good fortune for his companion for some time in all his enterprises. for he subdued all latium; he captured suessa pometia, a powerful and wealthy city, and, becoming possessed of an immense spoil of gold and silver, he accomplished his father's vow by the building of the capitol. he established colonies, and, faithful to the institutions of those from whom he sprung, he sent magnificent presents, as tokens of gratitude for his victories, to apollo at delphi. xxv. here begins the revolution of our political system of government, and i must beg your attention to its natural course and progression. for the grand point of political science, the object of our discourses, is to know the march and the deviations of governments, that when we are acquainted with the particular courses and inclinations of constitutions, we may be able to restrain them from their fatal tendencies, or to oppose adequate obstacles to their decline and fall. for this tarquinius superbus, of whom i am speaking, being first of all stained with the blood of his admirable predecessor on the throne, could not be a man of sound conscience and mind; and as he feared himself the severest punishment for his enormous crime, he sought his protection in making himself feared. then, in the glory of his victories and his treasures, he exulted in insolent pride, and could neither regulate his own manners nor the passions of the members of his family. when, therefore, his eldest son had offered violence to lucretia, daughter of tricipitinus and wife of collatinus, and this chaste and noble lady had stabbed herself to death on account of the injury she could not survive--then a man eminent for his genius and virtue, lucius brutus, dashed from his fellow-citizens this unjust yoke of odious servitude; and though he was but a private man, he sustained the government of the entire commonwealth, and was the first that taught the people in this state that no one was a private man when the preservation of our liberties was concerned. beneath his authority and command our city rose against tyranny, and, stirred by the recent grief of the father and relatives of lucretia, and with the recollections of tarquin's haughtiness, and the numberless crimes of himself and his sons, they pronounced sentence of banishment against him and his children, and the whole race of the tarquins. xxvi. do you not observe, then, how the king sometimes degenerates into the despot, and how, by the fault of one individual, a form of government originally good is abused to the worst of purposes? here is a specimen of that despot over the people whom the greeks denominate a tyrant. for, according to them, a king is he who, like a father, consults the interests of his people, and who preserves those whom he is set over in the very best condition of life. this indeed is, as i have said, an excellent form of government, yet still liable, and, as it were, inclined, to a pernicious abuse. for as soon as a king assumes an unjust and despotic power, he instantly becomes a tyrant, than which nothing baser or fouler, than which no imaginable animal can be more detestable to gods or men; for though in form a man, he surpasses the most savage monsters in ferocious cruelty. for who can justly call him a human being, who admits not between himself and his fellow-countrymen, between himself and the whole human race, any communication of justice, any association of kindness? but we shall find some fitter occasion of speaking of the evils of tyranny when the subject itself prompts us to declare against them who, even in a state already liberated, have affected these despotic insolencies. xxvii. such is the first origin and rise of a tyrant. for this was the name by which the greeks choose to designate an unjust king; and by the title king our romans universally understand every man who exercises over the people a perpetual and undivided domination. thus spurius cassius, and marcus manlius, and spurius mælius, are said to have wished to seize upon the kingly power, and lately [tiberius gracchus incurred the same accusation].[ ] * * * xxviii. * * * [lycurgus, in sparta, formed, under the name of elders,] a small council consisting of twenty-eight members only; to these he allotted the supreme legislative authority, while the king held the supreme executive authority. our romans, emulating his example, and translating his terms, entitled those whom he had called elders, senators, which, as we have said, was done by romulus in reference to the elect patricians. in this constitution, however, the power, the influence, and name of the king is still pre-eminent. you may distribute, indeed, some show of power to the people, as lycurgus and romulus did, but you inflame them, with the thirst of liberty by allowing them even the slightest taste of its sweetness; and still their hearts will be overcast with alarm lest their king, as often happens, should become unjust. the prosperity of the people, therefore, can be little better than fragile, when placed at the disposal of any one individual, and subjected to his will and caprices. xxix. thus the first example, prototype, and original of tyranny has been discovered by us in the history of our own roman state, religiously founded by romulus, without applying to the theoretical commonwealth which, according to plato's recital, socrates was accustomed to describe in his peripatetic dialogues. we have observed tarquin, not by the usurpation of any new power, but by the unjust abuse of the power which he already possessed, overturn the whole system of our monarchical constitution. let us oppose to this example of the tyrant another, a virtuous king--wise, experienced, and well informed respecting the true interest and dignity of the citizens--a guardian, as it were, and superintendent of the commonwealth; for that is a proper name for every ruler and governor of a state. and take you care to recognize such a man when you meet him, for he is the man who, by counsel and exertion, can best protect the nation. and as the name of this man has not yet been often mentioned in our discourse, and as the character of such a man must be often alluded to in our future conversations, [i shall take an early opportunity of describing it.][ ] * * * xxx. * * * [plato has chosen to suppose a territory and establishments of citizens, whose fortunes] were precisely equal. and he has given us a description of a city, rather to be desired than expected; and he has made out not such a one as can really exist, but one in which the principles of political affairs may be discerned. but for me, if i can in any way accomplish it, while i adopt the same general principles as plato, i am seeking to reduce them to experience and practice, not in the shadow and picture of a state, but in a real and actual commonwealth, of unrivalled amplitude and power; in order to be able to point out, with the most graphic precision, the causes of every political good and social evil. for after rome had flourished more than two hundred and forty years under her kings and interreges, and after tarquin was sent into banishment, the roman people conceived as much detestation of the name of king as they had once experienced regret at the death, or rather disappearance, of romulus. therefore, as in the first instance they could hardly bear the idea of losing a king, so in the latter, after the expulsion of tarquin, they could not endure to hear the name of a king.[ ] * * * xxxi. * * * therefore, when that admirable constitution of romulus had lasted steadily about two hundred and forty years. * * * the whole of that law was abolished. in this humor, our ancestors banished collatinus, in spite of his innocence, because of the suspicion that attached to his family, and all the rest of the tarquins, on account of the unpopularity of their name. in the same humor, valerius publicola was the first to lower the fasces before the people, when he spoke in the assembly of the people. he also had the materials of his house conveyed to the foot of mount velia, having observed that the commencement of his edifice on the summit of this hill, where king tullius had once dwelt, excited the suspicions of the people. it was the same man, who in this respect pre-eminently deserved the name of publicola, who carried in favor of the people the first law received in the comitia centuriata, that no magistrate should sentence to death or scourging a roman citizen who appealed from his authority to the people. and the pontifical books attest that the right of appeal had existed, even against the decision of the kings. our augural books affirm the same thing. and the twelve tables prove, by a multitude of laws, that there was a right of appeal from every judgment and penalty. besides, the historical fact that the decemviri who compiled the laws were created with the privilege of judging without appeal, sufficiently proves that the other magistrates had not the same power. and a consular law, passed by lucius valerius politus and marcus horatius barbatus, men justly popular for promoting union and concord, enacted that no magistrate should thenceforth be appointed with authority to judge without appeal; and the portian laws, the work of three citizens of the name of portius, as you are aware, added nothing new to this edict but a penal sanction. therefore publicola, having promulgated this law in favor of appeal to the people, immediately ordered the axes to be removed from the fasces, which the lictors carried before the consuls, and the next day appointed spurius lucretius for his colleague. and as the new consul was the oldest of the two, publicola ordered his lictors to pass over to him; and he was the first to establish the rule, that each of the consuls should be preceded by the lictors in alternate months, that there should be no greater appearance of imperial insignia among the free people than they had witnessed in the days of their kings. thus, in my opinion, he proved himself no ordinary man, as, by so granting the people a moderate degree of liberty, he more easily maintained the authority of the nobles. nor is it without reason that i have related to you these ancient and almost obsolete events; but i wished to adduce my instances of men and circumstances from illustrious persons and times, as it is to such events that the rest of my discourse will be directed. xxxii. at that period, then, the senate preserved the commonwealth in such a condition that though the people were really free, yet few acts were passed by the people, but almost all, on the contrary, by the authority, customs, and traditions of the senate. and over all the consuls exercised a power--in time, indeed, only annual, but in nature and prerogative completely royal. the consuls maintained, with the greatest energy, that rule which so much conduces to the power of our nobles and great men, that the acts of the commons of the people shall not be binding, unless the authority of the patricians has approved them. about the same period, and scarcely ten years after the first consuls, we find the appointment of the dictator in the person of titus lartius. and this new kind of power--namely, the dictatorship--appears exceedingly similar to the monarchical royalty. all his power, however, was vested in the supreme authority of the senate, to which the people deferred; and in these times great exploits were performed in war by brave men invested with the supreme command, whether dictators or consuls. xxxiii. but as the nature of things necessarily brought it to pass that the people, once freed from its kings, should arrogate to itself more and more authority, we observe that after a short interval of only sixteen years, in the consulship of postumus cominius and spurius cassius, they attained their object; an event explicable, perhaps, on no distinct principle, but, nevertheless, in a manner independent of any distinct principle. for recollect what i said in commencing our discourse, that if there exists not in the state a just distribution and subordination of rights, offices, and prerogatives, so as to give sufficient domination to the chiefs, sufficient authority to the counsel of the senators, and sufficient liberty to the people, this form of the government cannot be durable. for when the excessive debts of the citizens had thrown the state into disorder, the people first retired to mount sacer, and next occupied mount aventine. and even the rigid discipline of lycurgus could not maintain those restraints in the case of the greeks. for in sparta itself, under the reign of theopompus, the five magistrates whom they term ephori, and in crete ten whom they entitle cosmi, were established in opposition to the royal power, just as tribunes were added among us to counterbalance the consular authority. xxxiv. there might have been a method, indeed, by which our ancestors could have been relieved from the pressure of debt, a method with which solon the athenian, who lived at no very distant period before, was acquainted, and which our senate did not neglect when, in the indignation which the odious avarice of one individual excited, all the bonds of the citizens were cancelled, and the right of arrest for a while suspended. in the same way, when the plebeians were oppressed by the weight of the expenses occasioned by public misfortunes, a cure and remedy were sought for the sake of public security. the senate, however, having forgotten their former decision, gave an advantage to the democracy; for, by the creation of two tribunes to appease the sedition of the people, the power and authority of the senate were diminished; which, however, still remained dignified and august, inasmuch as it was still composed of the wisest and bravest men, who protected their country both with their arms and with their counsels; whose authority was exceedingly strong and flourishing, because in honor they were as much before their fellow-citizens as they were inferior in luxuriousness, and, as a general rule, not superior to them in wealth. and their public virtues were the more agreeable to the people, because even in private matters they were ready to serve every citizen, by their exertions, their counsels, and their liberality. xxxv. such was the situation of the commonwealth when the quæstor impeached spurius cassius of being so much emboldened by the excessive favor of the people as to endeavor to make himself master of monarchical power. and, as you have heard, his own father, having said that he had found that his son was really guilty of this crime, condemned him to death at the instance of the people. about fifty-four years after the first consulate, spurius tarpeius and aulus aternius very much gratified the people by proposing, in the comitia centuriata, the substitution of fines instead of corporal punishments. twenty years afterward, lucius papirius and publius pinarius, the censors, having by a strict levy of fines confiscated to the state the entire flocks and herds of many private individuals, a light tax on the cattle was substituted for the law of fines in the consulship of caius julius and publius papirius. xxxvi. but, some years previous to this, at a period when the senate possessed the supreme influence, and the people were submissive and obedient, a new system was adopted. at that time both the consuls and tribunes of the people abdicated their magistracies, and the decemviri were appointed, who were invested with great authority, from which there was no appeal whatever, so as to exercise the chief domination, and to compile the laws. after having composed, with much wisdom and equity, the ten tables of laws, they nominated as their successors in the ensuing year other decemviri, whose good faith and justice do not deserve equal praise. one member of this college, however, merits our highest commendation. i allude to caius julius, who declared respecting the nobleman lucius sestius, in whose chamber a dead body had been exhumed under his own eyes, that though as decemvir he held the highest power without appeal, he still required bail, because he was unwilling to neglect that admirable law which permitted no court but the comitia centuriata to pronounce final sentence on the life of a roman citizen. xxxvii. a third year followed under the authority of the same decemvirs, and still they were not disposed to appoint their successors. in a situation of the commonwealth like this, which, as i have often repeated, could not be durable, because it had not an equal operation with respect to all the ranks of the citizens, the whole public power was lodged in the hands of the chiefs and decemvirs of the highest nobility, without the counterbalancing authority of the tribunes of the people, without the sanction of any other magistracies, and without appeal to the people in the case of a sentence of death or scourging. thus, out of the injustice of these men, there was suddenly produced a great revolution, which changed the entire condition of the government, or they added two tables of very tyrannical laws, and though matrimonial alliances had always been permitted, even with foreigners, they forbade, by the most abominable and inhuman edict, that any marriages should take place between the nobles and the commons--an order which was afterward abrogated by the decree of canuleius. besides, they introduced into all their political measures corruption, cruelty, and avarice. and indeed the story is well known, and celebrated in many literary compositions, that a certain decimus virginius was obliged, on account of the libidinous violence of one of these decemvirs, to stab his virgin daughter in the midst of the forum. then, when he in his desperation had fled to the roman army which was encamped on mount algidum, the soldiers abandoned the war in which they were engaged, and took possession of the sacred mount, as they had done before on a similar occasion, and next invested mount aventine in their arms.[ ] our ancestors knew how to prove most thoroughly, and to retain most wisely. * * * xxxviii. and when scipio had spoken in this manner, and all his friends were awaiting in silence the rest of his discourse, then said tubero: since these men who are older than i, my scipio, make no fresh demands on you, i shall take the liberty to tell you what i particularly wish you would explain in your subsequent remarks. do so, said scipio, and i shall be glad to hear. then tubero said: you appear to me to have spoken a panegyric on our commonwealth of rome exclusively, though lælius requested your views not only of the government of our own state, but of the policy of states in general. i have not, therefore, yet sufficiently learned from your discourse, with respect to that mixed form of government you most approve, by what discipline, moral and legal, we may be best able to establish and maintain it. xxxix. africanus replied: i think that we shall soon find an occasion better adapted to the discussion you have proposed, respecting the constitution and conservatism of states. as to the best form of government, i think on this point i have sufficiently answered the question of lælius. for in answering him, i, in the first place, specifically noticed the three simple forms of government--monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy; and the three vicious constitutions contrary to them, into which they often degenerate; and i said that none of these forms, taken separately, was absolutely good; but i described as preferable to either of them that mixed government which is composed of a proper amalgamation of these simple ingredients. if i have since depicted our own roman constitution as an example, it was not in order to define the very best form of government, for that may be understood without an example; but i wished, in the exhibition of a mighty commonwealth actually in existence, to render distinct and visible what reason and discourse would vainly attempt to display without the assistance of experimental illustration. yet, if you still require me to describe the best form of government, independent of all particular examples, we must consult that exactly proportioned and graduated image of government which nature herself presents to her investigators. since you * * * this model of a city and people[ ] * * * xl. * * * which i also am searching for, and which i am anxious to arrive at. _lælius._ you mean the model that would be approved by the truly accomplished politician? _scipio._ the same. _lælius._ you have plenty of fair patterns even now before you, if you would but begin with yourself. then scipio said: i wish i could find even one such, even in the entire senate. for he is really a wise politician who, as we have often seen in africa, while seated on a huge and unsightly elephant, can guide and rule the monster, and turn him whichever way he likes by a slight admonition, without any actual exertion. _lælius._ i recollect, and when i was your lieutenant i often saw, one of these drivers. _scipio._ thus an indian or carthaginian regulates one of these huge animals, and renders him docile and familiar with human manners. but the genius which resides in the mind of man, by whatever name it may be called, is required to rein and tame a monster far more multiform and intractable, whenever it can accomplish it, which indeed is seldom. it is necessary to hold in with a strong hand that ferocious[ ] * * * xli. * * * [beast, denominated the mob, which thirsts after blood] to such a degree that it can scarcely be sated with the most hideous massacres of men. * * * but to a man who is greedy, and grasping, and lustful, and fond of wallowing in voluptuousness. the fourth kind of anxiety is that which is prone to mourning and melancholy, and which is constantly worrying itself. [_the next paragraph, "esse autem angores," etc., is wholly unintelligible without the context._] as an unskilful charioteer is dragged from his chariot, covered with dirt, bruised, and lacerated. the excitements of men's minds are like a chariot, with horses harnessed to it; in the proper management of which, the chief duty of the driver consists in knowing his road: and if he keeps the road, then, however rapidly he proceeds, he will encounter no obstacles; but if he quits the proper track, then, although he may be going gently and slowly, he will either be perplexed on rugged ground, or fall over some steep place, or at least he will be carried where he has no need to go.[ ] xlii. * * * can be said. then lælius said: i now see the sort of politician you require, on whom you would impose the office and task of government, which is what i wished to understand. he must be an almost unique specimen, said africanus, for the task which i set him comprises all others. he must never cease from cultivating and studying himself, that he may excite others to imitate him, and become, through the splendor of his talents and enterprises, a living mirror to his countrymen. for as in flutes and harps, and in all vocal performances, a certain unison and harmony must be preserved amidst the distinctive tones, which cannot be broken or violated without offending experienced ears; and as this concord and delicious harmony is produced by the exact gradation and modulation of dissimilar notes; even so, by means of the just apportionment of the highest, middle, and lower classes, the state is maintained in concord and peace by the harmonic subordination of its discordant elements: and thus, that which is by musicians called harmony in song answers and corresponds to what we call concord in the state--concord, the strongest and loveliest bond of security in every commonwealth, being always accompanied by justice and equity. xliii. and after this, when scipio had discussed with considerable breadth of principle and felicity of illustration the great advantage that justice is to a state, and the great injury which would arise if it were wanting, pilus, one of those who were present at the discussion, took up the matter and demanded that this question should be argued more carefully, and that something more should be said about justice, on account of a sentiment that was now obtaining among people in general, that political affairs could not be wholly carried on without some disregard of justice. xliv. * * * to be full of justice. then scipio replied: i certainly think so. and i declare to you that i consider that all i have spoken respecting the government of the state is worth nothing, and that it will be useless to proceed further, unless i can prove that it is a false assertion that political business cannot be conducted without injustice and corruption; and, on the other hand, establish as a most indisputable fact that without the strictest justice no government whatever can last long. but, with your permission, we have had discussion enough for the day. the rest--and much remains for our consideration--we will defer till to-morrow. when they had all agreed to this, the debate of the day was closed. * * * * * introduction to the third book, by the original translator. cicero here enters on the grand question of political justice, and endeavors to evince throughout the absolute verity of that inestimable proverb, "honesty is the best policy," in all public as well as in all private affairs. st. augustine, in his city of god, has given the following analysis of this magnificent disquisition: "in the third book of cicero's commonwealth" (says he) "the question of political justice is most earnestly discussed. philus is appointed to support, as well as he can, the sophistical arguments of those who think that political government cannot be carried on without the aid of injustice and chicanery. he denies holding any such opinion himself; yet, in order to exhibit the truth more vividly through the force of contrast, he pleads with the utmost ingenuity the cause of injustice against justice; and endeavors to show, by plausible examples and specious dialectics, that injustice is as useful to a statesman as justice would be injurious. then lælius, at the general request, takes up the plea for justice, and maintains with all his eloquence that nothing could be so ruinous to states as injustice and dishonesty, and that without a supreme justice, no political government could expect a long duration. this point being sufficiently proved, scipio returns to the principal discussion. he reproduces and enforces the short definition that he had given of a commonwealth--that it consisted in the welfare of the entire people, by which word 'people' he does not mean the mob, but the community, bound together by the sense of common rights and mutual benefits. he notices how important such just definitions are in all debates whatever, and draws this conclusion from the preceding arguments--that the commonwealth is the common welfare whenever it is swayed with justice and wisdom, whether it be subordinated to a king, an aristocracy, or a democracy. but if the king be unjust, and so becomes a tyrant; and the aristocracy unjust, which makes them a faction; or the democrats unjust, and so degenerate into revolutionists and destructives--then not only the commonwealth is corrupted, but in fact annihilated. for it can be no longer the common welfare when a tyrant or a faction abuse it; and the people itself is no longer the people when it becomes unjust, since it is no longer a community associated by a sense of right and utility, according to the definition."--_aug. civ. dei._ - . this book is of the utmost importance to statesmen, as it serves to neutralize the sophistries of machiavelli, which are still repeated in many cabinets. book iii. i. * * *[ ] cicero, in the third book of his treatise on a commonwealth, says that nature has treated man less like a mother than a step-dame, for she has cast him into mortal life with a body naked, fragile, and infirm, and with a mind agitated by troubles, depressed by fears, broken by labors, and exposed to passions. in this mind, however, there lies hidden, and, as it were, buried, a certain divine spark of genius and intellect. though man is born a frail and powerless being, nevertheless he is safe from all animals destitute of voice; and at the same time those other animals of greater strength, although they bravely endure the violence of weather, cannot be safe from man. and the result is, that reason does more for man than nature does for brutes; since, in the latter, neither the greatness of their strength nor the firmness of their bodies can save them from being oppressed by us, and made subject to our power. * * * plato returned thanks to nature that he had been born a man. ii. * * * aiding our slowness by carriages, and when it had taught men to utter the elementary and confused sounds of unpolished expression, articulated and distinguished them into their proper classes, and, as their appropriate signs, attached certain words to certain things, and thus associated, by the most delightful bond of speech, the once divided races of men. and by a similar intelligence, the inflections of the voice, which appeared infinite, are, by the discovery of a few alphabetic characters, all designated and expressed; by which we maintain converse with our absent friends, by which also indications of our wishes and monuments of past events are preserved. then came the use of numbers--a thing necessary to human life, and at the same time immutable and eternal; a science which first urged us to raise our views to heaven, and not gaze without an object on the motions of the stars, and the distribution of days and nights. iii. * * *[ ] [then appeared the sages of philosophy], whose minds took a higher flight, and who were able to conceive and to execute designs worthy of the gifts of the gods. wherefore let those men who have left us sublime essays on the principles of living be regarded as great men--which indeed they are--as learned men, as masters of truth and virtue; provided that these principles of civil government, this system of governing people, whether it be a thing discovered by men who have lived amidst a variety of political events, or one discussed amidst their opportunities of literary tranquillity, is remembered to be, as indeed it is, a thing by no means to be despised, being one which causes in first-rate minds, as we not unfrequently see, an incredible and almost divine virtue. and when to these high faculties of soul, received from nature and expanded by social institutions, a politician adds learning and extensive information concerning things in general, like those illustrious personages who conduct the dialogue in the present treatise, none will refuse to confess the superiority of such persons to all others; for, in fact, what can be more admirable than the study and practice of the grand affairs of state, united to a literary taste and a familiarity with the liberal arts? or what can we imagine more perfect than a scipio, a lælius, or a philus, who, not to omit anything which belonged to the most perfect excellence of the greatest men, joined to the examples of our ancestors and the traditions of our countrymen the foreign philosophy of socrates? wherefore he who had both the desire and the power to acquaint himself thoroughly both with the customs and the learning of his ancestors appears to me to have attained to the very highest glory and honor. but if we cannot combine both, and are compelled to select one of these two paths to wisdom--though to some people the tranquil life spent in the research of literature and arts may appear to be the most happy and delectable--yet, doubtless, the science of politics is more laudable and illustrious, for in this political field of exertion our greatest men have reaped their honors, like the invincible curius, whom neither gold nor iron could subdue. iv. * * *[ ] that wisdom existed still. there existed this general difference between these two classes, that among the one the development of the principles of nature is the subject of their study and eloquence, and among the other national laws and institutions form the principal topics of investigation. in honor of our country, we may assert that she has produced within herself a great number, i will not say of sages (since philosophy is so jealous of this name), but of men worthy of the highest celebrity, because by them the precepts and discoveries of the sages have been carried out into actual practice. and, moreover, though there have existed, and still do exist, many great and glorious empires, yet since the noblest masterpiece of genius in the world is the establishment of a state and commonwealth which shall be a lasting one, even if we reckon but a single legislator for each empire, the number of these excellent men will appear very numerous. to be convinced of this, we have only to turn our eyes on any nation of italy, latium, the sabines, the volscians, the samnites, or the etrurians, and then direct our attention to that mighty nation of the greeks, and then to the assyrians, persians, and carthaginians, and[ ] * * * v. * * * [scipio and his friends having again assembled, scipio spoke as follows: in our last conversation, i promised to prove that honesty is the best policy in all states and commonwealths whatsoever. but if i am to plead in favor of strict honesty and justice in all public affairs, no less than in private, i must request philus, or some one else, to take up the advocacy of the other side; the truth will then become more manifest, from the collision of opposite arguments, as we see every day exemplified at the bar.] and philus replied: in good truth, you have allotted me a very creditable cause when you wish me to undertake the defence of vice. perhaps, said lælius, you are afraid, lest, in reproducing the ordinary objections made to justice in politics, you should seem to express your own sentiments; though you are universally respected as an almost unique example of the ancient probity and good faith; nor is it unknown how familiar you are with the lawyer-like habit of disputing on both sides of a question, because you think that this is the best way of getting at the truth. and philus said: very well; i obey you, and wilfully, with my eyes open, i will undertake this dirty business; because, since those who seek for gold do not flinch at the sight of the mud, so we who are searching for justice, which is far more precious than gold, are bound to shrink from no annoyance. and i wish, as i am about to make use of the antagonist arguments of a foreigner, i might also employ a foreign language. the pleas, therefore, now to be urged by lucius furius philus are those [once employed by] the greek carneades, a man who was accustomed to express whatever [served his turn].[ ] * * *[ ]let it be understood, therefore, that i by no means express my own sentiments, but those of carneades, in order that you may refute this philosopher, who was wont to turn the best causes into joke, through the mere wantonness of wit. vi. he was a philosopher of the academic school; and if any one is ignorant of his great power, and eloquence, and acuteness in arguing, he may learn it from the mention made of him by cicero or by lucilius, when neptune, discoursing on a very difficult subject, declares that it cannot be explained, not even if hell were to restore carneades himself for the purpose. this philosopher, having been sent by the athenians to rome as an ambassador, discussed the subject of justice very amply in the hearing of galba and cato the censor, who were the greatest orators of the day. and the next day he overturned all his arguments by others of a contrary tendency, and disparaged justice, which the day before he had extolled; speaking not indeed with the gravity of a philosopher whose wisdom ought to be steady, and whose opinions unchangeable, but in a kind of rhetorical exercise of arguing on each side--a practice which he was accustomed to adopt, in order to be able to refute others who were asserting anything. the arguments by which he disparaged justice are mentioned by lucius furius in cicero; i suppose, since he was discussing the commonwealth, in order to introduce a defence and panegyric of that quality without which he did not think a commonwealth could be administered. but carneades, in order to refute aristotle and plato, the advocates of justice, collected in his first argument everything that was in the habit of being advanced on behalf of justice, in order afterward to be able to overturn it, as he did. vii. many philosophers indeed, and especially plato and aristotle, have spoken a great deal of justice, inculcating that virtue, and extolling it with the highest praise, as giving to every one what belongs to him, as preserving equity in all things, and urging that while the other virtues are, as it were, silent and shut up, justice is the only one which is not absorbed in considerations of self-interest, and which is not secret, but finds its whole field for exercise out-of-doors, and is desirous of doing good and serving as many people as possible; as if, forsooth, justice ought to exist in judges only, and in men invested with a certain authority, and not in every one! but there is no one, not even a man of the lowest class, or a beggar, who is destitute of opportunities of displaying justice. but because these philosophers knew not what its essence was, or whence it proceeded, or what its employment was, they attributed that first of all virtues, which is the common good of all men, to a few only, and asserted that it aimed at no advantage of its own, but was anxious only for that of others. so it was well that carneades, a man of the greatest genius and acuteness, refuted their assertions, and overthrew that justice which had no firm foundation; not because he thought justice itself deserving of blame, but in order to show that those its defenders had brought forward no trustworthy or strong arguments in its behalf. justice looks out-of-doors, and is prominent and conspicuous in its whole essence. which virtue, beyond all others, wholly devotes and dedicates itself to the advantage of others. viii. * * * both to discover and maintain. while the other, aristotle, has filled four large volumes with a discussion on abstract justice. for i did not expect anything grand or magnificent from chrysippus, who, after his usual fashion, examines everything rather by the signification of words than the reality of things. but it was surely worthy of those heroes of philosophy to ennoble by their genius a virtue so eminently beneficent and liberal, which everywhere exalts the social interests above the selfish, and teaches us to love others rather than ourselves. it was worthy of their genius, we say, to elevate this virtue to a divine throne, not far from that of wisdom. and certainly they neither wanted the will to accomplish this (for what else could be the cause of their writing on the subject, or what could have been their design?) nor the genius, in which they excelled all men. but the weakness of their cause was too great for either their intention or their eloquence to make it popular. in fact, this justice on which we reason is a civil right, but no natural one; for if it were natural and universal, then justice and injustice would be recognized similarly by all men, just as the heat and cold, sweetness and bitterness. ix. now, if any one, carried in that chariot of winged serpents of which the poet pacuvius makes mention, could take his flight over all nations and cities, and accurately observe their proceedings, he would see that the sense of justice and right varies in different regions. in the first place, he would behold among the unchangeable people of egypt, which preserves in its archives the memory of so many ages and events, a bull adored as a deity, under the name of apis, and a multitude of other monsters, and all kinds of animals admitted by the same nation into the number of the gods. in the next place, he would see in greece, as among ourselves, magnificent temples consecrated by images in human form, which the persians regarded as impious; and it is affirmed that the sole motive of xerxes for commanding the conflagration of the athenian temples was the belief that it was a superstitious sacrilege to keep confined within narrow walls the gods, whose proper home was the entire universe. but afterward philip, in his hostile projects against the persians, and alexander, who carried them into execution, alleged this plea for war, that they were desirous to avenge the temples of greece, which the greeks had thought proper never to rebuild, that this monument of the impiety of the persians might always remain before the eyes of their posterity. how many--such as the inhabitants of taurica along the euxine sea; as the king of egypt, busiris; as the gauls and the carthaginians--have thought it exceedingly pious and agreeable to the gods to sacrifice men! and, besides, the customs of life are so various that the cretans and Ætolians regard robbery as honorable. and the lacedæmonians say that their territory extends to all places which they can touch with a lance. the athenians had a custom of swearing, by a public proclamation, that all the lands which produced olives and corn were their own. the gauls consider it a base employment to raise corn by agricultural labor, and go with arms in their hands, and mow down the harvests of neighboring peoples. but we ourselves, the most equitable of all nations, who, in order to raise the value of our vines and olives, do not permit the races beyond the alps to cultivate either vineyards or oliveyards, are said in this matter to act with prudence, but not with justice. you see, then, that wisdom and policy are not always the same as equity. and lycurgus, that famous inventor of a most admirable jurisprudence and most wholesome laws, gave the lands of the rich to be cultivated by the common people, who were reduced to slavery. x. if i were to describe the diverse kinds of laws, institutions, manners, and customs, not only as they vary in the numerous nations, but as they vary likewise in single cities--in this one of ours, for example--i could prove that they have had a thousand revolutions. for instance, that eminent expositor of our laws who sits in the present company--i mean manilius--if you were to consult him relative to the legacies and inheritances of women, he would tell you that the present law is quite different from that he was accustomed to plead in his youth, before the voconian enactment came into force--an edict which was passed in favor of the interests of the men, but which is evidently full of injustice with regard to women. for why should a woman be disabled from inheriting property? why can a vestal virgin become an heir, while her mother cannot? and why, admitting that it is necessary to set some limit to the wealth of women, should crassus's daughter, if she be his only child, inherit thousands without offending the law, while my daughter can only receive a small share in a bequest.[ ] * * * xi. * * * [if this justice were natural, innate, and universal, all men would admit the same] law and right, and the same men would not enact different laws at different times. if a just man and a virtuous man is bound to obey the laws, i ask, what laws do you mean? do you intend all the laws indifferently? but neither does virtue permit this inconstancy in moral obligation, nor is such a variation compatible with natural conscience. the laws are, therefore, based not on our sense of justice, but on our fear of punishment. there is, therefore, no natural justice; and hence it follows that men cannot be just by nature. are men, then, to say that variations indeed do exist in the laws, but that men who are virtuous through natural conscience follow that which is really justice, and not a mere semblance and disguise, and that it is the distinguishing characteristic of the truly just and virtuous man to render every one his due rights? are we, then, to attribute the first of these characteristics to animals? for not only men of moderate abilities, but even first-rate sages and philosophers, as pythagoras and empedocles, declare that all kinds of living creatures have a right to the same justice. they declare that inexpiable penalties impend over those who have done violence to any animal whatsoever. it is, therefore, a crime to injure an animal, and the perpetrator of such crime[ ] * * * xii. for when he[ ] inquired of a pirate by what right he dared to infest the sea with his little brigantine: "by the same right," he replied, "which is your warrant for conquering the world." * * * wisdom and prudence instruct us by all means to increase our power, riches, and estates. for by what means could this same alexander, that illustrious general, who extended his empire over all asia, without violating the property of other men, have acquired such universal dominion, enjoyed so many pleasures, such great power, and reigned without bound or limit? but justice commands us to have mercy upon all men, to consult the interests of the whole human race, to give to every one his due, and injure no sacred, public, or foreign rights, and to forbear touching what does not belong to us. what is the result, then? if you obey the dictates of wisdom, then wealth, power, riches, honors, provinces, and kingdoms, from all classes, peoples, and nations, are to be aimed at. however, as we are discussing public matters, those examples are more illustrious which refer to what is done publicly. and since the question between justice and policy applies equally to private and public affairs, i think it well to speak of the wisdom of the people. i will not, however, mention other nations, but come at once to our own roman people, whom africanus, in his discourse yesterday, traced from the cradle, and whose empire now embraces the whole world. justice is[ ] * * * xiii. how far utility is at variance with justice we may learn from the roman people itself, which, declaring war by means of the fecials, and committing injustice with all legal formality, always coveting and laying violent hands on the property of others, acquired the possession of the whole world. what is the advantage of one's own country but the disadvantage of another state or nation, by extending one's dominions by territories evidently wrested from others, increasing one's power, improving one's revenues, etc.? therefore, whoever has obtained these advantages for his country--that is to say, whoever has overthrown cities, subdued nations, and by these means filled the treasury with money, taken lands, and enriched his fellow-citizens--such a man is extolled to the skies; is believed to be endowed with consummate and perfect virtue; and this mistake is fallen into not only by the populace and the ignorant, but by philosophers, who even give rules for injustice. xiv. * * * for all those who have the right of life and death over the people are in fact tyrants; but they prefer being called by the title of king, which belongs to the all-good jupiter. but when certain men, by favor of wealth, birth, or any other means, get possession of the entire government, it is a faction; but they choose to denominate themselves an aristocracy. if the people gets the upper hand, and rules everything after its capricious will, they call it liberty, but it is in fact license. and when every man is a guard upon his neighbor, and every class is a guard upon every other class, then because no one trusts in his own strength, a kind of compact is formed between the great and the little, from whence arises that mixed kind of government which scipio has been commending. thus justice, according to these facts, is not the daughter of nature or conscience, but of human imbecility. for when it becomes necessary to choose between these three predicaments, either to do wrong without retribution, or to do wrong with retribution, or to do no wrong at all, it is best to do wrong with impunity; next, neither to do wrong nor to suffer for it; but nothing is more wretched than to struggle incessantly between the wrong we inflict and that we receive. therefore, he who attains to that first end[ ] * * * xv. this was the sum of the argument of carneades: that men had established laws among themselves from considerations of advantage, varying them according to their different customs, and altering them often so as to adapt them to the times; but that there was no such thing as natural law; that all men and all other animals are led to their own advantage by the guidance of nature; that there is no such thing as justice, or, if there be, that it is extreme folly, since a man would injure himself while consulting the interests of others. and he added these arguments, that all nations who were flourishing and dominant, and even the romans themselves, who were the masters of the whole world, if they wished to be just--that is to say, if they restored all that belonged to others--would have to return to their cottages, and to lie down in want and misery. except, perhaps, of the arcadians and athenians, who, i presume, dreading that this great act of retribution might one day arrive, pretend that they were sprung from the earth, like so many field-mice. xvi. in reply to these statements, the following arguments are often adduced by those who are not unskilful in discussions, and who, in this question, have all the greater weight of authority, because, when we inquire, who is a good man?--understanding by that term a frank and single-minded man--we have little need of captious casuists, quibblers, and slanderers. for those men assert that the wise man does not seek virtue because of the personal gratification which the practice of justice and beneficence procures him, but rather because the life of the good man is free from fear, care, solicitude, and peril; while, on the other hand, the wicked always feel in their souls a certain suspicion, and always behold before their eyes images of judgment and punishment. do not you think, therefore, that there is any benefit, or that there is any advantage which can be procured by injustice, precious enough to counterbalance the constant pressure of remorse, and the haunting consciousness that retribution awaits the sinner, and hangs over his devoted head.[ ] * * * xvii. [our philosophers, therefore, put a case. suppose, say they, two men, one of whom is an excellent and admirable person, of high honor and remarkable integrity; the latter is distinguished by nothing but his vice and audacity. and suppose that their city has so mistaken their characters as to imagine the good man to be a scandalous, impious, and audacious criminal, and to esteem the wicked man, on the contrary, as a pattern of probity and fidelity. on account of this error of their fellow-citizens, the good man is arrested and tormented, his hands are cut off, his eyes are plucked out, he is condemned, bound, burned, exterminated, reduced to want, and to the last appears to all men to be most deservedly the most miserable of men. on the other hand, the flagitious wretch is exalted, worshipped, loved by all, and honors, offices, riches, and emoluments are all conferred on him, and he shall be reckoned by his fellow-citizens the best and worthiest of mortals, and in the highest degree deserving of all manner of prosperity. yet, for all this, who is so mad as to doubt which of these two men he would rather be? xviii. what happens among individuals happens also among nations. there is no state so absurd and ridiculous as not to prefer unjust dominion to just subordination. i need not go far for examples. during my own consulship, when you were my fellow-counsellors, we consulted respecting the treaty of numantia. no one was ignorant that quintus pompey had signed a treaty, and that mancinus had done the same. the latter, being a virtuous man, supported the proposition which i laid before the people, after the decree of the senate. the former, on the other side, opposed it vehemently. if modesty, probity, or faith had been regarded, mancinus would have carried his point; but in reason, counsel, and prudence, pompey surpassed him. whether[ ] * * * xix. if a man should have a faithless slave, or an unwholesome house, with whose defect he alone was acquainted, and he advertised them for sale, would he state the fact that his servant was infected with knavery, and his house with malaria, or would he conceal these objections from the buyer? if he stated those facts, he would be honest, no doubt, because he would deceive nobody; but still he would be thought a fool, because he would either get very little for his property, or else fail to sell it at all. by concealing these defects, on the other hand, he will be called a shrewd man--as one who has taken care of his own interest; but he will be a rogue, notwithstanding, because he will be deceiving his neighbors. again, let us suppose that one man meets another, who sells gold and silver, conceiving them to be copper or lead; shall he hold his peace that he may make a capital bargain, or correct the mistake, and purchase at a fair rate? he would evidently be a fool in the world's opinion if he preferred the latter. xx. it is justice, beyond all question, neither to commit murder nor robbery. what, then, would your just man do, if, in a case of shipwreck, he saw a weaker man than himself get possession of a plank? would he not thrust him off, get hold of the timber himself, and escape by his exertions, especially as no human witness could be present in the mid-sea? if he acted like a wise man of the world, he would certainly do so, for to act in any other way would cost him his life. if, on the other hand, he prefers death to inflicting unjustifiable injury on his neighbor, he will be an eminently honorable and just man, but not the less a fool, because he saved another's life at the expense of his own. again, if in case of a defeat and rout, when the enemy were pressing in the rear, this just man should find a wounded comrade mounted on a horse, shall he respect his right at the risk of being killed himself, or shall he fling him from the horse in order to preserve his own life from the pursuers? if he does so, he is a wise man, but at the same time a wicked one; if he does not, he is admirably just, but at the same time stupid. xxi. _scipio._ i might reply at great length to these sophistical objections of philus, if it were not, my lælius, that all our friends are no less anxious than myself to hear you take a leading part in the present debate, especially as you promised yesterday that you would plead at large on my side of the argument. if you cannot spare time for this, at any rate do not desert us; we all ask it of you. _lælius._ this carneades ought not to be even listened to by our young men. i think all the while that i am hearing him that he must be a very impure person; if he be not, as i would fain believe, his discourse is not less pernicious. xxii.[ ] true law is right reason conformable to nature, universal, unchangeable, eternal, whose commands urge us to duty, and whose prohibitions restrain us from evil. whether it enjoins or forbids, the good respect its injunctions, and the wicked treat them with indifference. this law cannot be contradicted by any other law, and is not liable either to derogation or abrogation. neither the senate nor the people can give us any dispensation for not obeying this universal law of justice. it needs no other expositor and interpreter than our own conscience. it is not one thing at rome, and another at athens; one thing to-day, and another to-morrow; but in all times and nations this universal law must forever reign, eternal and imperishable. it is the sovereign master and emperor of all beings. god himself is its author, its promulgator, its enforcer. and he who does not obey it flies from himself, and does violence to the very nature of man. and by so doing he will endure the severest penalties even if he avoid the other evils which are usually accounted punishments. xxiii. i am aware that in the third book of cicero's treatise on the commonwealth (unless i am mistaken) it is argued that no war is ever undertaken by a well-regulated commonwealth unless it be one either for the sake of keeping faith, or for safety; and what he means by a war for safety, and what safety he wishes us to understand, he points out in another passage, where he says, "but private men often escape from these penalties, which even the most stupid persons feel--want, exile, imprisonment, and stripes--by embracing the opportunity of a speedy death; but to states death itself is a penalty, though it appears to deliver individuals from punishment. for a state ought to be established so as to be eternal: therefore, there is no natural decease for a state, as there is for a man, in whose case death is not only inevitable, but often even desirable; but when a state is put an end to, it is destroyed, extinguished. it is in some degree, to compare small things with great, as if this whole world were to perish and fall to pieces." in his treatise on the commonwealth, cicero says those wars are unjust which are undertaken without reason. again, after a few sentences, he adds, no war is considered just unless it be formally announced and declared, and unless it be to obtain restitution of what has been taken away. but our nation, by defending its allies, has now become the master of all the whole world. xxiv. also, in that same treatise on the commonwealth, he argues most strenuously and vigorously in the cause of justice against injustice. and since, when a little time before the part of injustice was upheld against justice, and the doctrine was urged that a republic could not prosper and flourish except by injustice, this was put forward as the strongest argument, that it was unjust for men to serve other men as their masters; but that unless a dominant state, such as a great republic, acted on this injustice, it could not govern its provinces; answer was made on behalf of justice, that it was just that it should be so, because slavery is advantageous to such men, and their interests are consulted by a right course of conduct--that is, by the license of doing injury being taken from the wicked--and they will fare better when subjugated, because when not subjugated they fared worse: and to confirm this reasoning, a noble instance, taken, as it were, from nature, was added, and it was said, why, then, does god govern man, and why does the mind govern the body, and reason govern lust, and the other vicious parts of the mind? xxv. hear what tully says more plainly still in the third book of his treatise on the commonwealth, when discussing the reasons for government. do we not, says he, see that nature herself has given the power of dominion to everything that is best, to the extreme advantage of what is subjected to it? why, then, does god govern man, and why does the mind govern the body, and reason govern lust and passion and the other vicious parts of the same mind? listen thus far; for presently he adds, but still there are dissimilarities to be recognized in governing and in obeying. for as the mind is said to govern the body, and also to govern lust, still it governs the body as a king governs his subjects, or a parent his children; but it governs lust as a master governs his slaves, because it restrains and breaks it. the authority of kings, of generals, of magistrates, of fathers, and of nations, rules their subjects and allies as the mind rules bodies; but masters control their slaves, as the best part of the mind--that is to say, wisdom--controls the vicious and weak parts of itself, such as lust, passion, and the other perturbations. for there is a kind of unjust slavery when those belong to some one else who might be their own masters; but when those are slaves who cannot govern themselves, there is no injury done. xxvi. if, says carneades, you were to know that an asp was lying hidden anywhere, and that some one who did not know it was going to sit upon it, whose death would be a gain to you, you would act wickedly if you did not warn him not to sit down. still, you would not be liable to punishment; for who could prove that you had known? but we are bringing forward too many instances; for it is plain that unless equity, good faith, and justice proceed from nature, and if all these things are referred to interest, a good man cannot be found. and on these topics a great deal is said by lælius in our treatise on the republic. if, as we are reminded by you, we have spoken well in that treatise, when we said that nothing is good excepting what is honorable, and nothing bad excepting what is disgraceful. * * * xxvii. i am glad that you approve of the doctrine that the affection borne to our children is implanted by nature; indeed, if it be not, there can be no conection between man and man which has its origin in nature. and if there be not, then there is an end of all society in life. may it turn out well, says carneades, speaking shamelessly, but still more sensibly than my friend lucius or patro: for, as they refer everything to themselves, do they think that anything is ever done for the sake of another? and when they say that a man ought to be good, in order to avoid misfortune, not because it is right by nature, they do not perceive that they are speaking of a cunning man, not of a good one. but these arguments are argued, i think, in those books by praising which you have given me spirits. in which i agree that an anxious and hazardous justice is not that of a wise man. xxviii. and again, in cicero, that same advocate of justice, lælius, says, virtue is clearly eager for honor, nor has she any other reward; which, however, she accepts easily, and exacts without bitterness. and in another place the same lælius says: when a man is inspired by virtue such as this, what bribes can you offer him, what treasures, what thrones, what empires? he considers these but mortal goods, and esteems his own divine. and if the ingratitude of the people, and the envy of his competitors, or the violence of powerful enemies, despoil his virtue of its earthly recompense, he still enjoys a thousand consolations in the approbation of conscience, and sustains himself by contemplating the beauty of moral rectitude. xxix. * * * this virtue, in order to be true, must be universal. tiberius gracchus continued faithful to his fellow-citizens, but he violated the rights and treaties guaranteed to our allies and the latin peoples. but if this habit of arbitrary violence begins to extend itself further, and perverts our authority, leading it from right to violence, so that those who had voluntarily obeyed us are only restrained by fear, then, although we, during our days, may escape the peril, yet am i solicitous respecting the safety of our posterity and the immortality of the commonwealth itself, which, doubtless, might become perpetual and invincible if our people would maintain their ancient institutions and manners. xxx. when lælius had ceased to speak, all those that were present expressed the extreme pleasure they found in his discourse. but scipio, more affected than the rest, and ravished with the delight of sympathy, exclaimed: you have pleaded, my lælius, many causes with an eloquence superior to that of servius galba, our colleague, whom you used during his life to prefer to all others, even to the attic orators [and never did i hear you speak with more energy than to-day, while pleading the cause of justice][ ] * * * * * * that two things were wanting to enable him to speak in public and in the forum, confidence and voice. xxxi. * * * this justice, continued scipio, is the very foundation of lawful government in political constitutions. can we call the state of agrigentum a commonwealth, where all men are oppressed by the cruelty of a single tyrant--where there is no universal bond of right, nor social consent and fellowship, which should belong to every people, properly so named? it is the same in syracuse--that illustrious city which timæus calls the greatest of the grecian towns. it was indeed a most beautiful city; and its admirable citadel, its canals distributed through all its districts, its broad streets, its porticoes, its temples, and its walls, gave syracuse the appearance of a most flourishing state. but while dionysius its tyrant reigned there, nothing of all its wealth belonged to the people, and the people were nothing better than the slaves of one master. thus, wherever i behold a tyrant, i know that the social constitution must be not merely vicious and corrupt, as i stated yesterday, but in strict truth no social constitution at all. xxxii. _lælius._ you have spoken admirably, my scipio, and i see the point of your observations. _scipio._ you grant, then, that a state which is entirely in the power of a faction cannot justly be entitled a political community? _lælius._ that is evident. _scipio._ you judge most correctly. for what was the state of athens when, during the great peloponnesian war, she fell under the unjust domination of the thirty tyrants? the antique glory of that city, the imposing aspect of its edifices, its theatre, its gymnasium, its porticoes, its temples, its citadel, the admirable sculptures of phidias, and the magnificent harbor of piræus--did they constitute it a commonwealth? _lælius._ certainly not, because these did not constitute the real welfare of the community. _scipio._ and at rome, when the decemvirs ruled without appeal from their decisions, in the third year of their power, had not liberty lost all its securities and all its blessings? _lælius._ yes; the welfare of the community was no longer consulted, and the people soon roused themselves, and recovered their appropriate rights. xxxiii. _scipio._ i now come to the third, or democratical, form of government, in which a considerable difficulty presents itself, because all things are there said to lie at the disposition of the people, and are carried into execution just as they please. here the populace inflict punishments at their pleasure, and act, and seize, and keep possession, and distribute property, without let or hinderance. can you deny, my lælius, that this is a fair definition of a democracy, where the people are all in all, and where the people constitute the state? _lælius._ there is no political constitution to which i more absolutely deny the name of a _commonwealth_ than that in which all things lie in the power of the multitude. if a commonwealth, which implies the welfare of the entire community, could not exist in agrigentum, syracuse, or athens when tyrants reigned over them--if it could not exist in rome when under the oligarchy of the decemvirs--neither do i see how this sacred name of commonwealth can be applied to a democracy and the sway of the mob; because, in the first place, my scipio, i build on your own admirable definition, that there can be no community, properly so called, unless it be regulated by a combination of rights. and, by this definition, it appears that a multitude of men may be just as tyrannical as a single despot; and it is so much the worse, since no monster can be more barbarous than the mob, which assumes the name and appearance of the people. nor is it at all reasonable, since the laws place the property of madmen in the hands of their sane relations, that we should do the [very reverse in politics, and throw the property of the sane into the hands of the mad multitude][ ] * * * xxxiv. * * * [it is far more rational] to assert that a wise and virtuous aristocratical government deserves the title of a commonwealth, as it approaches to the nature of a kingdom. and much more so in my opinion, said mummius. for the unity of power often exposes a king to become a despot; but when an aristocracy, consisting of many virtuous men, exercise power, that is the most fortunate circumstance possible for any state. however this be, i much prefer royalty to democracy; for that is the third kind of government which you have remaining, and a most vicious one it is. xxxv. scipio replied: i am well acquainted, my mummius, with your decided antipathy to the democratical system. and, although, we may speak of it with rather more indulgence than you are accustomed to accord it, i must certainly agree with you, that of all the three particular forms of government, none is less commendable than democracy. i do not agree with you, however, when you would imply that aristocracy is preferable to royalty. if you suppose that wisdom governs the state, is it not as well that this wisdom should reside in one monarch as in many nobles? but we are led away by a certain incorrectness of terms in a discussion like the present. when we pronounce the word "aristocracy," which, in greek, signifies the government of the best men, what can be conceived more excellent? for what can be thought better than the best? but when, on the other hand, the title "king" is mentioned, we begin to imagine a tyrant; as if a king must be necessarily unjust. but we are not speaking of an unjust king when we are examining the true nature of royal authority. to this name of king, therefore, do but attach the idea of a romulus, a numa, a tullus, and perhaps you will be less severe to the monarchical form of constitution. _mummius_. have you, then, no commendation at all for any kind of democratical government? _scipio._ why, i think some democratical forms less objectionable than others; and, by way of illustration, i will ask you what you thought of the government in the isle of rhodes, where we were lately together; did it appear to you a legitimate and rational constitution? _mummius_. it did, and not much liable to abuse. _scipio._ you say truly. but, if you recollect, it was a very extraordinary experiment. all the inhabitants were alternately senators and citizens. some months they spent in their senatorial functions, and some months they spent in their civil employments. in both they exercised judicial powers; and in the theatre and the court, the same men judged all causes, capital and not capital. and they had as much influence, and were of as much importance as * * * fragments. xxxvi. there is therefore some unquiet feeling in individuals, which either exults in pleasure or is crushed by annoyance. [_the next is an incomplete sentence, and, as such, unintelligible_.] the phoenicians were the first who by their commerce, and by the merchandise which they carried, brought avarice and magnificence and insatiable degrees of everything into greece. sardanapalus, the luxurious king of assyria, of whom tully, in the third book of his treatise on the republic, says, "the notorious sardanapalus, far more deformed by his vices than even by his name." what is the meaning, then, of this absurd acceptation, unless some one wishes to make the whole of athos a monument? for what is athos or the vast olympus? * * * xxxvii. i will endeavor in the proper place to show it, according to the definitions of cicero himself, in which, putting forth scipio as the speaker, he has briefly explained what a commonwealth and what a republic is; adducing also many assertions of his own, and of those whom he has represented as taking part in that discussion, to the effect that the state of rome was not such a commonwealth, because there has never been genuine justice in it. however, according to definitions which are more reasonable, it was a commonwealth in some degree, and it was better regulated by the more ancient than by the later romans. it is now fitting that i should explain, as briefly and as clearly as i can, what, in the second book of this work, i promised to prove, according to the definitions which cicero, in his books on the commonwealth, puts into the mouth of scipio, arguing that the roman state was never a commonwealth; for he briefly defines a commonwealth as a state of the people; the people as an assembly of the multitude, united by a common feeling of right, and a community of interests. what he calls a common feeling of right he explains by discussion, showing in this way that a commonwealth cannot proceed without justice. where, therefore, there is no genuine justice, there can be no right, for that which is done according to right is done justly; and what is done unjustly cannot be done according to right, for the unjust regulations of men are not to be called or thought rights; since they themselves call that right (_jus_) which flows from the source of justice: and they say that that assertion which is often made by some persons of erroneous sentiments, namely, that that is right which is advantageous to the most powerful, is false. wherefore, where there is no true justice there can be no company of men united by a common feeling of right; therefore there can be no people (_populus_), according to that definition of scipio or cicero: and if there be no people, there can be no state of the people, but only of a mob such as it may be, which is not worthy of the name of a people. and thus, if a commonwealth is a state of a people, and if that is not a people which is not united by a common feeling of right, and if there is no right where there is no justice, then the undoubted inference is, that where there is no justice there is no commonwealth. moreover, justice is that virtue which gives every one his own. no war can be undertaken by a just and wise state unless for faith or self-defence. this self-defence of the state is enough to insure its perpetuity, and this perpetuity is what all patriots desire. those afflictions which even the hardiest spirits smart under--poverty, exile, prison, and torment--private individuals seek to escape from by an instantaneous death. but for states, the greatest calamity of all is that of death, which to individuals appears a refuge. a state should be so constituted as to live forever. for a commonwealth there is no natural dissolution as there is for a man, to whom death not only becomes necessary, but often desirable. and when a state once decays and falls, it is so utterly revolutionized, that, if we may compare great things with small, it resembles the final wreck of the universe. all wars undertaken without a proper motive are unjust. and no war can be reputed just unless it be duly announced and proclaimed, and if it be not preceded by a rational demand for restitution. our roman commonwealth, by defending its allies, has got possession of the world. * * * * * introduction to the fourth book, by the original translator. in this fourth book cicero treats of morals and education, and the use and abuse of stage entertainments. we retain nothing of this important book save a few scattered fragments, the beauty of which fills us with the greater regret for the passages we have lost. book iv. fragments. i. * * * since mention has been made of the body and of the mind, i will endeavor to explain the theory of each as well as the weakness of my understanding is able to comprehend it--a duty which i think it the more becoming in me to undertake, because marcus tullius, a man of singular genius, after having attempted to perform it in the fourth book of his treatise on the commonwealth, compressed a subject of wide extent within narrow limits, only touching lightly on all the principal points. and that there might be no excuse alleged for his not having followed out this topic, he himself has assured us that he was not wanting either in inclination or in anxiety to do so; for, in the first book of his treatise on laws, when he was touching briefly on the same subject, he speaks thus: "this topic scipio, in my opinion, has sufficiently discussed in those books which you have read." and the mind itself, which sees the future, remembers the past. well did marcus tullius say, in truth, if there is no one who would not prefer death to being changed into the form of some beast, although he were still to retain the mind of a man, how much more wretched is it to have the mind of a beast in the form of a man! to me this fate appears as much worse than the other as the mind is superior to the body. tullius says somewhere that he does not think the good of a ram and of publius africanus identical. and also by its being interposed, it causes shade and night, which is adapted both to the numbering of days and to rest from labor. and as in the autumn he has opened the earth to receive seeds, in winter relaxed it that it may digest them, and by the ripening powers of summer softened some and burned up others. when the shepherds use * * * for cattle. cicero, in the fourth book of his commonwealth, uses the word "armentum," and "armentarius," derived from it. ii. the great law of just and regular subordination is the basis of political prosperity. there is much advantage in the harmonious succession of ranks and orders and classes, in which the suffrages of the knights and the senators have their due weight. too many have foolishly desired to destroy this institution, in the vain hope of receiving some new largess, by a public decree, out of a distribution of the property of the nobility. iii. consider, now, how wisely the other provisions have been adopted, in order to secure to the citizens the benefits of an honest and happy life; for that is, indeed, the grand object of all political association, and that which every government should endeavor to procure for the people, partly by its institutions, and partly by its laws. consider, in the first place, the national education of the people--a matter on which the greeks have expended much labor in vain, and which is the only point on which polybius, who settled among us, accuses the negligence of our institutions. for our countrymen have thought that education ought not to be fixed, nor regulated by laws, nor be given publicly and uniformly to all classes of society. for[ ] * * * according to tully, who says that men going to serve in the army have guardians assigned to them, by whom they are governed the first year. iv. [in our ancient laws, young men were prohibited from appearing] naked in the public baths, so far back were the principles of modesty traced by our ancestors. among the greeks, on the contrary, what an absurd system of training youth is exhibited in their gymnasia! what a frivolous preparation for the labors and hazards of war! what indecent spectacles, what impure and licentious amours are permitted! i do not speak only of the eleans and thebans, among whom, in all love affairs, passion is allowed to run into shameless excesses; but the spartans, while they permit every kind of license to their young men, save that of violation, fence off, by a very slight wall, the very exception on which they insist, besides other crimes which i will not mention. then lælius said: i see, my scipio, that on the subject of the greek institutions, which you censure, you prefer attacking the customs of the most renowned peoples to contending with your favorite plato, whose name you have avoided citing, especially as * * * v. so that cicero, in his treatise on the commonwealth, says that it was a reproach to young men if they had no lovers. not only as at sparta, where boys learn to steal and plunder. and our master plato, even more than lycurgus, who would have everything to be common, so that no one should be able to call anything his own property. i would send him to the same place whither he sends homer, crowned with chaplets and anointed with perfumes, banishing him from the city which he is describing. vi. the judgment of the censor inflicts scarcely anything more than a blush on the man whom he condemns. therefore as all that adjudication turns solely on the name (_nomen_), the punishment is called ignominy. nor should a prefect be set over women, an officer who is created among the greeks; but there should be a censor to teach husbands to manage their wives. so the discipline of modesty has great power. all women abstain from wine. and also if any woman was of bad character, her relations used not to kiss her. so petulance is derived from asking (_petendo_); wantonness (_procacitas_) from _procando_, that is, from demanding. vii. for i do not approve of the same nation being the ruler and the farmer of lands. but both in private families and in the affairs of the commonwealth i look upon economy as a revenue. faith (_fides_) appears to me to derive its name from that being done (_fit_) which is said. in a citizen of rank and noble birth, caressing manners, display, and ambition are marks of levity. examine for a while the books on the republic, and learn that good men know no bound or limit in consulting the interests of their country. see in that treatise with what praises frugality, and continency, and fidelity to the marriage tie, and chaste, honorable, and virtuous manners are extolled. viii. i marvel at the elegant choice, not only of the facts, but of the language. if they dispute (_jurgant_). it is a contest between well-wishers, not a quarrel between enemies, that is called a dispute (_jurgium_), therefore the law considers that neighbors dispute (_jurgare_) rather than quarrel (_litigare_) with one another. the bounds of man's care and of man's life are the same; so by the pontifical law the sanctity of burial * * * they put them to death, though innocent, because they had left those men unburied whom they could not rescue from the sea because of the violence of the storm. nor in this discussion have i advocated the cause of the populace, but of the good. for one cannot easily resist a powerful people if one gives them either no rights at all or very little. in which case i wish i could augur first with truth and fidelity * * * ix. cicero saying this in vain, when speaking of poets, "and when the shouts and approval of the people, as of some great and wise teacher, has reached them, what darkness do they bring on! what alarms do they cause! what desires do they excite!" cicero says that if his life were extended to twice its length, he should not have time to read the lyric poets. x. as scipio says in cicero, "as they thought the whole histrionic art, and everything connected with the theatre, discreditable, they thought fit that all men of that description should not only be deprived of the honors belonging to the rest of the citizens, but should also be deprived of their franchise by the sentence of the censors." and what the ancient romans thought on this subject cicero informs us, in those books which he wrote on the commonwealth, where scipio argues and says * * * comedies could never (if it had not been authorized by the common customs of life) have made theatres approve of their scandalous exhibitions. and the more ancient greeks provided a certain correction for the vicious taste of the people, by making a law that it should be expressly defined by a censorship what subjects comedy should treat, and how she should treat them. whom has it not attacked? or, rather, whom has it not wounded? and whom has it spared? in this, no doubt, it sometimes took the right side, and lashed the popular demagogues and seditious agitators, such as cleon, cleophon, and hyperbolus. we may tolerate that; though indeed the censure of the magistrate would, in these cases, have been more efficacious than the satire of the poet. but when pericles, who governed the athenian commonwealth for so many years with the highest authority, both in peace and war, was outraged by verses, and these were acted on the stage, it was hardly more decent than if, among us, plautus and nævius had attacked publius and cnæus, or cæcilius had ventured to revile marcus cato. our laws of the twelve tables, on the contrary--so careful to attach capital punishment to a very few crimes only--have included in this class of capital offences the offence of composing or publicly reciting verses of libel, slander, and defamation, in order to cast dishonor and infamy on a fellow-citizen. and they have decided wisely; for our life and character should, if suspected, be submitted to the sentence of judicial tribunals and the legal investigations of our magistrates, and not to the whims and fancies of poets. nor should we be exposed to any charge of disgrace which we cannot meet by legal process, and openly refute at the bar. in our laws, i admire the justice of their expressions, as well as their decisions. thus the word _pleading_ signifies rather an amicable suit between friends than a quarrel between enemies. it is not easy to resist a powerful people, if you allow them no rights, or next to none. the old romans would not allow any living man to be either praised or blamed on the stage. xi. cicero says that comedy is an imitation of life; a mirror of customs, an image of truth. since, as is mentioned in that book on the commonwealth, not only did Æschines the athenian, a man of the greatest eloquence, who, when a young man, had been an actor of tragedies, concern himself in public affairs, but the athenians often sent aristodemus, who was also a tragic actor, to philip as an ambassador, to treat of the most important affairs of peace and war. * * * * * introduction to the fifth book, by the original translator. in this fifth book cicero explains and enforces the duties of magistrates, and the importance of practical experience to all who undertake their important functions. only a few fragments have survived the wreck of ages and descended to us. book v. fragments. i. ennius has told us-- of men and customs mighty rome consists; which verse, both for its precision and its verity, appears to me as if it had issued from an oracle; for neither the men, unless the state had adopted a certain system of manners--nor the manners, unless they had been illustrated by the men--could ever have established or maintained for so many ages so vast a republic, or one of such righteous and extensive sway. thus, long before our own times, the force of hereditary manners of itself moulded most eminent men; and admirable citizens, in return, gave new weight to the ancient customs and institutions of our ancestors. but our age, on the contrary, having received the commonwealth as a finished picture of another century, but one already beginning to fade through the lapse of years, has not only neglected to renew the colors of the original painting, but has not even cared to preserve its general form and prominent lineaments. for what now remains of those antique manners, of which the poet said that our commonwealth consisted? they have now become so obsolete and forgotten that they are not only not cultivated, but they are not even known. and as to the men, what shall i say? for the manners themselves have only perished through a scarcity of men; of which great misfortune we are not only called to give an account, but even, as men accused of capital offences, to a certain degree to plead our own cause in connection with it. for it is owing to our vices, rather than to any accident, that we have retained the name of republic when we have long since lost the reality. ii. * * * there is no employment so essentially royal as the exposition of equity, which comprises the true interpretation of all laws. this justice subjects used generally to expect from their kings. for this reason, lands, fields, woods, and pastures were reserved as the property of kings, and cultivated for them, without any labor on their part, in order that no anxiety on account of their personal interests might distract their attention from the welfare of the state. nor was any private man allowed to be the judge or arbitrator in any suit; but all disputes were terminated by the royal sentence. and of all our roman monarchs, numa appears to me to have best preserved this ancient custom of the kings of greece. for the others, though they also discharged this duty, were for the main part employed in conducting military enterprises, and in attending to those rights which belonged to war. but the long peace of numa's reign was the mother of law and religion in this city. and he was himself the author of those admirable laws which, as you are aware, are still extant. and this character is precisely what belongs to the man of whom we are speaking. * * * iii. [_scipio._ ought not a farmer] to be acquainted with the nature of plants and seeds? _manilius._ certainly, provided he attends to his practical business also. _scipio._ do you think that knowledge only fit for a steward? _manilius._ certainly not, inasmuch as the cultivation of land often fails for want of agricultural labor. _scipio._ therefore, as the steward knows the nature of a field, and the scribe knows penmanship, and as both of them seek, in their respective sciences, not mere amusement only, but practical utility, so this statesman of ours should have studied the science of jurisprudence and legislation; he should have investigated their original sources; but he should not embarrass himself in debating and arguing, reading and scribbling. he should rather employ himself in the actual administration of government, and become a sort of steward of it, being perfectly conversant with the principles of universal law and equity, without which no man can be just: not unfamiliar with the civil laws of states; but he will use them for practical purposes, even as a pilot uses astronomy, and a physician natural philosophy. for both these men bring their theoretical science to bear on the practice of their arts; and our statesman [should do the same with the science of politics, and make it subservient to the actual interests of philanthropy and patriotism]. * * * iv. * * * in states in which good men desire glory and approbation, and shun disgrace and ignominy. nor are such men so much alarmed by the threats and penalties of the law as by that sentiment of shame with which nature has endowed man, which is nothing else than a certain fear of deserved censure. the wise director of a government strengthens this natural instinct by the force of public opinion, and perfects it by education and manners. and thus the citizens are preserved from vice and corruption rather by honor and shame than by fear of punishment. but this argument will be better illustrated when we treat of the love of glory and praise, which we shall discuss on another occasion. v. as respects the private life and the manners of the citizens, they are intimately connected with the laws that constitute just marriages and legitimate offspring, under the protection of the guardian deities around the domestic hearths. by these laws, all men should be maintained in their rights of public and private property. it is only under a good government like this that men can live happily--for nothing can be more delightful than a well-constituted state. on which account it appears to me a very strange thing what this * * * vi. i therefore consume all my time in considering what is the power of that man, whom, as you think, we have described carefully enough in our books. do you, then, admit our idea of that governor of a commonwealth to whom we wish to refer everything? for thus, i imagine, does scipio speak in the fifth book: "for as a fair voyage is the object of the master of a ship, the health of his patient the aim of a physician, and victory that of a general, so the happiness of his fellow-citizens is the proper study of the ruler of a commonwealth; that they may be stable in power, rich in resources, widely known in reputation, and honorable through their virtue. for a ruler ought to be one who can perfect this, which is the best and most important employment among mankind." and works in your literature rightly praise that ruler of a country who consults the welfare of his people more than their inclinations. vii. tully, in those books which he wrote upon the commonwealth, could not conceal his opinions, when he speaks of appointing a chief of the state, who, he says, must be maintained by glory; and afterward he relates that his ancestors did many admirable and noble actions from a desire of glory. tully, in his treatise on the commonwealth, wrote that the chief of a state must be maintained by glory, and that a commonwealth would last as long as honor was paid by every one to the chief. [_the next paragraph is unintelligible._] which virtue is called fortitude, which consists of magnanimity, and a great contempt of death and pain. viii. as marcellus was fierce, and eager to fight, maximus prudent and cautious. who discovered his violence and unbridled ferocity. which has often happened not only to individuals, but also to most powerful nations. in the whole world. because he inflicted the annoyances of his old age on your families. ix. cicero, in his treatise on the commonwealth, says, "as menelaus of lacedæmon had a certain agreeable sweetness of eloquence." and in another place he says, "let him cultivate brevity in speaking." by the evidence of which arts, as tully says, it is a shame for the conscience of the judge to be misled. for he says, "and as nothing in a commonwealth ought to be so uncorrupt as a suffrage and a sentence, i do not see why the man who perverts them by money is worthy of punishment, while he who does so by eloquence is even praised. indeed, i myself think that he who corrupts the judge by his speech does more harm than he who does so by money, because no one can corrupt a sensible man by money, though he may by speaking." and when scipio had said this, mummius praised him greatly, for he was extravagantly imbued with a hatred of orators. * * * * * introduction to the sixth book. in this last book of his commonwealth, cicero labors to show that truly pious philanthropical and patriotic statesmen will not only be rewarded on earth by the approval of conscience and the applause of all good citizens, but that they may expect hereafter immortal glory in new forms of being. to illustrate this, he introduces the "dream of scipio," in which he explains the resplendent doctrines of plato respecting the immortality of the soul with inimitable dignity and elegance. this somnium scipionis, for which we are indebted to the citation of macrobius, is the most beautiful thing of the kind ever written. it has been intensely admired by all european scholars, and will be still more so. there are two translations of it in our language; one attached to oliver's edition of cicero's thoughts, the other by mr. danby, published in . of these we have freely availed ourselves, and as freely we express our acknowledgments. book vi. scipio's dream. i. therefore you rely upon all the prudence of this rule, which has derived its very name (_prudentia_) from foreseeing (_a providendo_). wherefore the citizen must so prepare himself as to be always armed against those things which trouble the constitution of a state. and that dissension of the citizens, when one party separates from and attacks another, is called sedition. and in truth in civil dissensions, as the good are of more importance than the many, i think that we should regard the weight of the citizens, and not their number. for the lusts, being severe mistresses of the thoughts, command and compel many an unbridled action. and as they cannot be satisfied or appeased by any means, they urge those whom they have inflamed with their allurements to every kind of atrocity. ii. which indeed was so much the greater in him because though the cause of the colleagues was identical, not only was their unpopularity not equal, but the influence of gracchus was employed in mitigating the hatred borne to claudius. who encountered the number of the chiefs and nobles with these words, and left behind him that mournful and dignified expression of his gravity and influence. that, as he writes, a thousand men might every day descend into the forum with cloaks dyed in purple. [_the next paragraph is unintelligible._] for our ancestors wished marriages to be firmly established. there is a speech extant of lælius with which we are all acquainted, expressing how pleasing to the immortal gods are the * * * and * * * of the priests. iii. cicero, writing about the commonwealth, in imitation of plato, has related the story of the return of er the pamphylian to life; who, as he says, had come to life again after he had been placed on the funeral pile, and related many secrets about the shades below; not speaking, like plato, in a fabulous imitation of truth, but using a certain reasonable invention of an ingenious dream, cleverly intimating that these things which were uttered about the immortality of the soul, and about heaven, are not the inventions of dreaming philosophers, nor the incredible fables which the epicureans ridicule, but the conjectures of wise men. he insinuates that that scipio who by the subjugation of carthage obtained africanus as a surname for his family, gave notice to scipio the son of paulus of the treachery which threatened him from his relations, and the course of fate, because by the necessity of numbers he was confined in the period of a perfect life, and he says that he in the fifty-sixth year of his age * * * iv. some of our religion who love plato, on account of his admirable kind of eloquence, and of some correct opinions which he held, say that he had some opinions similar to my own touching the resurrection of the dead, which subject tully touches on in his treatise on the commonwealth, and says that he was rather jesting than intending to say that was true. for he asserts that a man returned to life, and related some stories which harmonized with the discussions of the platonists. v. in this point the imitation has especially preserved the likeness of the work, because, as plato, in the conclusion of his volume, represents a certain person who had returned to life, which he appeared to have quitted, as indicating what is the condition of souls when stripped of the body, with the addition of a certain not unnecessary description of the spheres and stars, an appearance of circumstances indicating things of the same kind is related by the scipio of cicero, as having been brought before him in sleep. vi. tully is found to have preserved this arrangement with no less judgment than genius. after, in every condition of the commonwealth, whether of leisure or business, he has given the palm to justice, he has placed the sacred abodes of the immortal souls, and the secrets of the heavenly regions, on the very summit of his completed work, indicating whither they must come, or rather return, who have managed the republic with prudence, justice, fortitude, and moderation. but that platonic relater of secrets was a man of the name of er, a pamphylian by nation, a soldier by profession, who, after he appeared to have died from wounds received in battle, and twelve days afterward was about to receive the honors of the funeral pile with the others who were slain at the same time, suddenly either recovering his life, or else never having lost it, as if he were giving a public testimony, related to all men all that he had done or seen in the days that he had thus passed between life and death. although cicero, as if himself conscious of the truth, grieves that this story has been ridiculed by the ignorant, still, avoiding giving an example of foolish reproach, he preferred speaking of the relater as of one awakened from a swoon rather than restored to life. vii. and before we look at the words of the dream we must explain what kind of persons they are by whom cicero says that even the account of plato was ridiculed, who are not apprehensive that the same thing may happen to them. nor by this expression does he wish the ignorant mob to be understood, but a kind of men who are ignorant of the truth, though pretending to be philosophers with a display of learning, who, it was notorious, had read such things, and were eager to find faults. we will say, therefore, who they are whom he reports as having levelled light reproaches against so great a philosopher, and who of them has even left an accusation of him committed to writing, etc. the whole faction of the epicureans, always wandering at an equal distance from truth, and thinking everything ridiculous which they do not understand, has ridiculed the sacred volume, and the most venerable mysteries of nature. but colotes, who is somewhat celebrated and remarkable for his loquacity among the pupils of epicurus, has even recorded in a book the bitter reproaches which he aims at him. but since the other arguments which he foolishly urges have no connection with the dream of which we are now talking, we will pass them over at present, and attend only to the calumny which will stick both to cicero and plato, unless it is silenced. he says that a fable ought not to have been invented by a philosopher, since no kind of falsehood is suitable to professors of truth. for why, says he, if you wish to give us a notion of heavenly things and to teach us the nature of souls, did you not do so by a simple and plain explanation? why was a character invented, and circumstances, and strange events, and a scene of cunningly adduced falsehood arranged, to pollute the very door of the investigation of truth by a lie? since these things, though they are said of the platonic er, do also attack the rest of our dreaming africanus. viii. this occasion incited scipio to relate his dream, which he declares that he had buried in silence for a long time. for when lælius was complaining that there were no statues of nasica erected in any public place, as a reward for his having slain the tyrant, scipio replied in these words: "but although the consciousness itself of great deeds is to wise men the most ample reward of virtue, yet that divine nature ought to have, not statues fixed in lead, nor triumphs with withering laurels, but some more stable and lasting kinds of rewards." "what are they?" said lælius. "then," said scipio, "suffer me, since we have now been keeping holiday for three days, * * * etc." by which preface he came to the relation of his dream; pointing out that those were the more stable and lasting kinds of rewards which he himself had seen in heaven reserved for good governors of commonwealths. ix. when i had arrived in africa, where i was, as you are aware, military tribune of the fourth legion under the consul manilius, there was nothing of which i was more earnestly desirous than to see king masinissa, who, for very just reasons, had been always the especial friend of our family. when i was introduced to him, the old man embraced me, shed tears, and then, looking up to heaven, exclaimed--i thank thee, o supreme sun, and ye also, ye other celestial beings, that before i depart from this life i behold in my kingdom, and in this my palace, publius cornelius scipio, by whose mere name i seem to be reanimated; so completely and indelibly is the recollection of that best and most invincible of men, africanus, imprinted in my mind. after this, i inquired of him concerning the affairs of his kingdom. he, on the other hand, questioned me about the condition of our commonwealth, and in this mutual interchange of conversation we passed the whole of that day. x. in the evening we were entertained in a manner worthy the magnificence of a king, and carried on our discourse for a considerable part of the night. and during all this time the old man spoke of nothing but africanus, all whose actions, and even remarkable sayings, he remembered distinctly. at last, when we retired to bed, i fell into a more profound sleep than usual, both because i was fatigued with my journey, and because i had sat up the greatest part of the night. here i had the following dream, occasioned, as i verily believe, by our preceding conversation; for it frequently happens that the thoughts and discourses which have employed us in the daytime produce in our sleep an effect somewhat similar to that which ennius writes happened to him about homer, of whom, in his waking hours, he used frequently to think and speak. africanus, i thought, appeared to me in that shape, with which i was better acquainted from his picture than from any personal knowledge of him. when i perceived it was he, i confess i trembled with consternation; but he addressed me, saying, take courage, my scipio; be not afraid, and carefully remember what i shall say to you. xi. do you see that city carthage, which, though brought under the roman yoke by me, is now renewing former wars, and cannot live in peace? (and he pointed to carthage from a lofty spot, full of stars, and brilliant, and glittering)--to attack which city you are this day arrived in a station not much superior to that of a private soldier. before two years, however, are elapsed, you shall be consul, and complete its overthrow; and you shall obtain, by your own merit, the surname of africanus, which as yet belongs to you no otherwise than as derived from me. and when you have destroyed carthage, and received the honor of a triumph, and been made censor, and, in quality of ambassador, visited egypt, syria, asia, and greece, you shall be elected a second time consul in your absence, and, by utterly destroying numantia, put an end to a most dangerous war. but when you have entered the capitol in your triumphal car, you shall find the roman commonwealth all in a ferment, through the intrigues of my grandson tiberius gracchus. xii. it is on this occasion, my dear africanus, that you show your country the greatness of your understanding, capacity, and prudence. but i see that the destiny, however, of that time is, as it were, uncertain; for when your age shall have accomplished seven times eight revolutions of the sun, and your fatal hours shall be marked put by the natural product of these two numbers, each of which is esteemed a perfect one, but for different reasons, then shall the whole city have recourse to you alone, and place its hopes in your auspicious name. on you the senate, all good citizens, the allies, the people of latium, shall cast their eyes; on you the preservation of the state shall entirely depend. in a word, _if you escape the impious machinations of your relatives_, you will, in quality of dictator, establish order and tranquillity in the commonwealth. when on this lælius made an exclamation, and the rest of the company groaned loudly, scipio, with a gentle smile, said, i entreat you, do not wake me out of my dream, but have patience, and hear the rest. xiii. now, in order to encourage you, my dear africanus, continued the shade of my ancestor, to defend the state with the greater cheerfulness, be assured that, for all those who have in any way conduced to the preservation, defence, and enlargement of their native country, there is a certain place in heaven where they shall enjoy an eternity of happiness. for nothing on earth is more agreeable to god, the supreme governor of the universe, than the assemblies and societies of men united together by laws, which are called states. it is from heaven their rulers and preservers came, and thither they return. xiv. though at these words i was extremely troubled, not so much at the fear of death as at the perfidy of my own relations, yet i recollected myself enough to inquire whether he himself, my father paulus, and others whom we look upon as dead, were really living. yes, truly, replied he, they all enjoy life who have escaped from the chains of the body as from a prison. but as to what you call life on earth, that is no more than one form of death. but see; here comes your father paulus towards you! and as soon as i observed him, my eyes burst out into a flood of tears; but he took me in his arms, embraced me, and bade me not weep. xv. when my first transports subsided, and i regained the liberty of speech, i addressed my father thus: thou best and most venerable of parents, since this, as i am informed by africanus, is the only substantial life, why do i linger on earth, and not rather haste to come hither where you are? that, replied he, is impossible: unless that god, whose temple is all that vast expanse you behold, shall free you from the fetters of the body, you can have no admission into this place. mankind have received their being on this very condition, that they should labor for the preservation of that globe which is situated, as you see, in the midst of this temple, and is called earth. men are likewise endowed with a soul, which is a portion of the eternal fires which you call stars and constellations; and which, being round, spherical bodies, animated by divine intelligences, perform their cycles and revolutions with amazing rapidity. it is your duty, therefore, my publius, and that of all who have any veneration for the gods, to preserve this wonderful union of soul and body; nor without the express command of him who gave you a soul should the least thought be entertained of quitting human life, lest you seem to desert the post assigned you by god himself. but rather follow the examples of your grandfather here, and of me, your father, in paying a strict regard to justice and piety; which is due in a great degree to parents and relations, but most of all to our country. such a life as this is the true way to heaven, and to the company of those, who, after having lived on earth and escaped from the body, inhabit the place which you now behold. xvi. this was the shining circle, or zone, whose remarkable brightness distinguishes it among the constellations, and which, after the greeks, you call the milky way. from thence, as i took a view of the universe, everything appeared beautiful and admirable; for there those stars are to be seen that are never visible from our globe, and everything appears of such magnitude as we could not have imagined. the least of all the stars was that removed farthest from heaven, and situated next to the earth; i mean our moon, which shines with a borrowed light. now, the globes of the stars far surpass the magnitude of our earth, which at that distance appeared so exceedingly small that i could not but be sensibly affected on seeing our whole empire no larger than if we touched the earth, as it were, at a single point. xvii. and as i continued to observe the earth with great attention, how long, i pray you, said africanus, will your mind be fixed on that object? why don't you rather take a view of the magnificent temples among which you have arrived? the universe is composed of nine circles, or rather spheres, one of which is the heavenly one, and is exterior to all the rest, which it embraces; being itself the supreme god, and bounding and containing the whole. in it are fixed those stars which revolve with never-varying courses. below this are seven other spheres, which revolve in a contrary direction to that of the heavens. one of these is occupied by the globe which on earth they call saturn. next to that is the star of jupiter, so benign and salutary to mankind. the third in order is that fiery and terrible planet called mars. below this, again, almost in the middle region, is the sun--the leader, governor, and prince of the other luminaries; the soul of the world, which it regulates and illumines; being of such vast size that it pervades and gives light to all places. then follow venus and mercury, which attend, as it were, on the sun. lastly, the moon, which shines only in the reflected beams of the sun, moves in the lowest sphere of all. below this, if we except that gift of the gods, the soul, which has been given by the liberality of the gods to the human race, everything is mortal, and tends to dissolution; but above the moon all is eternal. for the earth, which is the ninth globe, and occupies the centre, is immovable, and, being the lowest, all others gravitate towards it. xviii. when i had recovered myself from the astonishment occasioned by such a wonderful prospect, i thus addressed africanus: pray what is this sound that strikes my ears in so loud and agreeable a manner? to which he replied: it is that which is called the _music of the spheres_, being produced by their motion and impulse; and being formed by unequal intervals, but such as are divided according to the justest proportion, it produces, by duly tempering acute with grave sounds, various concerts of harmony. for it is impossible that motions so great should be performed without any noise; and it is agreeable to nature that the extremes on one side should produce sharp, and on the other flat sounds. for which reason the sphere of the fixed stars, being the highest, and being carried with a more rapid velocity, moves with a shrill and acute sound; whereas that of the moon, being the lowest, moves with a very flat one. as to the earth, which makes the ninth sphere, it remains immovably fixed in the middle or lowest part of the universe. but those eight revolving circles, in which both mercury and venus are moved with the same celerity, give out sounds that are divided by seven distinct intervals, which is generally the regulating number of all things. this celestial harmony has been imitated by learned musicians both on stringed instruments and with the voice, whereby they have opened to themselves a way to return to the celestial regions, as have likewise many others who have employed their sublime genius while on earth in cultivating the divine sciences. by the amazing noise of this sound the ears of mankind have been in some degree deafened; and indeed hearing is the dullest of all the human senses. thus, the people who dwell near the cataracts of the nile, which are called catadupa[ ], are, by the excessive roar which that river makes in precipitating itself from those lofty mountains, entirely deprived of the sense of hearing. and so inconceivably great is this sound which is produced by the rapid motion of the whole universe, that the human ear is no more capable of receiving it than the eye is able to look steadfastly and directly on the sun, whose beams easily dazzle the strongest sight. while i was busied in admiring the scene of wonders, i could not help casting my eyes every now and then on the earth. xix. on which africanus said, i perceive that you are still employed in contemplating the seat and residence of mankind. but if it appears to you so small, as in fact it really is, despise its vanities, and fix your attention forever on these heavenly objects. is it possible that you should attain any human applause or glory that is worth the contending for? the earth, you see, is peopled but in a very few places, and those, too, of small extent; and they appear like so many little spots of green scattered through vast, uncultivated deserts. and those who inhabit the earth are not only so remote from each other as to be cut off from all mutual correspondence, but their situation being in oblique or contrary parts of the globe, or perhaps in those diametrically opposite to yours, all expectation of universal fame must fall to the ground. xx. you may likewise observe that the same globe of the earth is girt and surrounded with certain zones, whereof those two that are most remote from each other, and lie under the opposite poles of heaven, are congealed with frost; but that one in the middle, which is far the largest, is scorched with the intense heat of the sun. the other two are habitable, one towards the south, the inhabitants of which are your antipodes, with whom you have no connection; the other, towards the north, is that which you inhabit, whereof a very small part, as you may see, falls to your share. for the whole extent of what you see is, as it were, but a little island, narrow at both ends and wide in the middle, which is surrounded by the sea which on earth you call the great atlantic ocean, and which, notwithstanding this magnificent name, you see is very insignificant. and even in these cultivated and well-known countries, has yours, or any of our names, ever passed the heights of the caucasus or the currents of the ganges? in what other parts to the north or the south, or where the sun rises and sets, will your names ever be heard? and if we leave these out of the question, how small a space is there left for your glory to spread itself abroad; and how long will it remain in the memory of those whose minds are now full of it? xxi. besides all this, if the progeny of any future generation should wish to transmit to their posterity the praises of any one of us which they have heard from their forefathers, yet the deluges and combustions of the earth, which must necessarily happen at their destined periods, will prevent our obtaining, not only an eternal, but even a durable glory. and, after all, what does it signify whether those who shall hereafter be born talk of you, when those who have lived before you, whose number was perhaps not less, and whose merit certainly greater, were not so much as acquainted with your name? xxii. especially since not one of those who shall hear of us is able to retain in his memory the transactions of a single year. the bulk of mankind, indeed, measure their year by the return of the sun, which is only one star. but when all the stars shall have returned to the place whence they set out, and after long periods shall again exhibit the same aspect of the whole heavens, that is what ought properly to be called the revolution of a year, though i scarcely dare attempt to enumerate the vast multitude of ages contained in it. for as the sun in old time was eclipsed, and seemed to be extinguished, at the time when the soul of romulus penetrated into these eternal mansions, so, when all the constellations and stars shall revert to their primary position, and the sun shall at the same point and time be again eclipsed, then you may consider that the grand year is completed. be assured, however, that the twentieth part of it is not yet elapsed. xxiii. wherefore, if you have no hopes of returning to this place where great and good men enjoy all that their souls can wish for, of what value, pray, is all that human glory, which can hardly endure for a small portion of one year? if, then, you wish to elevate your views to the contemplation of this eternal seat of splendor, you will not be satisfied with the praises of your fellow-mortals, nor with any human rewards that your exploits can obtain; but virtue herself must point out to you the true and only object worthy of your pursuit. leave to others to speak of you as they may, for speak they will. their discourses will be confined to the narrow limits of the countries you see, nor will their duration be very extensive; for they will perish like those who utter them, and will be no more remembered by their posterity. xxiv. when he had ceased to speak in this manner, i said, o africanus, if indeed the door of heaven is open to those who have deserved well of their country, although, indeed, from my childhood i have always followed yours and my father's steps, and have not neglected to imitate your glory, still, i will from henceforth strive to follow them more closely. follow them, then, said he, and consider your body only, not yourself, as mortal. for it is not your outward form which constitutes your being, but your mind; not that substance which is palpable to the senses, but your spiritual nature. _know, then, that you are a god_--for a god it must be, which flourishes, and feels, and recollects, and foresees, and governs, regulates and moves the body over which it is set, as the supreme ruler does the world which is subject to him. for as that eternal being moves whatever is mortal in this world, so the immortal mind of man moves the frail body with which it is connected. xxv. for whatever is always moving must be eternal; but that which derives its motion from a power which is foreign to itself, when that motion ceases must itself lose its animation. that alone, then, which moves itself can never cease to be moved, because it can never desert itself. moreover, it must be the source, and origin, and principle of motion in all the rest. there can be nothing prior to a principle, for all things must originate from it; and it cannot itself derive its existence from any other source, for if it did it would no longer be a principle. and if it had no beginning, it can have no end; for a beginning that is put an end to will neither be renewed by any other cause, nor will it produce anything else of itself. all things, therefore, must originate from one source. thus it follows that motion must have its source in something which is moved by itself, and which can neither have a beginning nor an end. otherwise all the heavens and all nature must perish, for it is impossible that they can of themselves acquire any power of producing motion in themselves. xxvi. as, therefore, it is plain that what is moved by itself must be eternal, who will deny that this is the general condition and nature of minds? for as everything is inanimate which is moved by an impulse exterior to itself, so what is animated is moved by an interior impulse of its own; for this is the peculiar nature and power of mind. and if that alone has the power of self-motion, it can neither have had a beginning, nor can it have an end. do you, therefore, exercise this mind of yours in the best pursuits. and the best pursuits are those which consist in promoting the good of your country. such employments will speed the flight of your mind to this its proper abode; and its flight will be still more rapid, if, even while it is enclosed in the body, it will look abroad, and disengage itself as much as possible from its bodily dwelling, by the contemplation of things which are external to itself. this it should do to the utmost of its power. for the minds of those who have given themselves up to the pleasures of the body, paying, as it were, a servile obedience to their lustful impulses, have violated the laws of god and man; and therefore, when they are separated from their bodies, flutter continually round the earth on which they lived, and are not allowed to return to this celestial region till they have been purified by the revolution of many ages. thus saying, he vanished, and i awoke from my dream. a fragment. and although it is most desirable that fortune should remain forever in the most brilliant possible condition, nevertheless, the equability of life excites less interest than those changeable conditions wherein prosperity suddenly revives out of the most desperate and ruinous circumstances. the end. footnotes: [ ] archilochus was a native of paros, and flourished about - b.c. his poems were chiefly iambics of bitter satire. horace speaks of him as the inventor of iambics, and calls himself his pupil. parios ego primus iambos ostendi latio, numeros animosque secutus archilochi, non res et agentia verba lycamben. epist. i. xix. . and in another place he says, archilochum proprio rabies armavit iambo--a.p. . [ ] this was livius andronicus: he is supposed to have been a native of tarentum, and he was made prisoner by the romans, during their wars in southern italy; owing to which he became the slave of m. livius salinator. he wrote both comedies and tragedies, of which cicero (brutus ) speaks very contemptuously, as "livianæ fabulæ non satis dignæ quæ iterum legantur"--not worth reading a second time. he also wrote a latin odyssey, and some hymns, and died probably about b.c. [ ] c. fabius, surnamed pictor, painted the temple of salus, which the dictator c. junius brutus bubulus dedicated b.c. the temple was destroyed by fire in the reign of claudius. the painting is highly praised by dionysius, xvi. . [ ] for an account of the ancient greek philosophers, see the sketch at the end of the disputations. [ ] isocrates was born at athens b.c. he was a pupil of gorgias, prodicus, and socrates. he opened a school of rhetoric, at athens, with great success. he died by his own hand at the age of ninety-eight. [ ] so horace joins these two classes as inventors of all kinds of improbable fictions: pictoribus atque poetis quidlibet audendi semper fuit æqua potestas.--a. p. . which roscommon translates: painters and poets have been still allow'd their pencil and their fancies unconfined. [ ] epicharmus was a native of cos, but lived at megara, in sicily, and when megara was destroyed, removed to syracuse, and lived at the court of hiero, where he became the first writer of comedies, so that horace ascribes the invention of comedy to him, and so does theocritus. he lived to a great age. [ ] pherecydes was a native of scyros, one of the cyclades; and is said to have obtained his knowledge from the secret books of the phoenicians. he is said also to have been a pupil of pittacus, the rival of thales, and the master of pythagoras. his doctrine was that there were three principles ([greek: zeus], or Æther; [greek: chthôn], or chaos; and [greek: chronos], or time) and four elements (fire, earth, air, and water), from which everything that exists was formed.--_vide_ smith's dict. gr. and rom. biog. [ ] archytas was a native of tarentum, and is said to have saved the life of plato by his influence with the tyrant dionysius. he was especially great as a mathematician and geometrician, so that horace calls him maris et terra numeroque carentis arenæ mensorem. od. i. . . plato is supposed to have learned some of his views from him, and aristotle to have borrowed from him every idea of the categories. [ ] this was not timæus the historian, but a native of locri, who is said also in the de finibus (c. ) to have been a teacher of plato. there is a treatise extant bearing his name, which is, however, probably spurious, and only an abridgment of plato's dialogue timæus. [ ] dicæarchus was a native of messana, in sicily, though he lived chiefly in greece. he was one of the later disciples of aristotle. he was a great geographer, politician, historian, and philosopher, and died about b.c. [ ] aristoxenus was a native of tarentum, and also a pupil of aristotle. we know nothing of his opinions except that he held the soul to be a _harmony_ of the body; a doctrine which had been already discussed by plato in the phædo, and combated by aristotle. he was a great musician, and the chief portions of his works which have come down to us are fragments of some musical treatises.--smith's dict. gr. and rom. biog.; to which source i must acknowledge my obligation for nearly the whole of these biographical notes. [ ] the simonides here meant is the celebrated poet of ceos, the perfecter of elegiac poetry among the greeks. he flourished about the time of the persian war. besides his poetry, he is said to have been the inventor of some method of aiding the memory. he died at the court of hiero, b.c. [ ] theodectes was a native of phaselis, in pamphylia, a distinguished rhetorician and tragic poet, and flourished in the time of philip of macedon. he was a pupil of isocrates, and lived at athens, and died there at the age of forty-one. [ ] cineas was a thessalian, and (as is said in the text) came to rome as ambassador from pyrrhus after the battle of heraclea, b.c., and his memory is said to have been so great that on the day after his arrival he was able to address all the senators and knights by name. he probably died before pyrrhus returned to italy, b.c. [ ] charmadas, called also charmides, was a fellow-pupil with philo, the larissæan of clitomachus, the carthaginian. he is said by some authors to have founded a fourth academy. [ ] metrodorus was a minister of mithridates the great; and employed by him as supreme judge in pontus, and afterward as an ambassador. cicero speaks of him in other places (de orat. ii. ) as a man of wonderful memory. [ ] quintus hortensius was eight years older than cicero; and, till cicero's fame surpassed his, he was accounted the most eloquent of all the romans. he was verres's counsel in the prosecution conducted against him by cicero. seneca relates that his memory was so great that he could come out of an auction and repeat the catalogue backward. he died b.c. [ ] this treatise is one which has not come down to us, but which had been lately composed by cicero in order to comfort himself for the loss of his daughter. [ ] the epigram is, [greek: eipas hêlie chaire, kleombrotos hômbrakiôtês hêlat' aph' hypsêlou teicheos eis aidên, axion ouden idôn thanatou kakon, alla platônos hen to peri psychês gramm' analexamenos.] which may be translated, perhaps, farewell, o sun, cleombrotus exclaim'd, then plunged from off a height beneath the sea; stung by pain, of no disgrace ashamed, but moved by plato's high philosophy. [ ] this is alluded to by juvenal: provida pompeio dederat campania febres optandas: sed multæ urbes et publica vota vicerunt. igitur fortuna ipsius et urbis, servatum victo caput abstulit.--sat. x. . [ ] pompey's second wife was julia, the daughter of julius cæsar, she died the year before the death of crassus, in parthia. virgil speaks of cæsar and pompey as relations, using the same expression (socer) as cicero: aggeribus socer alpinis atque arce monoeci descendens, gener adversis instructus eois.--Æn. vi. . [ ] this idea is beautifully expanded by byron: yet if, as holiest men have deem'd, there be a land of souls beyond that sable shore to shame the doctrine of the sadducee and sophist, madly vain or dubious lore, how sweet it were in concert to adore with those who made our mortal labors light, to hear each voice we fear'd to hear no more. behold each mighty shade reveal'd to sight, the bactrian, samian sage, and all who taught the right! _childe harold_, ii. [ ] the epitaph in the original is: [greek: Ô xein' angeilon lakedaimoniois hoti têde keimetha, tois keinôn peithomenoi nomimois.] [ ] this was expressed in the greek verses, [greek: archês men mê phynai epichthonioisin ariston, phynta d' hopôs ôkista pylas aidyo perêsai] which by some authors are attributed to homer. [ ] this is the first fragment of the cresphontes.--ed. var. vii., p. . [greek: edei gar hêmas syllogon poioumenous ton phynta thrênein, eis hos' erchetai kaka. ton d' au thanonta kai ponôn pepaumenon chairontas euphêmointas ekpemein domôn] [ ] the greek verses are quoted by plutarch: [greek: Êpou nêpie, êlithioi phrenes andrôn euthynoos keitai moiridiô thanatô ouk ên gar zôein kalon autô oute goneusi.] [ ] this refers to the story that when eumolpus, the son of neptune, whose assistance the eleusinians had called in against the athenians, had been slain by the athenians, an oracle demanded the sacrifice of one of the daughters of erechtheus, the king of athens. and when one was drawn by lot, the others voluntarily accompanied her to death. [ ] menoeceus was son of creon, and in the war of the argives against thebes, teresias declared that the thebans should conquer if menoeceus would sacrifice himself for his country; and accordingly he killed himself outside the gates of thebes. [ ] the greek is, [greek: mêde moi aklaustos thanatos moloi, alla philoisi poiêsaimi thanôn algea kai stonachas.] [ ] soph. trach. . [ ] the lines quoted by cicero here appear to have come from the latin play of prometheus by accius; the ideas are borrowed, rather than translated, from the prometheus of Æschylus. [ ] from _exerceo_. [ ] each soldier carried a stake, to help form a palisade in front of the camp. [ ] insania--from _in_, a particle of negative force in composition, and _sanus_, healthy, sound. [ ] the man who first received this surname was l. calpurnius piso, who was consul, b.c., in the servile war. [ ] the greek is, [greek: alla moi oidanetai kradiê cholô hoppot' ekeinou mnêsomai hos m' asyphêlon en argeioisin erexen.]--il. ix. . i have given pope's translation in the text. [ ] this is from the theseus: [greek: egô de touto para sophou tinos mathôn eis phrontidas noun symphoras t' eballomên phygas t' emautô prostitheis patras emês. thanatous t' aôrous, kai kakôn allas hodous hôs, ei ti paschoim' ôn edoxazon pote mê moi neorton prospeson mallon dakoi.] [ ] ter. phorm. ii. i. . [ ] this refers to the speech of agamemnon in euripides, in the iphigenia in aulis, [greek: zêlô se, geron, zêlô d' andrôn hos akindynon bion exeperas', agnôs, akleês.]--v. . [ ] this is a fragment from the hypsipyle: [greek: ephy men oudeis hostis ou ponei brotôn thaptei te tekna chater' au ktatai nea, autos te thnêskei. kai tad' achthontai brotoi eis gên pherontes gên anankaiôs d' echei bion therizein hôste karpimon stachyn.] [ ] [greek: pollas ek kephalês prothelymnous helketo chaitas.]--il. x. . [ ] [greek: Êtoi ho kappedion to alêion oios alato hon thymon katedôn, paton anthrôpôn aleeinôn.]--il. vi. . [ ] this is a translation from euripides: [greek: hôsth' himeros m' hypêlthe gê te k' ouranô lexai molousê deuro mêdeias tychas.]--med. . [ ] [greek: liên gar polloi kai epêtrimoi êmata panta piptousin, pote ken tis anapneuseie ponoio; alla chrê ton men katathaptemen, hos ke thanêsi, nêlea thymon echontas, ep' êmati dakrysantas.]-- hom. il. xix. . [ ] this is one of the fragments of euripides which we are unable to assign to any play in particular; it occurs var. ed. tr. inc. . [greek: ei men tod' êmar prôton ên kakoumenô kai mê makran dê dia ponôn enaustoloun eikos sphadazein ên an, hôs neozyga pôlon, chalinon artiôs dedegmenon nyn d' amblys eimi, kai katêrtykôs kakôn.] [ ] this is only a fragment, preserved by stobæus: [greek: tous d' an megistous kai sophôtatous phreni toiousd' idois an, oios esti nyn hode, kalôs kakôs prassonti symparainesai hotan de daimôn andros eutychous to prin mastig' episê tou biou palintropon, ta polla phrouda kai kakôs eirêmena.] [ ] [greek: Ôk. oukoun promêtheu touto gignôskeis hoti orgês nosousês eisin iatroi logoi. pr. ean tis en kairô ge malthassê kear kai mê sphrigônta thymon ischnainê bia.]-- Æsch. prom. v. . [ ] cicero alludes here to il. vii. , which is thus translated by pope: his massy javelin quivering in his hand, he stood the bulwark of the grecian band; through every argive heart new transport ran, all troy stood trembling at the mighty man: e'en hector paused, and with new doubt oppress'd, felt his great heart suspended in his breast; 'twas vain to seek retreat, and vain to fear, himself had challenged, and the foe drew near. but melmoth (note on the familiar letters of cicero, book ii. let. ) rightly accuses cicero of having misunderstood homer, who "by no means represents hector as being thus totally dismayed at the approach of his adversary; and, indeed, it would have been inconsistent with the general character of that hero to have described him under such circumstances of terror." [greek: ton de kai argeioi meg' egêtheon eisoroôntes, trôas de tromos ainos hypêlythe gyia hekaston, hektori d' autô thymos eni stêthessi patassen.] but there is a great difference, as dr. clarke remarks, between [greek: thymos eni stêthessi patassen] and [greek: kardeê exô stêtheôn ethrôsken], or [greek: tromos ainos hypêlythe gyia].--_the trojans_, says homer, _trembled_ at the sight of ajax, and even hector himself felt some emotion in his breast. [ ] cicero means scipio nasica, who, in the riots consequent on the reelection of tiberius gracchus to the tribunate, b.c., having called in vain on the consul, mucius scævola, to save the republic, attacked gracchus himself, who was slain in the tumult. [ ] _morosus_ is evidently derived from _mores_--"_morosus_, _mos_, stubbornness, self-will, etc."--riddle and arnold, lat. dict. [ ] in the original they run thus: [greek: ouk estin ouden deinon hôd' eipein epos, oude pathos, oude xymphora theêlatos hês ouk an aroit' achthos anthrôpon physis.] [ ] this passage is from the eunuch of terence, act i., sc. , . [ ] these verses are from the atreus of accius. [ ] this was marcus atilius regulus, the story of whose treatment by the carthaginians in the first punic war is well known to everybody. [ ] this was quintus servilius cæpio, who, b.c., was destroyed, with his army, by the cimbri, it was believed as a judgment for the covetousness which he had displayed in the plunder of tolosa. [ ] this was marcus aquilius, who, in the year b.c., was sent against mithridates as one of the consular legates; and, being defeated, was delivered up to the king by the inhabitants of mitylene. mithridates put him to death by pouring molten gold down his throat. [ ] this was the elder brother of the triumvir marcus crassus, b.c. he was put to death by fimbria, who was in command of some of the troops of marius. [ ] lucius cæsar and caius cæsar were relations (it is uncertain in what degree) of the great cæsar, and were killed by fimbria on the same occasion as octavius. [ ] m. antonius was the grandfather of the triumvir; he was murdered the same year, b.c., by annius, when marius and cinna took rome. [ ] this story is alluded to by horace: districtus ensis cui super impiâ cervice pendet non siculæ dapes dulcem elaborabunt saporem, non avium citharæve cantus somnum reducent.--iii. . . [ ] hieronymus was a rhodian, and a pupil of aristotle, flourishing about b.c. he is frequently mentioned by cicero. [ ] we know very little of dinomachus. some mss. have clitomachus. [ ] callipho was in all probability a pupil of epicurus, but we have no certain information about him. [ ] diodorus was a syrian, and succeeded critolaus as the head of the peripatetic school at athens. [ ] aristo was a native of ceos, and a pupil of lycon, who succeeded straton as the head of the peripatetic school, b.c. he afterward himself succeeded lycon. [ ] pyrrho was a native of elis, and the originator of the sceptical theories of some of the ancient philosophers. he was a contemporary of alexander. [ ] herillus was a disciple of zeno of cittium, and therefore a stoic. he did not, however, follow all the opinions of his master: he held that knowledge was the chief good. some of the treatises of cleanthes were written expressly to confute him. [ ] anacharsis was (herod., iv., ) son of gnurus and brother of saulius, king of thrace. he came to athens while solon was occupied in framing laws for his people; and by the simplicity of his way of living, and his acute observations on the manners of the greeks, he excited such general admiration that he was reckoned by some writers among the seven wise men of greece. [ ] this was appius claudius cæcus, who was censor b.c., and who, according to livy, was afflicted with blindness by the gods for persuading the potitii to instruct the public servants in the way of sacrificing to hercules. he it was who made the via appia. [ ] the fact of homer's blindness rests on a passage in the hymn to apollo, quoted by thucydides as a genuine work of homer, and which is thus spoken of by one of the most accomplished scholars that this country or this age has ever produced: "they are indeed beautiful verses; and if none worse had ever been attributed to homer, the prince of poets would have had little reason to complain. "he has been describing the delian festival in honor of apollo and diana, and concludes this part of the poem with an address to the women of that island, to whom it is to be supposed that he had become familiarly known by his frequent recitations: [greek: chairete d' hymeis pasai, emeio de kai metopisthe mnêsasth', hoppote ken tis epichthoniôn anthrôpôn enthad' aneirêtai xeinos talapeirios elthôn ô kourai, tis d' hymmin anêr hêdistos aoidôn enthade pôleitai kai teô terpesthe malista; hymeis d' eu mala pasai hypokrinasthe aph' hêmôn, typhlos anêr, oikei de chiô eni paipaloessê, tou pasai metopisthen aristeuousin aoidai.] virgins, farewell--and oh! remember me hereafter, when some stranger from the sea, a hapless wanderer, may your isle explore, and ask you, 'maids, of all the bards you boast, who sings the sweetest, and delights you most?' oh! answer all, 'a blind old man, and poor, sweetest he sings, and dwells on chios' rocky shore.' _coleridge's introduction to the study of the greek classic poets._ [ ] some read _scientiam_ and some _inscientiam;_ the latter of which is preferred by some of the best editors and commentators. [ ] for a short account of these ancient greek philosophers, see the sketch prefixed to the academics (_classical library_). [ ] cicero wrote his philosophical works in the last three years of his life. when he wrote this piece, he was in the sixty-third year of his age, in the year of rome . [ ] the academic. [ ] diodorus and posidonius were stoics; philo and antiochus were academics; but the latter afterward inclined to the doctrine of the stoics. [ ] julius cæsar. [ ] cicero was one of the college of augurs. [ ] the latinæ feriæ was originally a festival of the latins, altered by tarquinius superbus into a roman one. it was held in the alban mount, in honor of jupiter latiaris. this holiday lasted six days: it was not held at any fixed time; but the consul was never allowed to take the field till he had held them.--_vide_ smith, dict. gr. and rom. ant., p. . [ ] _exhedra_, the word used by cicero, means a study, or place where disputes were held. [ ] m. piso was a peripatetic. the four great sects were the stoics, the peripatetics, the academics, and the epicureans. [ ] it was a prevailing tenet of the academics that there is no certain knowledge. [ ] the five forms of plato are these: [greek: ousia, tauton, heteron, stasis, kinêsis.] [ ] the four natures here to be understood are the four elements--fire, water, air, and earth; which are mentioned as the four principles of empedocles by diogenes laertius. [ ] these five moving stars are saturn, jupiter, mars, mercury, and venus. their revolutions are considered in the next book. [ ] or, generation of the gods. [ ] the [greek: prolêpsis] of epicurus, before mentioned, is what he here means. [ ] [greek: steremnia] is the word which epicurus used to distinguish between those objects which are perceptible to sense, and those which are imperceptible; as the essence of the divine being, and the various operations of the divine power. [ ] zeno here mentioned is not the same that cotta spoke of before. this was the founder of the stoics. the other was an epicurean philosopher whom he had heard at athens. [ ] that is, there would be the same uncertainty in heaven as is among the academics. [ ] those nations which were neither greek nor roman. [ ] _sigilla numerantes_ is the common reading; but p. manucius proposes _venerantes_, which i choose as the better of the two, and in which sense i have translated it. [ ] fundamental doctrines. [ ] that is, the zodiac. [ ] the moon, as well as the sun, is indeed in the zodiac, but she does not measure the same course in a month. she moves in another line of the zodiac nearer the earth. [ ] according to the doctrines of epicurus, none of these bodies themselves are clearly seen, but _simulacra ex corporibus effluentia_. [ ] epicurus taught his disciples in a garden. [ ] by the word _deus_, as often used by our author, we are to understand all the gods in that theology then treated of, and not a single personal deity. [ ] the best commentators on this passage agree that cicero does not mean that aristotle affirmed that there was no such person as orpheus, but that there was no such poet, and that the verse called orphic was said to be the invention of another. the passage of aristotle to which cicero here alludes has, as dr. davis observes, been long lost. [ ] a just proportion between the different sorts of beings. [ ] some give _quos non pudeat earum epicuri vocum;_ but the best copies have not _non;_ nor would it be consistent with cotta to say _quos non pudeat_, for he throughout represents velleius as a perfect epicurean in every article. [ ] his country was abdera, the natives of which were remarkable for their stupidity. [ ] this passage will not admit of a translation answerable to the sense of the original. cicero says the word _amicitia_ (friendship) is derived from _amor_ (love or affection). [ ] this manner of speaking of jupiter frequently occurs in homer, ----[greek: patêr andrôn te theôn te,] and has been used by virgil and other poets since ennius. [ ] perses, or perseus, the last king of macedonia, was taken by cnæus octavius, the prætor, and brought as prisoner to paullus Æmilius, b.c. [ ] an exemption from serving in the wars, and from paying public taxes. [ ] mopsus. there were two soothsayers of this name: the first was one of the lapithæ, son of ampycus and chloris, called also the son of apollo and hienantis; the other a son of apollo and manto, who is said to have founded mallus, in asia minor, where his oracle existed as late as the time of strabo. [ ] tiresias was the great theban prophet at the time of the war of the seven against thebes. [ ] amphiaraus was king of argos (he had been one of the argonauts also). he was killed after the war of the seven against thebes, which he was compelled to join in by the treachery of his wife eriphyle, by the earth opening and swallowing him up as he was fleeing from periclymenus. [ ] calchas was the prophet of the grecian army at the siege of troy. [ ] helenus was a son of priam and hecuba. he is represented as a prophet in the philoctetes of sophocles. and in the Æneid he is also represented as king of part of epirus, and as predicting to Æneas the dangers and fortunes which awaited him. [ ] this short passage would be very obscure to the reader without an explanation from another of cicero's treatises. the expression here, _ad investigandum suem regiones vineæ terminavit_, which is a metaphor too bold, if it was not a sort of augural language, seems to me to have been the effect of carelessness in our great author; for navius did not divide the regions, as he calls them, of the vine to find his sow, but to find a grape. [ ] the peremnia were a sort of auspices performed just before the passing a river. [ ] the acumina were a military auspices, and were partly performed on the point of a spear, from which they were called acumina. [ ] those were called _testamenta in procinctu_, which were made by soldiers just before an engagement, in the presence of men called as witnesses. [ ] this especially refers to the decii, one of whom devoted himself for his country in the war with the latins, b.c., and his son imitated the action in the war with the samnites, b.c. cicero (tusc. i. ) says that his son did the same thing in the war with pyrrhus at the battle of asculum, though in other places (de off. iii. ) he speaks of only two decii as having signalized themselves in this manner. [ ] the rogator, who collected the votes, and pronounced who was the person chosen. there were two sorts of rogators; one was the officer here mentioned, and the other was the rogator, or speaker of the whole assembly. [ ] which was sardinia, as appears from one of cicero's epistles to his brother quintus. [ ] their sacred books of ceremonies. [ ] the war between octavius and cinna, the consuls. [ ] this, in the original, is a fragment of an old latin verse, _----terram fumare calentem._ [ ] the latin word is _principatus_, which exactly corresponds with the greek word here used by cicero; by which is to be understood the superior, the most prevailing excellence in every kind and species of things through the universe. [ ] the passage of aristotle to which cicero here refers is lost. [ ] he means the epicureans. [ ] here the stoic speaks too plain to be misunderstood. his world, his _mundus_, is the universe, and that universe is his great deity, _in quo sit totius naturæ principatus_, in which the superior excellence of universal nature consists. [ ] athens, the seat of learning and politeness, of which balbus will not allow epicurus to be worthy. [ ] this is pythagoras's doctrine, as appears in diogenes laertius. [ ] he here alludes to mathematical and geometrical instruments. [ ] balbus here speaks of the fixed stars, and of the motions of the orbs of the planets. he here alludes, says m. bonhier, to the different and diurnal motions of these stars; one sort from east to west, the other from one tropic to the other: and this is the construction which our learned and great geometrician and astronomer, dr. halley, made of this passage. [ ] this mensuration of the year into three hundred and sixty-five days and near six hours (by the odd hours and minutes of which, in every fifth year, the _dies intercalaris_, or leap-year, is made) could not but be known, dr. halley states, by hipparchus, as appears from the remains of that great astronomer of the ancients. we are inclined to think that julius cæsar had divided the year, according to what we call the julian year, before cicero wrote this book; for we see, in the beginning of it, how pathetically he speaks of cæsar's usurpation. [ ] the words of censorinus, on this occasion, are to the same effect. the opinions of philosophers concerning this great year are very different; but the institution of it is ascribed to democritus. [ ] the zodiac. [ ] though mars is said to hold his orbit in the zodiac with the rest, and to finish his revolution through the same orbit (that is, the zodiac) with the other two, yet balbus means in a different line of the zodiac. [ ] according to late observations, it never goes but a sign and a half from the sun. [ ] these, dr. davis says, are "aërial fires;" concerning which he refers to the second book of pliny. [ ] in the eunuch of terence. [ ] bacchus. [ ] the son of ceres. [ ] the books of ceremonies. [ ] this libera is taken for proserpine, who, with her brother liber, was consecrated by the romans; all which are parts of nature in prosopopoeias. cicero, therefore, makes balbus distinguish between the person liber, or bacchus, and the liber which is a part of nature in prosopopoeia. [ ] these allegorical fables are largely related by hesiod in his theogony. horace says exactly the same thing: hâc arte pollux et vagus hercules enisus arces attigit igneas: quos inter augustus recumbens purpureo bibit ore nectar. hâc te merentem, bacche pater, tuæ vexere tigres indocili jugum collo ferentes: hâc quirinus martis equis acheronta fugit.--hor. iii. . . [ ] cicero means by _conversis casibus_, varying the cases from the common rule of declension; that is, by departing from the true grammatical rules of speech; for if we would keep to it, we should decline the word _jupiter_, _jupiteris_ in the second case, etc. [ ] _pater divûmque hominumque._ [ ] the common reading is, _planiusque alio loco idem;_ which, as dr. davis observes, is absurd; therefore, in his note, he prefers _planius quam alia loco idem_, from two copies, in which sense i have translated it. [ ] from the verb _gero_, to bear. [ ] that is, "mother earth." [ ] janus is said to be the first who erected temples in italy, and instituted religious rites, and from whom the first month in the roman calendar is derived. [ ] _stellæ vagantes._ [ ] _noctu quasi diem efficeret._ ben jonson says the same thing: thou that mak'st a day of night, goddess excellently bright.--_ode to the moon._ [ ] olympias was the mother of alexander. [ ] venus is here said to be one of the names of diana, because _ad res omnes veniret;_ but she is not supposed to be the same as the mother of cupid. [ ] here is a mistake, as fulvius ursinus observes; for the discourse seems to be continued in one day, as appears from the beginning of this book. this may be an inadvertency of cicero. [ ] the senate of athens was so called from the words [greek: areios pagos], the village, some say the hill, of mars. [ ] epicurus. [ ] the stoics. [ ] by _nulla cohærendi natura_--if it is the right, as it is the common reading--cicero must mean the same as by _nulla crescendi natura_, or _coalescendi_, either of which lambinus proposes; for, as the same learned critic well observes, is there not a cohesion of parts in a clod, or in a piece of stone? our learned walker proposes _sola cohærendi natura_, which mends the sense very much; and i wish he had the authority of any copy for it. [ ] nasica scipio, the censor, is said to have been the first who made a water-clock in rome. [ ] the epicureans. [ ] an old latin poet, commended by quintilian for the gravity of his sense and his loftiness of style. [ ] the shepherd is here supposed to take the stem or beak of the ship for the mouth, from which the roaring voices of the sailors came. _rostrum_ is here a lucky word to put in the mouth of one who never saw a ship before, as it is used for the beak of a bird, the snout of a beast or fish, and for the stem of a ship. [ ] the epicureans. [ ] greek, [greek: aêr]; latin, _aer_. [ ] the treatise of aristotle, from whence this is taken, is lost. [ ] to the universe the stoics certainly annexed the idea of a limited space, otherwise they could not have talked of a middle; for there can be no middle but of a limited space: infinite space can have no middle, there being infinite extension from every part. [ ] these two contrary reversions are from the tropics of cancer and capricorn. they are the extreme bounds of the sun's course. the reader must observe that the astronomical parts of this book are introduced by the stoic as proofs of design and reason in the universe; and, notwithstanding the errors in his planetary system, his intent is well answered, because all he means is that the regular motions of the heavenly bodies, and their dependencies, are demonstrations of a divine mind. the inference proposed to be drawn from his astronomical observations is as just as if his system was in every part unexceptionably right: the same may be said of his anatomical observations. [ ] in the zodiac. [ ] ibid. [ ] these verses of cicero are a translation from a greek poem of aratus, called the phænomena. [ ] the fixed stars. [ ] the arctic and antarctic poles. [ ] the two arctoi are northern constellations. cynosura is what we call the lesser bear; helice, the greater bear; in latin, _ursa minor_ and _ursa major_. [ ] these stars in the greater bear are vulgarly called the "seven stars," or the "northern wain;" by the latins, "septentriones." [ ] the lesser bear. [ ] the greater bear. [ ] exactly agreeable to this and the following description of the dragon is the same northern constellation described in the map by flamsteed in his atlas coelestis; and all the figures here described by aratus nearly agree with the maps of the same constellations in the atlas coelestis, though they are not all placed precisely alike. [ ] the tail of the greater bear. [ ] that is, in macedon, where aratus lived. [ ] the true interpretation of this passage is as follows: here in macedon, says aratus, the head of the dragon does not entirely immerge itself in the ocean, but only touches the superficies of it. by _ortus_ and _obitus_ i doubt not but cicero meant, agreeable to aratus, those parts which arise to view, and those which are removed from sight. [ ] these are two northern constellations. engonasis, in some catalogues called hercules, because he is figured kneeling [greek: en gonasin] (on his knees). [greek: engonasin kaleous'], as aratus says, they call engonasis. [ ] the crown is placed under the feet of hercules in the atlas coelestis; but ophiuchus ([greek: ophiouchos]), the snake-holder, is placed in the map by flamsteed as described here by aratus; and their heads almost meet. [ ] the scorpion. ophiuchus, though a northern constellation, is not far from that part of the zodiac where the scorpion is, which is one of the six southern signs. [ ] the wain of seven stars. [ ] the wain-driver. this northern constellation is, in our present maps, figured with a club in his right hand behind the greater bear. [ ] in some modern maps arcturus, a star of the first magnitude, is placed in the belt that is round the waist of boötes. cicero says _subter præcordia_, which is about the waist; and aratus says [greek: hypo zônê], under the belt. [ ] _sub caput arcti_, under the head of the greater bear. [ ] the crab is, by the ancients and moderns, placed in the zodiac, as here, between the twins and the lion; and they are all three northern signs. [ ] the twins are placed in the zodiac with the side of one to the northern hemisphere, and the side of the other to the southern hemisphere. auriga, the charioteer, is placed in the northern hemisphere near the zodiac, by the twins; and at the head of the charioteer is helice, the greater bear, placed; and the goat is a bright star of the first magnitude placed on the left shoulder of this northern constellation, and called _capra_, the goat. _hoedi_, the kids, are two more stars of the same constellation. [ ] a constellation; one of the northern signs in the zodiac, in which the hyades are placed. [ ] one of the feet of cepheus, a northern constellation, is under the tail of the lesser bear. [ ] grotius, and after him dr. davis, and other learned men, read _cassiepea_, after the greek [greek: kassiepeia], and reject the common reading, _cassiopea_. [ ] these northern constellations here mentioned have been always placed together as one family with cepheus and perseus, as they are in our modern maps. [ ] this alludes to the fable of perseus and andromeda. [ ] pegasus, who is one of perseus and andromeda's family. [ ] that is, with wings. [ ] _aries_, the ram, is the first northern sign in the zodiac; _pisces_, the fishes, the last southern sign; therefore they must be near one another, as they are in a circle or belt. in flamsteed's atlas coelestis one of the fishes is near the head of the ram, and the other near the urn of aquarius. [ ] these are called virgiliæ by cicero; by aratus, the pleiades, [greek: plêiades]; and they are placed at the neck of the bull; and one of perseus's feet touches the bull in the atlas coelestis. [ ] this northern constellation is called fides by cicero; but it must be the same with lyra; because lyra is placed in our maps as fides is here. [ ] this is called ales avis by cicero; and i doubt not but the northern constellation cygnus is here to be understood, for the description and place of the swan in the atlas coelestis are the same which ales avis has here. [ ] pegasus. [ ] the water-bearer, one of the six southern signs in the zodiac: he is described in our maps pouring water out of an urn, and leaning with one hand on the tail of capricorn, another southern sign. [ ] when the sun is in capricorn, the days are at the shortest; and when in cancer, at the longest. [ ] one of the six southern signs. [ ] sagittarius, another southern sign. [ ] a northern constellation. [ ] a northern constellation. [ ] a southern constellation. [ ] this is canis major, a southern constellation. orion and the dog are named together by hesiod, who flourished many hundred years before cicero or aratus. [ ] a southern constellation, placed as here in the atlas coelestis. [ ] a southern constellation, so called from the ship argo, in which jason and the rest of the argonauts sailed on their expedition to colchos. [ ] the ram is the first of the northern signs in the zodiac; and the last southern sign is the fishes; which two signs, meeting in the zodiac, cover the constellation called argo. [ ] the river eridanus, a southern constellation. [ ] a southern constellation. [ ] this is called the scorpion in the original of aratus. [ ] a southern constellation. [ ] a southern constellation. [ ] the serpent is not mentioned in cicero's translation; but it is in the original of aratus. [ ] a southern constellation. [ ] the goblet, or cup, a southern constellation. [ ] a southern constellation. [ ] antecanis, a southern constellation, is the little dog, and called _antecanis_ in latin, and [greek: prokyôn] in greek, because he rises before the other dog. [ ] pansætius, a stoic philosopher. [ ] mercury and venus. [ ] the proboscis of the elephant is frequently called a hand, because it is as useful to him as one. "they breathe, drink, and smell, with what may not be improperly called a hand," says pliny, bk. viii. c. .--davis. [ ] the passage of aristotle's works to which cicero here alludes is entirely lost; but plutarch gives a similar account. [ ] balbus does not tell us the remedy which the panther makes use of; but pliny is not quite so delicate: he says, _excrementis hominis sibi medetur_. [ ] aristotle says they purge themselves with this herb after they fawn. pliny says both before and after. [ ] the cuttle-fish has a bag at its neck, the black blood of which the romans used for ink. it was called _atramentum_. [ ] the euphrates is said to carry into mesopotamia a large quantity of citrons, with which it covers the fields. [ ] q. curtius, and some other authors, say the ganges is the largest river in india; but ammianus marcellinus concurs with cicero in calling the river indus the largest of all rivers. [ ] these etesian winds return periodically once a year, and blow at certain seasons, and for a certain time. [ ] some read _mollitur_, and some _molitur;_ the latter of which p. manucius justly prefers, from the verb _molo_, _molis;_ from whence, says he, _molares dentes_, the grinders. [ ] the weasand, or windpipe. [ ] the epiglottis, which is a cartilaginous flap in the shape of a tongue, and therefore called so. [ ] cicero is here giving the opinion of the ancients concerning the passage of the chyle till it is converted to blood. [ ] what cicero here calls the ventricles of the heart are likewise called auricles, of which there is the right and left. [ ] the stoics and peripatetics said that the nerves, veins, and arteries come directly from the heart. according to the anatomy of the moderns, they come from the brain. [ ] the author means all musical instruments, whether string or wind instruments, which are hollow and tortuous. [ ] the latin version of cicero is a translation from the greek of aratus. [ ] chrysippus's meaning is, that the swine is so inactive and slothful a beast that life seems to be of no use to it but to keep it from putrefaction, as salt keeps dead flesh. [ ] _ales_, in the general signification, is any large bird; and _oscinis_ is any singing bird. but they here mean those birds which are used in augury: _alites_ are the birds whose flight was observed by the augurs, and _oscines_ the birds from whose voices they augured. [ ] as the academics doubted everything, it was indifferent to them which side of a question they took. [ ] the keepers and interpreters of the sibylline oracles were the quindecimviri. [ ] the popular name of jupiter in rome, being looked upon as defender of the capitol (in which he was placed), and stayer of the state. [ ] some passages of the original are here wanting. cotta continues speaking against the doctrine of the stoics. [ ] the word _sortes_ is often used for the answers of the oracles, or, rather, for the rolls in which the answers were written. [ ] three of this eminent family sacrificed themselves for their country; the father in the latin war, the son in the tuscan war, and the grandson in the war with pyrrhus. [ ] the straits of gibraltar. [ ] the common reading is, _ex quo anima dicitur;_ but dr. davis and m. bouhier prefer _animal_, though they keep _anima_ in the text, because our author says elsewhere, _animum ex anima dictum_, tusc. i. . cicero is not here to be accused of contradictions, for we are to consider that he speaks in the characters of other persons; but there appears to be nothing in these two passages irreconcilable, and probably _anima_ is the right word here. [ ] he is said to have led a colony from greece into caria, in asia, and to have built a town, and called it after his own name, for which his countrymen paid him divine honors after his death. [ ] our great author is under a mistake here. homer does not say he met hercules himself, but his [greek: eidôlon], his "visionary likeness;" and adds that he himself [greek: met' athanatoisi theoisi terpetai en thaliês, kai echei kallisphyrou hêbên, paida dios megaloio kai hêrês chrysopedilou.] which pope translates-- a shadowy form, for high in heaven's abodes himself resides, a god among the gods; there, in the bright assemblies of the skies, he nectar quaffs, and hebe crowns his joys. [ ] they are said to have been the first workers in iron. they were called idæi, because they inhabited about mount ida in crete, and dactyli, from [greek: daktyloi] (the fingers), their number being five. [ ] from whom, some say, the city of that name was called. [ ] capedunculæ seem to have been bowls or cups, with handles on each side, set apart for the use of the altar.--davis. [ ] see cicero de divinatione, and ovid. fast. [ ] in the consulship of piso and gabinius sacrifices to serapis and isis were prohibited in rome; but the roman people afterward placed them again in the number of their gods. see tertullian's apol. and his first book ad nationes, and arnobius, lib. .--davis. [ ] in some copies circe, pasiphae, and Æa are mentioned together; but Æa is rejected by the most judicious editors. [ ] they were three, and are said to have averted a plague by offering themselves a sacrifice. [ ] so called from the greek word [greek: thaumazô], to wonder. [ ] she was first called geres, from _gero_, to bear. [ ] the word is _precatione_, which means the books or forms of prayers used by the augurs. [ ] cotta's intent here, as well as in other places, is to show how unphilosophical their civil theology was, and with what confusions it was embarrassed; which design of the academic the reader should carefully keep in view, or he will lose the chain of argument. [ ] anactes, [greek: anaktes], was a general name for all kings, as we find in the oldest greek writers, and particularly in homer. [ ] the common reading is aleo; but we follow lambinus and davis, who had the authority of the best manuscript copies. [ ] some prefer phthas to opas (see dr. davis's edition); but opas is the generally received reading. [ ] the lipari isles. [ ] a town in arcadia. [ ] in arcadia. [ ] a northern people. [ ] so called from the greek word [greek: nomos], _lex_, a law. [ ] he is called [greek: Ôpis] in some old greek fragments, and [greek: oupis] by callimachus in his hymn on diana. [ ] [greek: sabazios], sabazius, is one of the names used for bacchus. [ ] here is a wide chasm in the original. what is lost probably may have contained great part of cotta's arguments against the providence of the stoics. [ ] here is one expression in the quotation from cæcilius that is not commonly met with, which is _præstigias præstrinxit;_ lambinus gives _præstinxit_, for the sake, i suppose, of playing on words, because it might then be translated, "he has deluded my delusions, or stratagems;" but _præstrinxit_ is certainly the right reading. [ ] the ancient romans had a judicial as well as a military prætor; and he sat, with inferior judges attending him, like one of our chief-justices. _sessum it prætor_, which i doubt not is the right reading, lambinus restored from an old copy. the common reading was _sessum ite precor_. [ ] picenum was a region of italy. [ ] the _sex primi_ were general receivers of all taxes and tributes; and they were obliged to make good, out of their own fortunes, whatever deficiencies were in the public treasury. [ ] the lætorian law was a security for those under age against extortioners, etc. by this law all debts contracted under twenty-five years of age were void. [ ] this is from ennius-- utinam ne in nemore pelio securibus cæsa cecidisset abiegna ad terram trabes. translated from the beginning of the medea of euripides-- [greek: mêd' en napaisi pêlion pesein pote tmêtheisa peukê.] [ ] q. fabius maximus, surnamed cunctator. [ ] diogenes laertius says he was pounded to death in a stone mortar by command of nicocreon, tyrant of cyprus. [ ] elea, a city of lucania, in italy. the manner in which zeno was put to death is, according to diogenes laertius, uncertain. [ ] this great and good man was accused of destroying the divinity of the gods of his country. he was condemned, and died by drinking a glass of poison. [ ] tyrant of sicily. [ ] the common reading is, _in tympanidis rogum inlatus est_. this passage has been the occasion of as many different opinions concerning both the reading and the sense as any passage in the whole treatise. _tympanum_ is used for a timbrel or drum, _tympanidia_ a diminutive of it. lambinus says _tympana_ "were sticks with which the tyrant used to beat the condemned." p. victorius substitutes _tyrannidis_ for _tympanidis_. [ ] the original is _de amissa salute;_ which means the sentence of banishment among the romans, in which was contained the loss of goods and estate, and the privileges of a roman; and in this sense l'abbé d'olivet translates it. [ ] the forty-seventh proposition of the first book of euclid is unanimously ascribed to him by the ancients. dr. wotton, in his reflections upon ancient and modern learning, says, "it is indeed a very noble proposition, the foundation of trigonometry, of universal and various use in those curious speculations about incommensurable numbers." [ ] these votive tables, or pictures, were hung up in the temples. [ ] this passage is a fragment from a tragedy of attius. [ ] hipponax was a poet at ephesus, and so deformed that bupalus drew a picture of him to provoke laughter; for which hipponax is said to have written such keen iambics on the painter that he hanged himself. lycambes had promised archilochus the poet to marry his daughter to him, but afterward retracted his promise, and refused her; upon which archilochus is said to have published a satire in iambic verse that provoked him to hang himself. [ ] cicero refers here to an oracle approving of his laws, and promising sparta prosperity as long as they were obeyed, which lycurgus procured from delphi. [ ] _pro aris et focis_ is a proverbial expression. the romans, when they would say their all was at stake, could not express it stronger than by saying they contended _pro aris et focis_, for religion and their firesides, or, as we express it, for religion and property. [ ] cicero, who was an academic, gives his opinion according to the manner of the academics, who looked upon probability, and a resemblance of truth, as the utmost they could arrive at. [ ] _i.e._, regulus. [ ] _i.e._, fabius. [ ] it is unnecessary to give an account of the other names here mentioned; but that of lænas is probably less known. he was publius popillius lænas, consul b.c., the year after the death of tiberius gracchus, and it became his duty to prosecute the accomplices of gracchus, for which he was afterward attacked by caius gracchus with such animosity that he withdrew into voluntary exile. cicero pays a tribute to the energy of opimius in the first oration against catiline, c. iii. [ ] this phenomenon of the parhelion, or mock sun, which so puzzled cicero's interlocutors, has been very satisfactorily explained by modern science. the parhelia are formed by the reflection of the sunbeams on a cloud properly situated. they usually accompany the coronæ, or luminous circles, and are placed in the same circumference, and at the same height. their colors resemble that of the rainbow; the red and yellow are towards the side of the sun, and the blue and violet on the other. there are, however, coronæ sometimes seen without parhelia, and _vice versâ_. parhelia are double, triple, etc., and in , a parhelion of five suns was seen at rome, and another of six suns at arles, . [ ] there is a little uncertainty as to what this age was, but it was probably about twenty-five. [ ] cicero here gives a very exact and correct account of the planetarium of archimedes, which is so often noticed by the ancient astronomers. it no doubt corresponded in a great measure to our modern planetarium, or orrery, invented by the earl of that name. this elaborate machine, whose manufacture requires the most exact and critical science, is of the greatest service to those who study the revolutions of the stars, for astronomic, astrologic, or meteorologic purposes. [ ] the end of the fourteenth chapter and the first words of the fifteenth are lost; but it is plain that in the fifteenth it is scipio who is speaking. [ ] there is evidently some error in the text here, for ennius was born a.u.c., was a personal friend of the elder africanus, and died about a.u.c., so that it is plain that we ought to read in the text , not . [ ] two pages are lost here. afterward it is again scipio who is speaking. [ ] two pages are lost here. [ ] both ennius and nævius wrote tragedies called "iphigenia." mai thinks the text here corrupt, and expresses some doubt whether there is a quotation here at all. [ ] he means scipio himself. [ ] there is again a hiatus. what follows is spoken by lælius. [ ] again two pages are lost. [ ] again two pages are lost. it is evident that scipio is speaking again in cap. xxxi. [ ] again two pages are lost. [ ] again two pages are lost. [ ] here four pages are lost. [ ] here four pages are lost. [ ] two pages are missing here. [ ] a name of neptune. [ ] about seven lines are lost here, and there is a great deal of corruption and imperfection in the next few sentences. [ ] two pages are lost here. [ ] the _lex curiata de imperio_, so often mentioned here, was the same as the _auctoritas patrum_, and was necessary in order to confer upon the dictator, consuls, and other magistrates the _imperium_, or military command: without this they had only a _potestas_, or civil authority, and could not meddle with military affairs. [ ] two pages are missing here. [ ] here two pages are missing. [ ] i have translated this very corrupt passage according to niebuhr's emendation. [ ] assiduus, ab ære dando. [ ] proletarii, a prole. [ ] here four pages are missing. [ ] two pages are missing here. [ ] two pages are missing here. [ ] here twelve pages are missing. [ ] sixteen pages are missing here. [ ] here eight pages are missing. [ ] a great many pages are missing here. [ ] several pages are lost here; the passage in brackets is found in nonius under the word "exulto." [ ] this and other chapters printed in smaller type are generally presumed to be of doubtful authenticity. [ ] the beginning of this book is lost. the two first paragraphs come, the one from st. augustine, the other from lactantius. [ ] eight or nine pages are lost here. [ ] here six pages are lost. [ ] here twelve pages are missing. [ ] we have been obliged to insert two or three of these sentences between brackets, which are not found in the original, for the sake of showing the drift of the arguments of philus. he himself was fully convinced that justice and morality were of eternal and immutable obligation, and that the best interests of all beings lie in their perpetual development and application. this eternity of justice is beautifully illustrated by montesquieu. "long," says he, "before positive laws were instituted, the moral relations of justice were absolute and universal. to say that there were no justice or injustice but that which depends on the injunctions or prohibitions of positive laws, is to say that the radii which spring from a centre are not equal till we have formed a circle to illustrate the proposition. we must, therefore, acknowledge that the relations of equity were antecedent to the positive laws which corroborated them." but though philus was fully convinced of this, in order to give his friends scipio and lælius an opportunity of proving it, he frankly brings forward every argument for injustice that sophistry had ever cast in the teeth of reason.--_by the original translator_. [ ] here four pages are missing. the following sentence is preserved in nonius. [ ] two pages are missing here. [ ] several pages are missing here. [ ] he means alexander the great. [ ] six or eight pages are lost here. [ ] a great many pages are missing here. [ ] six or eight pages are missing here. [ ] several pages are lost here. [ ] this and the following chapters are not the actual words of cicero, but quotations by lactantius and augustine of what they affirm that he said. [ ] twelve pages are missing here. [ ] eight pages are missing here. [ ] six or eight pages are missing here. [ ] catadupa, from [greek: kata] and [greek: doipos], noise. treatises on friendship and old age by marcus tullius cicero translated by e. s. shuckburgh introductory note marcus tullius cicero, the greatest of roman orators and the chief master of latin prose style, was born at arpinum, jan. , b.c. his father, who was a man of property and belonged to the class of the "knights," moved to rome when cicero was a child; and the future statesman received an elaborate education in rhetoric, law, and philosophy, studying and practising under some of the most noted teachers of the time. he began his career as an advocate at the age of twenty-five, and almost immediately came to be recognized not only as a man of brilliant talents but also as a courageous upholder of justice in the face of grave political danger. after two years of practice he left rome to travel in greece and asia, taking all the opportunities that offered to study his art under distinguished masters. he returned to rome greatly improved in health and in professional skill, and in b. c. was elected to the office of quaestor. he was assigned to the province of lilybaeum in sicily, and the vigor and justice of his administration earned him the gratitude of the inhabitants. it was at their request that he undertook in b. c. the prosecution of verres, who as praetor had subjected the sicilians to incredible extortion and oppression; and his successful conduct of this case, which ended in the conviction and banishment of verres, may be said to have launched him on his political career. he became aedile in the same year, in b.c. praetor, and in b. c. was elected consul by a large majority. the most important event of the year of his consulship was the conspiracy of catiline. this notorious criminal of patrician rank had conspired with a number of others, many of them young men of high birth but dissipated character, to seize the chief offices of the state, and to extricate themselves from the pecuniary and other difficulties that had resulted from their excesses, by the wholesale plunder of the city. the plot was unmasked by the vigilance of cicero, five of the traitors were summarily executed, and in the overthrow of the army that had been gathered in their support catiline himself perished. cicero regarded himself as the savior of his country, and his country for the moment seemed to give grateful assent. but reverses were at hand. during the existence of the political combination of pompey, caesar, and crassus, known as the first triumvirate, p. clodius, an enemy of cicero's, proposed a law banishing "any one who had put roman citizens to death without trial." this was aimed at cicero on account of his share in the catiline affair, and in march, b. c., he left rome. the same day a law was passed by which he was banished by name, and his property was plundered and destroyed, a temple to liberty being erected on the site of his house in the city. during his exile cicero's manliness to some extent deserted him. he drifted from place to place, seeking the protection of officials against assassination, writing letters urging his supporters to agitate for his recall, sometimes accusing them of lukewarmness and even treachery, bemoaning the ingratitude of his country or regretting the course of action that had led to his outlawry, and suffering from extreme depression over his separation from his wife and children and the wreck of his political ambitions. finally in august, b. c., the decree for his restoration was passed, and he returned to rome the next month, being received with immense popular enthusiasm. during the next few years the renewal of the understanding among the triumvirs shut cicero out from any leading part in politics, and he resumed his activity in the law-courts, his most important case being, perhaps, the defence of milo for the murder of clodius, cicero's most troublesome enemy. this oration, in the revised form in which it has come down to us, is ranked as among the finest specimens of the art of the orator, though in its original form it failed to secure milo's acquittal. meantime, cicero was also devoting much time to literary composition, and his letters show great dejection over the political situation, and a somewhat wavering attitude towards the various parties in the state. in b. c. he went to cilicia in asia minor as proconsul, an office which he administered with efficiency and integrity in civil affairs and with success in military. he returned to italy in the end of the following year, and he was publicly thanked by the senate for his services, but disappointed in his hopes for a triumph. the war for supremacy between caesar and pompey which had for some time been gradually growing more certain, broke out in b.c., when caesar led his army across the rubicon, and cicero after much irresolution threw in his lot with pompey, who was overthrown the next year in the battle of pharsalus and later murdered in egypt. cicero returned to italy, where caesar treated him magnanimously, and for some time he devoted himself to philosophical and rhetorical writing. in b.c. he divorced his wife terentia, to whom he had been married for thirty years and married the young and wealthy publilia in order to relieve himself from financial difficulties; but her also he shortly divorced. caesar, who had now become supreme in rome, was assassinated in b.c., and though cicero was not a sharer in the conspiracy, he seems to have approved the deed. in the confusion which followed he supported the cause of the conspirators against antony; and when finally the triumvirate of antony, octavius, and lepidus was established, cicero was included among the proscribed, and on december , b.c., he was killed by agents of antony. his head and hand were cut off and exhibited at rome. the most important orations of the last months of his life were the fourteen "philippics" delivered against antony, and the price of this enmity he paid with his life. to his contemporaries cicero was primarily the great forensic and political orator of his time, and the fifty-eight speeches which have come down to us bear testimony to the skill, wit, eloquence, and passion which gave him his pre-eminence. but these speeches of necessity deal with the minute details of the occasions which called them forth, and so require for their appreciation a full knowledge of the history, political and personal, of the time. the letters, on the other hand, are less elaborate both in style and in the handling of current events, while they serve to reveal his personality, and to throw light upon roman life in the last days of the republic in an extremely vivid fashion. cicero as a man, in spite of his self-importance, the vacillation of his political conduct in desperate crises, and the whining despondency of his times of adversity, stands out as at bottom a patriotic roman of substantial honesty, who gave his life to check the inevitable fall of the commonwealth to which he was devoted. the evils which were undermining the republic bear so many striking resemblances to those which threaten the civic and national life of america to-day that the interest of the period is by no means merely historical. as a philosopher, cicero's most important function was to make his countrymen familiar with the main schools of greek thought. much of this writing is thus of secondary interest to us in comparison with his originals, but in the fields of religious theory and of the application of philosophy to life he made important first-hand contributions. from these works have been selected the two treatises, on old age and on friendship, which have proved of most permanent and widespread interest to posterity, and which give a clear impression of the way in which a high-minded roman thought about some of the main problems of human life. on friendship the augur quintus mucius scaevola used to recount a number of stories about his father-in-law galus laelius, accurately remembered and charmingly told; and whenever he talked about him always gave him the title of "the wise" without any hesitation. i had been introduced by my father to scaevola as soon as i had assumed the _toga virilis_, and i took advantage of the introduction never to quit the venerable man's side as long as i was able to stay and he was spared to us. the consequence was that i committed to memory many disquisitions of his, as well as many short pointed apophthegms, and, in short, took as much advantage of his wisdom as i could. when he died, i attached myself to scaevola the pontifex, whom i may venture to call quite the most distinguished of our countrymen for ability and uprightness. but of this latter i shall take other occasions to speak. to return to scaevola the augur. among many other occasions i particularly remember one. he was sitting on a semicircular garden-bench, as was his custom, when i and a very few intimate friends were there, and he chanced to turn the conversation upon a subject which about that time was in many people's mouths. you must remember, atticus, for you were very intimate with publius sulpicius, what expressions of astonishment, or even indignation, were called forth by his mortal quarrel, as tribune, with the consul quintus pompeius, with whom he had formerly lived on terms of the closest intimacy and affection. well, on this occasion, happening to mention this particular circumstance, scaevola detailed to us a discourse of laelius on friendship delivered to himself and laelius's other son-in-law galus fannius, son of marcus fannius, a few days after the death of africanus. the points of that discussion i committed to memory, and have arranged them in this book at my own discretion. for i have brought the speakers, as it were, personally on to my stage to prevent the constant "said i" and "said he" of a narrative, and to give the discourse the air of being orally delivered in our hearing. you have often urged me to write something on friendship, and i quite acknowledged that the subject seemed one worth everybody's investigation, and specially suited to the close intimacy that has existed between you and me. accordingly i was quite ready to benefit the public at your request. as to the _dramatis personae_. in the treatise on old age, which i dedicated to you, i introduced cato as chief speaker. no one, i thought, could with greater propriety speak on old age than one who had been an old man longer than any one else, and had been exceptionally vigorous in his old age. similarly, having learnt from tradition that of all friendships that between gaius laelius and publius scipio was the most remarkable, i thought laelius was just the person to support the chief part in a discussion on friendship which scaevola remembered him to have actually taken. moreover, a discussion of this sort gains somehow in weight from the authority of men of ancient days, especially if they happen to have been distinguished. so it comes about that in reading over what i have myself written i have a feeling at times that it is actually cato that is speaking, not i. finally, as i sent the former essay to you as a gift from one old man to another, so i have dedicated this _on friendship_ as a most affectionate friend to his friend. in the former cato spoke, who was the oldest and wisest man of his day; in this laelius speaks on friendship--laelius, who was at once a wise man (that was the title given him) and eminent for his famous friendship. please forget me for a while; imagine laelius to be speaking. gaius fannius and quintus mucius come to call on their father-in-law after the death of africanus. they start the subject; laelius answers them. and the whole essay on friendship is his. in reading it you will recognise a picture of yourself. . _fannius_. you are quite right, laelius! there never was a better or more illustrious character than africanus. but you should consider that at the present moment all eyes are on you. everybody calls you "the wise" _par excellence_, and thinks you so. the same mark of respect was lately paid cato, and we know that in the last generation lucius atilius was called "the wise." but in both cases the word was applied with a certain difference. atilius was so called from his reputation as a jurist; cato got the name as a kind of honorary title and in extreme old age because of his varied experience of affairs, and his reputation for foresight and firmness, and the sagacity of the opinions which he delivered in senate and forum. you, however, are regarded as wise in a somewhat different sense not alone on account of natural ability and character, but also from your industry and learning; and not in the sense in which the vulgar, but that in which scholars, give that title. in this sense we do not read of any one being called wise in greece except one man at athens; and he, to be sure, had been declared by the oracle of apollo also to be "the supremely wise man." for those who commonly go by the name of the seven sages are not admitted into the category of the wise by fastidious critics. your wisdom people believe to consist in this, that you look upon yourself as self-sufficing and regard the changes and chances of mortal life as powerless to affect your virtue. accordingly they are always asking me, and doubtless also our scaevola here, how you bear the death of africanus. this curiosity has been the more excited from the fact that on the nones of this month, when we augurs met as usual in the suburban villa of decimus brutus for consultation, you were not present, though it had always been your habit to keep that appointment and perform that duty with the utmost punctuality. _scaevola_. yes, indeed, laelius, i am often asked the question mentioned by fannius. but i answer in accordance with what i have observed: i say that you bear in a reasonable manner the grief which you have sustained in the death of one who was at once a man of the most illustrious character and a very dear friend. that of course you could not but be affected--anything else would have been wholly unnatural in a man of your gentle nature--but that the cause of your non-attendance at our college meeting was illness, not melancholy. _laelius_. thanks, scaevola! you are quite right; you spoke the exact truth. for in fact i had no right to allow myself to be withdrawn from a duty which i had regularly performed, as long as i was well, by any personal misfortune; nor do i think that anything that can happen will cause a man of principle to intermit a duty. as for your telling me, fannius, of the honourable appellation given me (an appellation to which i do not recognise my title, and to which i make no claim), you doubtless act from feelings of affection; but i must say that you seem to me to do less than justice to cato. if any one was ever "wise,"--of which i have my doubts,--he was. putting aside everything else, consider how he bore his son's death! i had not forgotten paulus; i had seen with my own eyes gallus. but they lost their sons when mere children; cato his when he was a full-grown man with an assured reputation. do not therefore be in a hurry to reckon as cato's superior even that same famous personage whom apollo, as you say, declared to be "the wisest." remember the former's reputation rests on deeds, the latter's on words. . now, as far as i am concerned (i speak to both of you now), believe me the case stands thus. if i were to say that i am not affected by regret for scipio, i must leave the philosophers to justify my conduct, but in point of fact i should be telling a lie. affected of course i am by the loss of a friend as i think there will never be again, such as i can fearlessly say there never was before. but i stand in no need of medicine. i can find my own consolation, and it consists chiefly in my being free from the mistaken notion which generally causes pain at the departure of friends. to scipio i am convinced no evil has befallen: mine is the disaster, if disaster there be; and to be severely distressed at one's own misfortunes does not show that you love your friend, but that you love yourself. as for him, who can say that all is not more than well? for, unless he had taken the fancy to wish for immortality, the last thing of which he ever thought, what is there for which mortal man may wish that he did not attain? in his early manhood he more than justified by extraordinary personal courage the hopes which his fellow-citizens had conceived of him as a child. he never was a candidate for the consulship, yet was elected consul twice: the first time before the legal age; the second at a time which, as far as he was concerned, was soon enough, but was near being too late for the interests of the state. by the overthrow of two cities which were the most bitter enemies of our empire, he put an end not only to the wars then raging, but also to the possibility of others in the future. what need to mention the exquisite grace of his manners, his dutiful devotion to his mother, his generosity to his sisters, his liberality to his relations, the integrity of his conduct to every one? you know all this already. finally, the estimation in which his fellow-citizens held him has been shown by the signs of mourning which accompanied his obsequies. what could such a man have gained by the addition of a few years? though age need not be a burden,--as i remember cato arguing in the presence of myself and scipio two years before he died,--yet it cannot but take away the vigour and freshness which scipio was still enjoying. we may conclude therefore that his life, from the good fortune which had attended him and the glory he had obtained, was so circumstanced that it could not be bettered, while the suddenness of his death saved him the sensation of dying. as to the manner of his death it is difficult to speak; you see what people suspect. thus much, however, i may say: scipio in his lifetime saw many days of supreme triumph and exultation, but none more magnificent than his last, on which, upon the rising of the senate, he was escorted by the senators and the people of rome, by the allies, and by the latins, to his own door. from such an elevation of popular esteem the next step seems naturally to be an ascent to the gods above, rather than a descent to hades. . for i am not one of these modern philosophers who maintain that our souls perish with our bodies, and that death ends all. with me ancient opinion has more weight: whether it be that of our own ancestors, who attributed such solemn observances to the dead, as they plainly would not have done if they had believed them to be wholly annihilated; or that of the philosophers who once visited this country, and who by their maxims and doctrines educated magna graecia, which at that time was in a flourishing condition, though it has now been ruined; or that of the man who was declared by apollo's oracle to be "most wise," and who used to teach without the variation which is to be found in most philosophers that "the souls of men are divine, and that when they have quitted the body a return to heaven is open to them, least difficult to those who have been most virtuous and just." this opinion was shared by scipio. only a few days before his death--as though he had a presentiment of what was coming--he discoursed for three days on the state of the republic. the company consisted of philus and manlius and several others, and i had brought you, scaevola, along with me. the last part of his discourse referred principally to the immortality of the soul; for he told us what he had heard from the elder africanus in a dream. now if it be true that in proportion to a man's goodness the escape from what may be called the prison and bonds of the flesh is easiest, whom can we imagine to have had an easier voyage to the gods than scipio? i am disposed to think, therefore, that in his case mourning would be a sign of envy rather than of friendship. if, however, the truth rather is that the body and soul perish together, and that no sensation remains, then though there is nothing good in death, at least there is nothing bad. remove sensation, and a man is exactly as though he had never been born; and yet that this man was born is a joy to me, and will be a subject of rejoicing to this state to its last hour. wherefore, as i said before, all is as well as possible with him. not so with me; for as i entered life before him, it would have been fairer for me to leave it also before him. yet such is the pleasure i take in recalling our friendship, that i look upon my life as having been a happy one because i have spent it with scipio. with him i was associated in public and private business; with him i lived in rome and served abroad; and between us there was the most complete harmony in our tastes, our pursuits, and our sentiments, which is the true secret of friendship. it is not therefore in that reputation for wisdom mentioned just now by fannius--especially as it happens to be groundless--that i find my happiness so much, as in the hope that the memory of our friendship will be lasting. what makes me care the more about this is the fact that in all history there are scarcely three or four pairs of friends on record; and it is classed with them that i cherish a hope of the friendship of scipio and laelius being known to posterity. _fannius_. of course that must be so, laelius. but since you have mentioned the word friendship, and we are at leisure, you would be doing me a great kindness, and i expect scaevola also, if you would do as it is your habit to do when asked questions on other subjects, and tell us your sentiments about friendship, its nature, and the rules to be observed in regard to it. _scaevola_. i shall of course be delighted. fannius has anticipated the very request i was about to make. so you will be doing us both a great favour. . _laelius_. i should certainly have no objection if i felt confidence in myself. for the theme is a noble one, and we are (as fannius has said) at leisure. but who am i? and what ability have i? what you propose is all very well for professional philosophers, who are used, particularly if greeks, to have the subject for discussion proposed to them on the spur of the moment. it is a task of considerable difficulty, and requires no little practice. therefore for a set discourse on friendship you must go, i think, to professional lecturers. all i can do is to urge on you to regard friendship as the greatest thing in the world; for there is nothing which so fits in with our nature, or is so exactly what we want in prosperity or adversity. but i must at the very beginning lay down this principle--_friendship can only exist between good men_. i do not, however, press this too closely, like the philosophers who push their definitions to a superfluous accuracy. they have truth on their side, perhaps, but it is of no practical advantage. those, i mean, who say that no one but the "wise" is "good." granted, by all means. but the "wisdom" they mean is one to which no mortal ever yet attained. we must concern ourselves with the facts of everyday life as we find it--not imaginary and ideal perfections. even gaius fannius, manius curius, and tiberius coruncanius, whom our ancestors decided to be "wise," i could never declare to be so according to their standard. let them, then, keep this word "wisdom" to themselves. everybody is irritated by it; no one understands what it means. let them but grant that the men i mentioned were "good." no, they won't do that either. no one but the "wise" can be allowed that title, say they. well, then, let us dismiss them and manage as best we may with our own poor mother wit, as the phrase is. we mean then by the "good" _those whose actions and lives leave no question as to their honour, purity, equity, and liberality; who are free from greed, lust, and violence; and who have the courage of their convictions_. the men i have just named may serve as examples. such men as these being generally accounted "good," let us agree to call them so, on the ground that to the best of human ability they follow nature as the most perfect guide to a good life. now this truth seems clear to me, that nature has so formed us that a certain tie unites us all, but that this tie becomes stronger from proximity. so it is that fellow-citizens are preferred in our affections to foreigners, relations to strangers; for in their case nature herself has caused a kind of friendship to exist, though it is one which lacks some of the elements of permanence. friendship excels relationship in this, that whereas you may eliminate affection from relationship, you cannot do so from friendship. without it relationship still exists in name, friendship does not. you may best understand this friendship by considering that, whereas the merely natural ties uniting the human race are indefinite, this one is so concentrated, and confined to so narrow a sphere, that affection is ever shared by two persons only or at most by a few. . now friendship may be thus defined: a complete accord on all subjects human and divine, joined with mutual goodwill and affection. and with the exception of wisdom, i am inclined to think nothing better than this has been given to man by the immortal gods. there are people who give the palm to riches or to good health, or to power and office, many even to sensual pleasures. this last is the ideal of brute beasts; and of the others we may say that they are frail and uncertain, and depend less on our own prudence than on the caprice of fortune. then there are those who find the "chief good" in virtue. well, that is a noble doctrine. but the very virtue they talk of is the parent and preserver of friendship, and without it friendship cannot possibly exist. let us, i repeat, use the word virtue in the ordinary acceptation and meaning of the term, and do not let us define it in high-flown language. let us account as good the persons usually considered so, such as paulus, cato, gallus, scipio, and philus. such men as these are good enough for everyday life; and we need not trouble ourselves about those ideal characters which are nowhere to be met with. well, between men like these the advantages of friendship are almost more than i can say. to begin with, how can life be worth living, to use the words of ennius, which lacks that repose which is to be found in the mutual good-will of a friend? what can be more delightful than to have some one to whom you can say everything with the same absolute confidence as to yourself? is not prosperity robbed of half its value if you have no one to share your joy? on the other hand, misfortunes would be hard to bear if there were not some one to feel them even more acutely than yourself. in a word, other objects of ambition serve for particular ends--riches for use, power for securing homage, office for reputation, pleasure for enjoyment, health for freedom from pain and the full use of the functions of the body. but friendship embraces innumerable advantages. turn which way you please, you will find it at hand. it is everywhere; and yet never out of place, never unwelcome. fire and water themselves, to use a common expression, are not of more universal use than friendship. i am not now speaking of the common or modified form of it, though even that is a source of pleasure and profit, but of that true and complete friendship which existed between the select few who are known to fame. such friendship enhances prosperity, and relieves adversity of its burden by halving and sharing it. . and great and numerous as are the blessings of friendship, this certainly is the sovereign one, that it gives us bright hopes for the future and forbids weakness and despair. in the face of a true friend a man sees as it were a second self. so that where his friend is he is; if his friend be rich, he is not poor; though he be weak, his friend's strength is his; and in his friend's life he enjoys a second life after his own is finished. this last is perhaps the most difficult to conceive. but such is the effect of the respect, the loving remembrance, and the regret of friends which follow us to the grave. while they take the sting out of death, they add a glory to the life of the survivors. nay, if you eliminate from nature the tie of affection, there will be an end of house and city, nor will so much as the cultivation of the soil be left. if you don't see the virtue of friendship and harmony, you may learn it by observing the effects of quarrels and feuds. was any family ever so well established, any state so firmly settled, as to be beyond the reach of utter destruction from animosities and factions? this may teach you the immense advantage of friendship. they say that a certain philosopher of agrigentum, in a greek poem, pronounced with the authority of an oracle the doctrine that whatever in nature and the universe was unchangeable was so in virtue of the binding force of friendship; whatever was changeable was so by the solvent power of discord. and indeed this is a truth which everybody understands and practically attests by experience. for if any marked instance of loyal friendship in confronting or sharing danger comes to light, every one applauds it to the echo. what cheers there were, for instance, all over the theatre at a passage in the new play of my friend and guest pacuvius; where the king, not knowing which of the two was orestes, pylades declared himself to be orestes, that he might die in his stead, while the real orestes kept on asserting that it was he. the audience rose _en masse_ and clapped their hands. and this was at an incident in fiction: what would they have done, must we suppose, if it had been in real life? you can easily see what a natural feeling it is, when men who would not have had the resolution to act thus themselves, shewed how right they thought it in another. i don't think i have any more to say about friendship. if there is any more, and i have no doubt there is much, you must, if you care to do so, consult those who profess to discuss such matters. _fannius_. we would rather apply to you. yet i have often consulted such persons, and have heard what they had to say with a certain satisfaction. but in your discourse one somehow feels that there is a different strain. _scaevola_. you would have said that still more, fannius, if you had been present the other day in scipio's pleasure-grounds when we had the discussion about the state. how splendidly he stood up for justice against philus's elaborate speech. _fannius_. ah! it was naturally easy for the justest of men to stand up for justice. _scaevola_. well, then, what about friendship? who could discourse on it more easily than the man whose chief glory is a friendship maintained with the most absolute fidelity, constancy, and integrity? . _laclius_. now you are really using force. it makes no difference what kind of force you use: force it is. for it is neither easy nor right to refuse a wish of my sons-in-law, particularly when the wish is a creditable one in itself. well, then, it has very often occurred to me when thinking about friendship, that the chief point to be considered was this: is it weakness and want of means that make friendship desired? i mean, is its object an interchange of good offices, so that each may give that in which he is strong, and receive that in which he is weak? or is it not rather true that, although this is an advantage naturally belonging to friendship, yet its original cause is quite other, prior in time, more noble in character, and springing more directly from our nature itself? the latin word for friendship--_amicitia_--is derived from that for love--_amor_; and love is certainly the prime mover in contracting mutual affection. for as to material advantages, it often happens that those are obtained even by men who are courted by a mere show of friendship and treated with respect from interested motives. but friendship by its nature admits of no feigning, no pretence: as far as it goes it is both genuine and spontaneous. therefore i gather that friendship springs from a natural impulse rather than a wish for help: from an inclination of the heart, combined with a certain instinctive feeling of love, rather than from a deliberate calculation of the material advantage it was likely to confer. the strength of this feeling you may notice in certain animals. they show such love to their offspring for a certain period, and are so beloved by them, that they clearly have a share in this natural, instinctive affection. but of course it is more evident in the case of man: first, in the natural affection between children and their parents, an affection which only shocking wickedness can sunder; and next, when the passion of love has attained to a like strength--on our finding, that is, some one person with whose character and nature we are in full sympathy, because we think that we perceive in him what i may call the beacon-light of virtue. for nothing inspires love, nothing conciliates affection, like virtue. why, in a certain sense we may be said to feel affection even for men we have never seen, owing to their honesty and virtue. who, for instance, fails to dwell on the memory of gaius fabricius and manius curius with some affection and warmth of feeling, though he has never seen them? or who but loathes tarquinius superbus, spurius cassius, spurius maelius? we have fought for empire in italy with two great generals, pyrrhus and hannibal. for the former, owing to his probity, we entertain no great feelings of enmity: the latter, owing to his cruelty, our country has detested and always will detest. . now, if the attraction of probity is so great that we can love it not only in those whom we have never seen, but, what is more, actually in an enemy, we need not be surprised if men's affections are roused when they fancy that they have seen virtue and goodness in those with whom a close intimacy is possible. i do not deny that affection is strengthened by the actual receipt of benefits, as well as by the perception of a wish to render service, combined with a closer intercourse. when these are added to the original impulse of the heart, to which i have alluded, a quite surprising warmth of feeling springs up. and if any one thinks that this comes from a sense of weakness, that each may have some one to help him to his particular need, all i can say is that, when he maintains it to be born of want and poverty, he allows to friendship an origin very base, and a pedigree, if i may be allowed the expression, far from noble. if this had been the case, a man's inclination to friendship would be exactly in proportion to his low opinion of his own resources. whereas the truth is quite the other way. for when a man's confidence in himself is greatest, when he is so fortified by virtue and wisdom as to want nothing and to feel absolutely self-dependent, it is then that he is most conspicuous for seeking out and keeping up friendships. did africanus, for example, want anything of me? not the least in the world! neither did i of him. in my case it was an admiration of his virtue, in his an opinion, may be, which he entertained of my character, that caused our affection. closer intimacy added to the warmth of our feelings. but though many great material advantages did ensue, they were not the source from which our affection proceeded. for as we are not beneficent and liberal with any view of extorting gratitude, and do not regard an act of kindness as an investment, but follow a natural inclination to liberality; so we look on friendship as worth trying for, not because we are attracted to it by the expectation of ulterior gain, but in the conviction that what it has to give us is from first to last included in the feeling itself. far different is the view of those who, like brute beasts, refer everything to sensual pleasure. and no wonder. men who have degraded all their powers of thought to an object so mean and contemptible can of course raise their eyes to nothing lofty, to nothing grand and divine. such persons indeed let us leave out of the present question. and let us accept the doctrine that the sensation of love and the warmth of inclination have their origin in a spontaneous feeling which arises directly the presence of probity is indicated. when once men have conceived the inclination, they of course try to attach themselves to the object of it, and move themselves nearer and nearer to him. their aim is that they may be on the same footing and the same level in regard to affection, and be more inclined to do a good service than to ask a return, and that there should be this noble rivalry between them. thus both truths will be established. we shall get the most important material advantages from friendship; and its origin from a natural impulse rather than from a sense of need will be at once more dignified and more in accordance with fact. for if it were true that its material advantages cemented friendship, it would be equally true that any change in them would dissolve it. but nature being incapable of change, it follows that genuine friendships are eternal. so much for the origin of friendship. but perhaps you would not care to hear any more. _fannius_. nay, pray go on; let us have the rest, laelius. i take on myself to speak for my friend here as his senior. _scaevola_. quite right! therefore, pray let us hear. . _loelius_. well, then, my good friends, listen to some conversations about friendship which very frequently passed between scipio and myself. i must begin by telling you, however, that he used to say that the most difficult thing in the world was for a friendship to remain unimpaired to the end of life. so many things might intervene: conflicting interests; differences of opinion in politics; frequent changes in character, owing sometimes to misfortunes, sometimes to advancing years. he used to illustrate these facts from the analogy of boyhood, since the warmest affections between boys are often laid aside with the boyish toga; and even if they did manage to keep them up to adolescence, they were sometimes broken by a rivalry in courtship, or for some other advantage to which their mutual claims were not compatible. even if the friendship was prolonged beyond that time, yet it frequently received a rude shock should the two happen to be competitors for office. for while the most fatal blow to friendship in the majority of cases was the lust of gold, in the case of the best men it was a rivalry for office and reputation, by which it had often happened that the most violent enmity had arisen between the closest friends. again, wide breaches and, for the most part, justifiable ones were caused by an immoral request being made of friends, to pander to a man's unholy desires or to assist him in inflicting a wrong. a refusal, though perfectly right, is attacked by those to whom they refuse compliance as a violation of the laws of friendship. now the people who have no scruples as to the requests they make to their friends, thereby allow that they are ready to have no scruples as to what they will do for their friends; and it is the recriminations of such people which commonly not only quench friendships, but give rise to lasting enmities. "in fact," he used to say, "these fatalities overhang friendship in such numbers that it requires not only wisdom but good luck also to escape them all." . with these premises, then, let us first, if you please, examine the question--how far ought personal feeling to go in friendship? for instance: suppose coriolanus to have had friends, ought they to have joined him in invading his country? again, in the case of vecellinus or spurius maelius, ought their friends to have assisted them in their attempt to establish a tyranny? take two instances of either line of conduct. when tiberius gracchus attempted his revolutionary measures he was deserted, as we saw, by quintus tubero and the friends of his own standing. on the other hand, a friend of your own family, scaevola, gaius blossius of cumae, took a different course. i was acting as assessor to the consuls laenas and rupilius to try the conspirators, and blossius pleaded for my pardon on the ground that his regard for tiberius gracchus had been so high that he looked upon his wishes as law. "even if he had wished you to set fire to the capitol?" said i. "that is a thing," he replied, "that he never would have wished." "ah, but if he had wished it?" said i. "i would have obeyed." the wickedness of such a speech needs no comment. and in point of fact he was as good and better than his word for he did not wait for orders in the audacious proceedings of tiberius gracchus, but was the head and front of them, and was a leader rather than an abettor of his madness. the result of his infatuation was that he fled to asia, terrified by the special commission appointed to try him, joined the enemies of his country, and paid a penalty to the republic as heavy as it was deserved. i conclude, then, that the plea of having acted in the interests of a friend is not a valid excuse for a wrong action. for, seeing that a belief in a man's virtue is the original cause of friendship, friendship can hardly remain if virtue he abandoned. but if we decide it to be right to grant our friends whatever they wish, and to ask them for whatever we wish, perfect wisdom must be assumed on both sides if no mischief is to happen. but we cannot assume this perfect wisdom; for we are speaking only of such friends as are ordinarily to be met with, whether we have actually seen them or have been told about them--men, that is to say, of everyday life. i must quote some examples of such persons, taking care to select such as approach nearest to our standard of wisdom. we read, for instance, that papus aemilius was a close friend of gaius luscinus. history tells us that they were twice consuls together, and colleagues in the censorship. again, it is on record that manius curius and tiberius coruncanius were on the most intimate terms with them and with each other. now, we cannot even suspect that any one of these men ever asked of his friend anything that militated against his honour or his oath or the interests of the republic. in the case of such men as these there is no point in saying that one of them would not have obtained such a request if he had made it; for they were men of the most scrupulous piety, and the making of such a request would involve a breach of religious obligation no less than the granting it. however, it is quite true that gaius carbo and gaius cato did follow tiberius gracchus; and though his brother caius gracchus did not do so at the time, he is now the most eager of them all. . we may then lay down this rule of friendship--neither ask nor consent to do what is wrong. for the plea "for friendship's sake" is a discreditable one, and not to be admitted for a moment. this rule holds good for all wrong-doing, but more especially in such as involves disloyalty to the republic. for things have come to such a point with us, my dear fannius and scaevola, that we are bound to look somewhat far ahead to what is likely to happen to the republic. the constitution, as known to our ancestors, has already swerved somewhat from the regular course and the lines marked out for it. tiberius gracchus made an attempt to obtain the power of a king, or, i might rather say, enjoyed that power for a few months. had the roman people ever heard or seen the like before? what the friends and connexions that followed him, even after his death, have succeeded in doing in the case of publius scipio i cannot describe without tears. as for carbo, thanks to the punishment recently inflicted on tiberius gracchus, we have by hook or by crook managed to hold out against his attacks. but what to expect of the tribuneship of caius gracchus i do not like to forecast. one thing leads to another; and once set going, the downward course proceeds with ever-increasing velocity. there is the case of the ballot: what a blow was inflicted first by the lex gabinia, and two years afterwards by the lex cassia! i seem already to see the people estranged from the senate, and the most important affairs at the mercy of the multitude. for you may be sure that more people will learn how to set such things in motion than how to stop them. what is the point of these remarks? this: no one ever makes any attempt of this sort without friends to help him. we must therefore impress upon good men that, should they become inevitably involved in friendships with men of this kind, they ought not to consider themselves under any obligation to stand by friends who are disloyal to the republic. bad men must have the fear of punishment before their eyes: a punishment not less severe for those who follow than for those who lead others to crime. who was more famous and powerful in greece than themistocles? at the head of the army in the persian war he had freed greece; he owed his exile to personal envy: but he did not submit to the wrong done him by his ungrateful country as he ought to have done. he acted as coriolanus had acted among us twenty years before. but no one was found to help them in their attacks upon their fatherland. both of them accordingly committed suicide. we conclude, then, not only that no such confederation of evilly disposed men must be allowed to shelter itself under the plea of friendship, but that, on the contrary, it must be visited with the severest punishment, lest the idea should prevail that fidelity to a friend justifies even making war upon one's country. and this is a case which i am inclined to think, considering how things are beginning to go, will sooner or later arise. and i care quite as much what the state of the constitution will be after my death as what it is now. . let this, then, be laid down as the first law of friendship, that _we should ask from friends, and do for friends', only what is good_. but do not let us wait to be asked either: let there be ever an eager readiness, and an absence of hesitation. let us have the courage to give advice with candour. in friendship, let the influence of friends who give good advice be paramount; and let this influence be used to enforce advice not only in plain-spoken terms, but sometimes, if the case demands it, with sharpness; and when so used, let it be obeyed. i give you these rules because i believe that some wonderful opinions are entertained by certain persons who have, i am told, a reputation for wisdom in greece. there is nothing in the world, by the way, beyond the reach of their sophistry. well, some of them teach that we should avoid very close friendships, for fear that one man should have to endure the anxieties of several. each man, say they, has enough and to spare on his own hands; it is too bad to be involved in the cares of other people. the wisest course is to hold the reins of friendship as loose as possible; you can then tighten or slacken them at your will. for the first condition of a happy life is freedom from care, which no one's mind can enjoy if it has to travail, so to speak, for others besides itself. another sect, i am told, gives vent to opinions still less generous. i briefly touched on this subject just now. they affirm that friendships should be sought solely for the sake of the assistance they give, and not at all from motives of feeling and affection; and that therefore just in proportion as a man's power and means of support are lowest, he is most eager to gain friendships: thence it comes that weak women seek the support of friendship more than men, the poor more than the rich, the unfortunate rather than those esteemed prosperous. what noble philosophy! you might just as well take the sun out of the sky as friendship from life; for the immortal gods have given us nothing better or more delightful. but let us examine the two doctrines. what is the value of this "freedom from care"? it is very tempting at first sight, but in practice it has in many cases to be put on one side. for there is no business and no course of action demanded from us by our honour which you can consistently decline, or lay aside when begun, from a mere wish to escape from anxiety. nay, if we wish to avoid anxiety we must avoid virtue itself, which necessarily involves some anxious thoughts in showing its loathing and abhorrence for the qualities which are opposite to itself--as kindness for ill-nature, self-control for licentiousness, courage for cowardice. thus you may notice that it is the just who are most pained at injustice, the brave at cowardly actions, the temperate at depravity. it is then characteristic of a rightly ordered mind to be pleased at what is good and grieved at the reverse. seeing then that the wise are not exempt from the heart-ache (which must be the case unless we suppose all human nature rooted out of their hearts), why should we banish friendship from our lives, for fear of being involved by it in some amount of distress? if you take away emotion, what difference remains i don't say between a man and a beast, but between a man and a stone or a log of wood, or anything else of that kind? neither should we give any weight to the doctrine that virtue is something rigid and unyielding as iron. in point of fact it is in regard to friendship, as in so many other things, so supple and sensitive that it expands, so to speak, at a friend's good fortune, contracts at his misfortunes. we conclude then that mental pain which we must often encounter on a friend's account is not of sufficient consequence to banish friendship from our life, any more than it is true that the cardinal virtues are to be dispensed with because they involve certain anxieties and distresses. . let me repeat then, "the clear indication of virtue, to which a mind of like character is naturally attracted, is the beginning of friendship." when that is the case the rise of affection is a necessity. for what can be more irrational than to take delight in many objects incapable of response, such as office, fame, splendid buildings, and personal decoration, and yet to take little or none in a sentient being endowed with virtue, which has the faculty of loving or, if i may use the expression, loving back? for nothing is really more delightful than a return of affection, and the mutual interchange of kind feeling and good offices. and if we add, as we may fairly do, that nothing so powerfully attracts and draws one thing to itself as likeness does to friendship, it will at once be admitted to be true that the good love the good and attach them to themselves as though they were united by blood and nature. for nothing can be more eager, or rather greedy, for what is like itself than nature. so, my dear fannius and scaevola, we may look upon this as an established fact, that between good men there is, as it were of necessity, a kindly feeling, which is the source of friendship ordained by nature. but this same kindliness affects the many also. for that is no unsympathetic or selfish or exclusive virtue, which protects even whole nations and consults their best interests. and that certainly it would not have done had it disdained all affection for the common herd. again, the believers in the "interest" theory appear to me to destroy the most attractive link in the chain of friendship. for it is not so much what one gets by a friend that gives one pleasure, as the warmth of his feeling; and we only care for a friend's service if it has been prompted by affection. and so far from its being true that lack of means is a motive for seeking friendship, it is usually those who being most richly endowed with wealth and means, and above all with virtue (which, after all, is a man's best support), are least in need of another, that are most openhanded and beneficent. indeed i am inclined to think that friends ought at times to be in want of something. for instance, what scope would my affections have had if scipio had never wanted my advice or co-operation at home or abroad? it is not friendship, then, that follows material advantage, but material advantage friendship. . we must not therefore listen to these superfine gentlemen when they talk of friendship, which they know neither in theory nor in practice. for who, in heaven's name, would choose a life of the greatest wealth and abundance on condition of neither loving or being beloved by any creature? that is the sort of life tyrants endure. they, of course, can count on no fidelity, no affection, no security for the goodwill of any one. for them all is suspicion and anxiety; for them there is no possibility of friendship. who can love one whom he fears, or by whom he knows that he is feared? yet such men have a show of friendship offered them, but it is only a fair-weather show. if it ever happen that they fall, as it generally does, they will at once understand how friendless they are. so they say tarquin observed in his exile that he never knew which of his friends were real and which sham, until he had ceased to be able to repay either. though what surprises me is that a man of his proud and overbearing character should have a friend at all. and as it was his character that prevented his having genuine friends, so it often happens in the case of men of unusually great means--their very wealth forbids faithful friendships. for not only is fortune blind herself; but she generally makes those blind also who enjoy her favours. they are carried, so to speak, beyond themselves with self-conceit and self-will; nor can anything be more perfectly intolerable than a successful fool. you may often see it. men who before had pleasant manners enough undergo a complete change on attaining power of office. they despise their old friends: devote themselves to new. now, can anything be more foolish than that men who have all the opportunities which prosperity, wealth, and great means can bestow, should secure all else which money can buy--horses, servants, splendid upholstering, and costly plate--but do not secure friends, who are, if i may use the expression, the most valuable and beautiful furniture of life? and yet, when they acquire the former, they know not who will enjoy them, nor for whom they may be taking all this trouble; for they will one and all eventually belong to the strongest: while each man has a stable and inalienable ownership in his friendships. and even if those possessions, which are, in a manner, the gifts of fortune, do prove permanent, life can never be anything but joyless which is without the consolations and companionship of friends. . to turn to another branch of our subject. we must now endeavour to ascertain what limits are to be observed in friendship--what is the boundary-line, so to speak, beyond which our affection is not to go. on this point i notice three opinions, with none of which i agree. one is _that we should love our friend just as much as we love ourselves, and no more; another, that our affection to them should exactly correspond and equal theirs to us; a third, that a man should be valued at exactly the same rate as he values himself_. to not one of these opinions do i assent. the first, which holds that our regard for ourselves is to be the measure of our regard for our friend, is not true; for how many things there are which we would never have done for our own sakes, but do for the sake of a friend! we submit to make requests from unworthy people, to descend even to supplication; to be sharper in invective, more violent in attack. such actions are not creditable in our own interests, but highly so in those of our friends. there are many advantages too which men of upright character voluntarily forego, or of which they are content to be deprived, that their friends may enjoy them rather than themselves. the second doctrine is that which limits friendship to an exact equality in mutual good offices and good feelings. but such a view reduces friendship to a question of figures in a spirit far too narrow and illiberal, as though the object were to have an exact balance in a debtor and creditor account. true friendship appears to me to be something richer and more generous than that comes to; and not to be so narrowly on its guard against giving more than it receives. in such a matter we must not be always afraid of something being wasted or running over in our measure, or of more than is justly due being devoted to our friendship. but the last limit proposed is the worst, namely, that a friend's estimate of himself is to be the measure of our estimate of him. it often happens that a man has too humble an idea of himself, or takes too despairing a view of his chance of bettering his fortune. in such a case a friend ought not to take the view of him which he takes of himself. rather he should do all he can to raise his drooping spirits, and lead him to more cheerful hopes and thoughts. we must then find some other limit. but i must first mention the sentiment which used to call forth scipio's severest criticism. he often said that no one ever gave utterance to anything more diametrically opposed to the spirit of friendship than the author of the dictum, "you should love your friend with the consciousness that you may one day hate him." he could not be induced to believe that it was rightfully attributed to bias, who was counted as one of the seven sages. it was the sentiment of some person with sinister motives or selfish ambition, or who regarded everything as it affected his own supremacy. how can a man be friends with another, if he thinks it possible that he may be his enemy? why, it will follow that he must wish and desire his friend to commit as many mistakes as possible, that he may have all the more handles against him; and, conversely, that he must be annoyed, irritated, and jealous at the right actions or good fortune of his friends. this maxim, then, let it be whose it will, is the utter destruction of friendship. the true rule is to take such care in the selection of our friends as never to enter upon a friendship with a man whom we could under any circumstances come to hate. and even if we are unlucky in our choice, we must put up with it--according to scipio--in preference to making calculations as to a future breach. . the real limit to be observed in friendship is this: the characters of two friends must be stainless. there must be complete harmony of interests, purpose, and aims, without exception. then if the case arises of a friend's wish (not strictly right in itself) calling for support in a matter involving his life or reputation, we must make some concession from the straight path--on condition, that is to say, that extreme disgrace is not the consequence. something must be conceded to friendship. and yet we must not be entirely careless of our reputation, nor regard the good opinion of our fellow-citizens as a weapon which we can afford to despise in conducting the business of our life, however lowering it may be to tout for it by flattery and smooth words. we must by no means abjure virtue, which secures us affection. but to return again to scipio, the sole author of the discourse on friendship. he used to complain that there was nothing on which men bestowed so little pains: that every one could tell exactly how many goats or sheep he had, but not how many friends; and while they took pains in procuring the former, they were utterly careless in selecting friends, and possessed no particular marks, so to speak, or tokens by which they might judge of their suitability for friendship. now the qualities we ought to look out for in making our selection are firmness, stability, constancy. there is a plentiful lack of men so endowed, and it is difficult to form a judgment without testing. now this testing can only be made during the actual existence of the friendship; for friendship so often precedes the formation of a judgment, and makes a previous test impossible. if we are prudent then, we shall rein in our impulse to affection as we do chariot horses. we make a preliminary trial of horses. so we should of friendship; and should test our friends' characters by a kind of tentative friendship. it may often happen that the untrustworthiness of certain men is completely displayed in a small money matter; others who are proof against a small sum are detected if it be large. but even if some are found who think it mean to prefer money to friendship, where shall we look for those who put friendship before office, civil or military promotions, and political power, and who, when the choice lies between these things on the one side and the claims of friendship on the other, do not give a strong preference to the former? it is not in human nature to be indifferent to political power; and if the price men have to pay for it is the sacrifice of friendship, they think their treason will be thrown into the shade by the magnitude of the reward. this is why true friendship is very difficult to find among those who engage in politics and the contest for office. where can you find the man to prefer his friend's advancement to his own? and to say nothing of that, think how grievous and almost intolerable it is to most men to share political disaster. you will scarcely find anyone who can bring himself to do that. and though what ennius says is quite true,--" the hour of need shews the friend indeed,"--yet it is in these two ways that most people betray their untrustworthiness and inconstancy, by looking down on friends when they are themselves prosperous, or deserting them in their distress. a man, then, who has shewn a firm, unshaken, and unvarying friendship in both these contingencies we must reckon as one of a class the rarest in the world, and all but superhuman. . now, what is the quality to look out for as a warrant for the stability and permanence of friendship? it is loyalty. nothing that lacks this can be stable. we should also in making our selection look out for simplicity, a social disposition, and a sympathetic nature, moved by what moves us. these all contribute to maintain loyalty. you can never trust a character which is intricate and tortuous. nor, indeed, is it possible for one to be trustworthy and firm who is unsympathetic by nature and unmoved by what affects ourselves. we may add, that he must neither take pleasure in bringing accusations against us himself, nor believe them when they are brought. all these contribute to form that constancy which i have been endeavouring to describe. and the result is, what i started by saying, that friendship is only possible between good men. now there are two characteristic features in his treatment of his friends that a good (which may be regarded as equivalent to a wise) man will always display. first, he will be entirely without any make-believe or pretence of feeling; for the open display even of dislike is more becoming to an ingenuous character than a studied concealment of sentiment. secondly, he will not only reject all accusations brought against his friend by another, but he will not be suspicious himself either, nor be always thinking that his friend has acted improperly. besides this, there should be a certain pleasantness in word and manner which adds no little flavour to friendship. a gloomy temper and unvarying gravity may be very impressive; but friendship should be a little less unbending, more indulgent and gracious, and more inclined to all kinds of good-fellowship and good-nature. . but here arises a question of some little difficulty. are there any occasions on which, assuming their worthiness, we should prefer new to old friends, just as we prefer young to aged horses? the answer admits of no doubt whatever. for there should be no satiety in friendship, as there is in other things. the older the sweeter, as in wines that keep well. and the proverb is a true one, "you must eat many a peck of salt with a man to be thorough friends with him." novelty, indeed, has its advantage, which we must not despise. there is always hope of fruit, as there is in healthy blades of corn. but age too must have its proper position; and, in fact, the influence of time and habit is very great. to recur to the illustration of the horse which i have just now used. every one likes _ceteris paribus_ to use the horse to which he has been accustomed, rather than one that is untried and new. and it is not only in the case of a living thing that this rule holds good, but in inanimate things also; for we like places where we have lived the longest, even though they are mountainous and covered with forest. but here is another golden rule in friendship: _put yourself on a level with your friend_. for it often happens that there are certain superiorities, as for example scipio's in what i may call our set. now he never assumed any airs of superiority over philus, or rupilius, or mummius, or over friends of a lower rank still. for instance, he always shewed a deference to his brother quintus maximus because he was his senior, who, though a man no doubt of eminent character, was by no means his equal. he used also to wish that all his friends should be the better for his support. this is an example we should all follow. if any of us have any advantage in personal character, intellect, or fortune, we should be ready to make our friends sharers and partners in it with ourselves. for instance, if their parents are in humble circumstances, if their relations are powerful neither in intellect nor means, we should supply their deficiencies and promote their rank and dignity. you know the legends of children brought up as servants in ignorance of their parentage and family. when they are recognized and discovered to be the sons of gods or kings, they still retain their affection for the shepherds whom they have for many years looked upon as their parents. much more ought this to be so in the case of real and undoubted parents. for the advantages of genius and virtue, and in short, of every kind of superiority, are never realized to their fullest extent until they are bestowed upon our nearest and dearest. . but the converse must also be observed. for in friendship and relationship, just as those who possess any superiority must put themselves on an equal footing with those who are less fortunate, so these latter must not be annoyed at being surpassed in genius, fortune, or rank. but most people of that sort are forever either grumbling at something, or harping on their claims; and especially if they consider that they have services of their own to allege involving zeal and friendship and some trouble to themselves. people who are always bringing up their services are a nuisance. the recipient ought to remember them; the performer should never mention them. in the case of friends, then, as the superior are bound to descend, so are they bound in a certain sense to raise those below them. for there are people who make their friendship disagreeable by imagining themselves undervalued. this generally happens only to those who think that they deserve to be so; and they ought to be shewn by deeds as well as by words the groundlessness of their opinion. now the measure of your benefits should be in the first place your own power to bestow, and in the second place the capacity to bear them on the part of him on whom you are bestowing affection and help. for, however great your personal prestige may be, you cannot raise all your friends to the highest offices of the state. for instance, scipio was able to make publius rupilius consul, but not his brother lucius. but granting that you can give anyone anything you choose, you must have a care that it does not prove to be beyond his powers. as a general rule, we must wait to make up our mind about friendships till men's characters and years have arrived at their full strength and development. people must not, for instance, regard as fast friends all whom in their youthful enthusiasm for hunting or football they liked for having the same tastes. by that rule, if it were a mere question of time, no one would have such claims on our affections as nurses and slave-tutors. not that they are to be neglected, but they stand on a different ground. it is only these mature friendships that can be permanent. for difference of character leads to difference of aims, and the result of such diversity is to estrange friends. the sole reason, for instance, which prevents good men from making friends with bad, or bad with good, is that the divergence of their characters and aims is the greatest possible. another good rule in friendship is this: do not let an excessive affection hinder the highest interests of your friends. this very often happens. i will go again to the region of fable for an instance. neoptolemus could never have taken troy if he had been willing to listen to lycomedes, who had brought him up, and with many tears tried to prevent his going there. again, it often happens that important business makes it necessary to part from friends: the man who tries to baulk it, because he thinks that he cannot endure the separation, is of a weak and effeminate nature, and on that very account makes but a poor friend. there are, of course, limits to what you ought to expect from a friend and to what you should allow him to demand of you. and these you must take into calculation in every case. . again, there is such a disaster, so to speak, as having to break off friendship. and sometimes it is one we cannot avoid. for at this point the stream of our discourse is leaving the intimacies of the wise and touching on the friendship of ordinary people. it will happen at times that an outbreak of vicious conduct affects either a man's friends themselves or strangers, yet the discredit falls on the friends. in such cases friendships should be allowed to die out gradually by an intermission of intercourse. they should, as i have been told that cato used to say, rather be unstitched than torn in twain; unless, indeed, the injurious conduct be of so violent and outrageous a nature as to make an instant breach and separation the only possible course consistent with honour and rectitude. again, if a change in character and aim takes place, as often happens, or if party politics produces an alienation of feeling (i am now speaking, as i said a short time ago, of ordinary friendships, not of those of the wise), we shall have to be on our guard against appearing to embark upon active enmity while we only mean to resign a friendship. for there can be nothing more discreditable than to be at open war with a man with whom you have been intimate. scipio, as you are aware, had abandoned his friendship for quintus pompeius on my account; and again, from differences of opinion in politics, he became estranged from my colleague metellus. in both cases he acted with dignity and moderation, shewing that he was offended indeed, but without rancour. our first object, then, should be to prevent a breach; our second, to secure that, if it does occur, our friendship should seem to have died a natural rather than a violent death. next, we should take care that friendship is not converted into active hostility, from which flow personal quarrels, abusive language, and angry recriminations. these last, however, provided that they do not pass all reasonable limits of forbearance, we ought to put up with, and, in compliment to an old friendship, allow the party that inflicts the injury, not the one that submits to it, to be in the wrong. generally speaking, there is but one way of securing and providing oneself against faults and inconveniences of this sort--not to be too hasty in bestowing our affection, and not to bestow it at all on unworthy objects. now, by "worthy of friendship" i mean those who have in themselves the qualities which attract affection. this sort of man is rare; and indeed all excellent things are rare; and nothing in the world is so hard to find as a thing entirely and completely perfect of its kind. but most people not only recognize nothing as good in our life unless it is profitable, but look upon friends as so much stock, caring most for those by whom they hope to make most profit. accordingly they never possess that most beautiful and most spontaneous friendship which must be sought solely for itself without any ulterior object. they fail also to learn from their own feelings the nature and the strength of friendship. for every one loves himself, not for any reward which such love may bring, but because he is dear to himself independently of anything else. but unless this feeling is transferred to another, what a real friend is will never be revealed; for he is, as it were, a second self. but if we find these two instincts shewing themselves in animals,--whether of the air or the sea or the land, whether wild or tame,--first, a love of self, which in fact is born in everything that lives alike; and, secondly, an eagerness to find and attach themselves to other creatures of their own kind; and if this natural action is accompanied by desire and by something resembling human love, how much more must this be the case in man by the law of his nature? for man not only loves himself, but seeks another whose spirit he may so blend with his own as almost to make one being of two. . but most people unreasonably, not to speak of modesty, want such a friend as they are unable to be themselves, and expect from their friends what they do not themselves give. the fair course is first to be good yourself, and then to look out for another of like character. it is between such that the stability in friendship of which we have been talking can be secured; when, that is to say, men who are united by affection learn, first of all, to rule those passions which enslave others, and in the next place to take delight in fair and equitable conduct, to bear each other's burdens, never to ask each other for anything inconsistent with virtue and rectitude, and not only to serve and love but also to respect each other. i say "respect"; for if respect is gone, friendship has lost its brightest jewel. and this shows the mistake of those who imagine that friendship gives a privilege to licentiousness and sin. nature has given us friendship as the handmaid of virtue, not as a partner in guilt: to the end that virtue, being powerless when isolated to reach the highest objects, might succeed in doing so in union and partnership with another. those who enjoy in the present, or have enjoyed in the past, or are destined to enjoy in the future such a partnership as this, must be considered to have secured the most excellent and auspicious combination for reaching nature's highest good. this is the partnership, i say, which combines moral rectitude, fame, peace of mind, serenity: all that men think desirable because with them life is happy, but without them cannot be so. this being our best and highest object, we must, if we desire to attain it, devote ourselves to virtue; for without virtue we can obtain neither friendship nor anything else desirable. in fact, if virtue be neglected, those who imagine themselves to possess friends will find out their error as soon as some grave disaster forces them to make trial of them. wherefore, i must again and again repeat, you must satisfy your judgment before engaging your affections: not love first and judge afterwards. we suffer from carelessness in many of our undertakings: in none more than in selecting and cultivating our friends. we put the cart before the horse, and shut the stable door when the steed is stolen, in defiance of the old proverb. for, having mutually involved ourselves in a long-standing intimacy or by actual obligations, all on a sudden some cause of offence arises and we break off our friendships in full career. . it is this that makes such carelessness in a matter of supreme importance all the more worthy of blame. i say "supreme importance," because friendship is the one thing about the utility of which everybody with one accord is agreed. that is not the case in regard even to virtue itself; for many people speak slightingly of virtue as though it were mere puffing and self-glorification. nor is it the case with riches. many look down on riches, being content with a little and taking pleasure in poor fare and dress, and as to the political offices for which some have a burning desire--how many entertain such a contempt for them as to think nothing in the world more empty and trivial! and so on with the rest; things desirable in the eyes of some are regarded by very many as worthless. but of friendship all think alike to a man, whether those have devoted themselves to politics, or those who delight in science and philosophy, or those who follow a private way of life and care for nothing but their own business, or those lastly who have given themselves body and soul to sensuality--they all think, i say, that without friendship life is no life, if they want some part of it, at any rate, to be noble. for friendship, in one way or another, penetrates into the lives of us all, and suffers no career to be entirely free from its influence. though a man be of so churlish and unsociable a nature as to loathe and shun the company of mankind, as we are told was the case with a certain timon at athens, yet even he cannot refrain from seeking some one in whose hearing he may disgorge the venom of his bitter temper. we should see this most clearly, if it were possible that some god should carry us away from these haunts of men, and place us somewhere in perfect solitude, and then should supply us in abundance with everything necessary to our nature, and yet take from us entirely the opportunity of looking upon a human being. who could steel himself to endure such a life? who would not lose in his loneliness the zest for all pleasures? and indeed this is the point of the observation of, i think, archytas of tarentum. i have it third hand; men who were my seniors told me that their seniors had told them. it was this: "if a man could ascend to heaven and get a clear view of the natural order of the universe, and the beauty of the heavenly bodies, that wonderful spectacle would give him small pleasure, though nothing could be conceived more delightful if he had but had some one to whom to tell what he had seen." so true it is that nature abhors isolation, and ever leans upon something as a stay and support; and this is found in its most pleasing form in our closest friend. . but though nature also declares by so many indications what her wish and object and desire is, we yet in a manner turn a deaf ear and will not hear her warnings. the intercourse between friends is varied and complex, and it must often happen that causes of suspicion and offence arise, which a wise man will sometimes avoid, at other times remove, at others treat with indulgence. the one possible cause of offence that must be faced is when the interests of your friend and your own sincerity are at stake. for instance, it often happens that friends need remonstrance and even reproof. when these are administered in a kindly spirit they ought to be taken in good part. but somehow or other there is truth in what my friend terence says in his _andria_: compliance gets us friends, plain speaking hate. plain speaking is a cause of trouble, if the result of it is resentment, which is poison of friendship; but compliance is really the cause of much more trouble, because by indulging his faults it lets a friend plunge into headlong ruin. but the man who is most to blame is he who resents plain speaking and allows flattery to egg him on to his ruin. on this point, then, from first to last there is need of deliberation and care. if we remonstrate, it should be without bitterness; if we reprove, there should be no word of insult. in the matter of compliance (for i am glad to adopt terence's word), though there should be every courtesy, yet that base kind which assists a man in vice should be far from us, for it is unworthy of a free-born man, to say nothing of a friend. it is one thing to live with a tyrant, another with a friend. but if a man's ears are so closed to plain speaking that he cannot bear to hear the truth from a friend, we may give him up in despair. this remark of cato's, as so many of his did, shews great acuteness: "there are people who owe more to bitter enemies than to apparently pleasant friends: the former often speak the truth, the latter never." besides, it is a strange paradox that the recipients of advice should feel no annoyance where they ought to feel it, and yet feel so much where they ought not. they are not at all vexed at having committed a fault, but very angry at being reproved for it. on the contrary, they ought to be grieved at the crime and glad of the correction. . well, then, if it is true that to give and receive advice--the former with freedom and yet without bitterness, the latter with patience and without irritation--is peculiarly appropriate to genuine friendship, it is no less true that there can be nothing more utterly subversive of friendship than flattery, adulation, and base compliance. i use as many terms as possible to brand this vice of light-minded, untrustworthy men, whose sole object in speaking is to please without any regard to truth. in everything false pretence is bad, for it suspends and vitiates our power of discerning the truth. but to nothing it is so hostile as to friendship; for it destroys that frankness without which friendship is an empty name. for the essence of friendship being that two minds become as one, how can that ever take place if the mind of each of the separate parties to it is not single and uniform, but variable, changeable, and complex? can anything be so pliable, so wavering, as the mind of a man whose attitude depends not only on another's feeling and wish, but on his very looks and nods? if one says "no," i answer "no"; if "yes," i answer "yes." in fine, i've laid this task upon myself to echo all that's said-- to quote my old friend terence again. but he puts these words into the mouth of a gnatho. to admit such a man into one's intimacy at all is a sign of folly. but there are many people like gnatho, and it is when they are superior either in position or fortune or reputation that their flatteries become mischievous, the weight of their position making up for the lightness of their character. but if we only take reasonable care, it is as easy to separate and distinguish a genuine from a specious friend as anything else that is coloured and artificial from what is sincere and genuine. a public assembly, though composed of men of the smallest possible culture, nevertheless will see clearly the difference between a mere demagogue (that is, a flatterer and untrustworthy citizen) and a man of principle, standing, and solidity. it was by this kind of flattering language that gaius papirius the other day endeavoured to tickle the ears of the assembled people, when proposing his law to make the tribunes re-eligible. i spoke against it. but i will leave the personal question. i prefer speaking of scipio. good heavens! how impressive his speech was, what a majesty there was in it! you would have pronounced him, without hesitation, to be no mere henchman of the roman people, but their leader. however, you were there, and moreover have the speech in your hands. the result was that a law meant to please the people was by the people's votes rejected. once more to refer to myself, you remember how apparently popular was the law proposed by gaius licinius crassus "about the election to the college of priests" in the consulship of quintus maximus, scipio's brother, and lucius mancinus. for the power of filling up their own vacancies on the part of the colleges was by this proposal to be transferred to the people. it was this man, by the way, who began the practice of turning towards the forum when addressing the people. in spite of this, however, upon my speaking on the conservative side, religion gained an easy victory over his plausible speech. this took place in my praetorship, five years before i was elected consul, which shows that the cause was successfully maintained more by the merits of the case than by the prestige of the highest office. . now, if on a stage, such as a public assembly essentially is, where there is the amplest room for fiction and half-truths, truth nevertheless prevails if it be but fairly laid open and brought into the light of day, what ought to happen in the case of friendship, which rests entirely on truthfulness? friendship, in which, unless you both see and show an open breast, to use a common expression, you can neither trust nor be certain of anything--no, not even of mutual affection, since you cannot be sure of its sincerity. however, this flattery, injurious as it is, can hurt no one but the man who takes it in and likes it. and it follows that the man to open his ears widest to flatterers is he who first flatters himself and is fondest of himself. i grant you that virtue naturally loves herself; for she knows herself and perceives how worthy of love she is. but i am not now speaking of absolute virtue, but of the belief men have that they possess virtue. the fact is that fewer people are endowed with virtue than wish to be thought to be so. it is such people that take delight in flattery. when they are addressed in language expressly adapted to flatter their vanity, they look upon such empty persiflage as a testimony to the truth of their own praises. it is not then properly friendship at all when the one will not listen to the truth, and the other is prepared to lie. nor would the servility of parasites in comedy have seemed humorous to us had there been no such things as braggart captains. "is thais really much obliged to me?" it would have been quite enough to answer "much," but he must needs say "immensely." your servile flatterer always exaggerates what his victim wishes to be put strongly. wherefore, though it is with those who catch at and invite it that this flattering falsehood is especially powerful, yet men even of soldier and steadier character must be warned to be on the watch against being taken in by cunningly disguised flattery. an open flatterer any one can detect, unless he is an absolute fool the covert insinuation of the cunning and the sly is what we have to be studiously on our guard against. his detection is not by any means the easiest thing in the world, for he often covers his servility under the guise of contradiction, and flatters by pretending to dispute, and then at last giving in and allowing himself to be beaten, that the person hoodwinked may think himself to have been the clearer-sighted. now what can be more degrading than to be thus hoodwinked? you must be on your guard against this happening to you, like the man in the _heiress_: how have i been befooled! no drivelling dotards on any stage were e'er so p ayed upon. for even on the stage we have no grosser representation of folly than that of short-sighted and credulous old men. but somehow or other i have strayed away from the friendship of the perfect, that is of the "wise" (meaning, of course, such "wisdom" as human nature is capable of), to the subject of vulgar, unsubstantial friendships. let us then return to our original theme, and at length bring that, too, to a conclusion. . well, then, fannius and mucius, i repeat what i said before. it is virtue, virtue, which both creates and preserves friendship. on it depends harmony of interest, permanence, fidelity. when virtue has reared her head and shewn the light of her countenance, and seen and recognised the same light in another, she gravitates towards it, and in her turn welcomes that which the other has to shew; and from it springs up a flame which you may call love or friendship as you please. both words are from the same root in latin; and love is just the cleaving to him whom you love without the prompting of need or any view to advantage--though this latter blossoms spontaneously on friendship, little as you may have looked for it. it is with such warmth of feeling that i cherished lucius paulus, marcus cato, galus gallus, publius nasica, tiberius gracchus, my dear scipio's father-in-law. it shines with even greater warmth when men are of the same age, as in the case of scipio and lucius furius, publius rupilius, spurius mummius, and myself. _en revanche_, in my old age i find comfort in the affection of young men, as in the case of yourselves and quintus tubero: nay more, i delight in the intimacy of such a very young man as publius rutilius and aulus verginius. and since the law of our nature and of our life is that a new generation is for ever springing up, the most desirable thing is that along with your contemporaries, with whom you started in the race, you may also teach what is to us the goal. but in view of the instability and perishableness of mortal things, we should be continually on the look-out for some to love and by whom to be loved; for if we lose affection and kindliness from our life, we lose all that gives it charm. for me, indeed, though torn away by a sudden stroke, scipio still lives and ever wilt live. for it was the virtue of the man that i loved, and that has not suffered death. and it is not my eyes only, because i had all my life a personal experience of it, that never lose sight of it: it will shine to posterity also with undimmed glory. no one will ever cherish a nobler ambition or a loftier hope without thinking his memory and his image the best to put before his eyes. i declare that of all the blessings which either fortune or nature has bestowed upon me i know none to compare with scipio's friendship. in it i found sympathy in public, counsel in private business; in it too a means of spending my leisure with unalloyed delight. never, to the best of my knowledge, did i offend him even in the most trivial point; never did i hear a word from him i could have wished unsaid. we had one house, one table, one style of living; and not only were we together on foreign service, but in our tours also and country sojourns. why speak of our eagerness to be ever gaining some knowledge, to be ever learning something, on which we spent all our leisure hours far from the gaze of the world? if the recollection and memory of these things had perished with the man, i could not possibly have endured the regret for one so closely united with me in life and affection. but these things have not perished; they are rather fed and strengthened by reflexion and memory. even supposing me to have been entirely bereft of them, still my time of life of itself brings me no small consolation: for i cannot have much longer now to bear this regret; and everything that is brief ought to be endurable, however severe. this is all i had to say on friendship. one piece of advice on parting. make up your minds to this. virtue (without which friendship is impossible) is first; but next to it, and to it alone, the greatest of all things is friendship. on old age . and should my service, titus, ease the weight of care that wrings your heart, and draw the sting which rankles there, what guerdon shall there he? for i may address you, atticus, in the lines in which flamininus was addressed by the man, who, poor in wealth, was rich in honour's gold, though i am well assured that you are not, as flamininus was, kept on the rack of care by night and day. for i know how well ordered and equable your mind is, and am fully aware that it was not a surname alone which you brought home with you from athens, but its culture and good sense. and yet i have an idea that you are at times stirred to the heart by the same circumstances as myself. to console you for these is a more serious matter, and must be put off to another time. for the present i have resolved to dedicate to you an essay on old age. for from the burden of impending or at least advancing age, common to us both, i would do something to relieve us both though as to yourself i am fully aware that you support and will support it, as you do everything else, with calmness and philosophy. but directly i resolved to write on old age, you at once occurred to me as deserving a gift of which both of us might take advantage. to myself, indeed, the composition of this book has been so delightful, that it has not only wiped away all the disagreeables of old age, but has even made it luxurious and delightful too. never, therefore, can philosophy be praised as highly as it deserves considering that its faithful disciple is able to spend every period of his life with unruffled feelings. however, on other subjects i have spoken at large, and shall often speak again: this book which i herewith send you is on old age. i have put the whole discourse not, as alisto of cos did, in the mouth of tithonus--for a mere fable would have lacked conviction--but in that of marcus cato when he was an old man, to give my essay greater weight. i represent laelius and scipio at his house expressing surprise at his carrying his years so lightly, and cato answering them. if he shall seem to shew somewhat more learning in this discourse than he generally did in his own books, put it down to the greek literature of which it is known that he became an eager student in his old age. but what need of more? cato's own words will at once explain all i feel about old age. m. cato. publius cornelius scipio africanus (the younger). gaius laelius. . _scipio_. many a time have i in conversation with my friend gaius laelius here expressed my admiration, marcus cato, of the eminent, nay perfect, wisdom displayed by you indeed at all points, but above everything because i have noticed that old age never seemed a burden to you, while to most old men it is so hateful that they declare themselves under a weight heavier than aetna. _cato_. your admiration is easily excited, it seems, my dear scipio and laelius. men, of course, who have no resources in themselves for securing a good and happy life find every age burdensome. but those who look for all happiness from within can never think anything bad which nature makes inevitable. in that category before anything else comes old age, to which all wish to attain, and at which all grumble when attained. such is folly's inconsistency and unreasonableness! they say that it is stealing upon them faster than they expected. in the first place, who compelled them to hug an illusion? for in what respect did old age steal upon manhood faster than manhood upon childhood? in the next place, in what way would old age have been less disagreeable to them if they were in their eight-hundredth year than in their eightieth? for their past, however long, when once it was past, would have no consolation for a stupid old age. wherefore, if it is your wont to admire my wisdom--and i would that it were worthy of your good opinion and of my own surname of sapiens--it really consists in the fact that i follow nature, the best of guides, as i would a god, and am loyal to her commands. it is not likely, if she has written the rest of the play well, that she has been careless about the last act like some idle poet. but after all some "last" was inevitable, just as to the berries of a tree and the fruits of the earth there comes in the fulness of time a period of decay and fall. a wise man will not make a grievance of this. to rebel against nature--is not that to fight like the giants with the gods? _laelius_. and yet, cato, you will do us a very great favour (i venture to speak for scipio as for myself) if--since we all hope, or at least wish, to become old men--you would allow us to learn from you in good time before it arrives, by what methods we may most easily acquire the strength to support the burden of advancing age. _cato_. i will do so without doubt, laelius, especially if, as you say, it will be agreeable to you both. _laelius_ we do wish very much, cato, if it is no trouble to you, to be allowed to see the nature of the bourne which you have reached after completing a long journey, as it were, upon which we too are bound to embark. . _cato_. i will do the best i can, laelius. it has often been my fortune to bear the complaints of my contemporaries--like will to like, you know, according to the old proverb--complaints to which men like c. salinator and sp. albinus, who were of consular rank and about my time, used to give vent. they were, first, that they had lost the pleasures of the senses, without which they did not regard life as life at all; and, secondly, that they were neglected by those from whom they had been used to receive attentions. such men appear to me to lay the blame on the wrong thing. for if it had been the fault of old age, then these same misfortunes would have befallen me and all other men of advanced years. but i have known many of them who never said a word of complaint against old age; for they were only too glad to be freed from the bondage of passion, and were not at all looked down upon by their friends. the fact is that the blame for all complaints of that kind is to be charged to character, not to a particular time of life. for old men who are reasonable and neither cross-grained nor churlish find old age tolerable enough: whereas unreason and churlishness cause uneasiness at every time of life. _laelius_ it is as you say, cato. but perhaps some one may suggest that it is your large means, wealth, and high position that make you think old age tolerable: whereas such good fortune only falls to few. _cato_. there is something in that, laelius, but by no means all. for instance, the story is told of the answer of themistocles in a wrangle with a certain seriphian, who asserted that he owed his brilliant position to the reputation of his country, not to his own. "if i had been a seriphian," said he, "even i should never have been famous, nor would you if you had been an athenian." something like this may be said of old age. for the philosopher himself could not find old age easy to bear in the depths of poverty, nor the fool feel it anything but a burden though he were a millionaire. you may be sure, my dear scipio and laelius, that the arms best adapted to old age are culture and the active exercise of the virtues. for if they have been maintained at every period--if one has lived much as well as long--the harvest they produce is wonderful, not only because they never fail us even in our last days (though that in itself is supremely important), but also because the consciousness of a well-spent life and the recollection of many virtuous actions are exceedingly delightful. . take the case of q. fabius maximus, the man, i mean, who recovered tarentum. when i was a young man and he an old one, i was as much attached to him as if he had been my contemporary. for that great man's serious dignity was tempered by courteous manners, nor had old age made any change in his character. true, he was not exactly an old man when my devotion to him began, yet he was nevertheless well on in life; for his first consulship fell in the year after my birth. when quite a stripling i went with him in his fourth consulship as a soldier in the ranks, on the expedition against capua, and in the fifth year after that against tarentum. four years after that i was elected quaestor, holding office in the consulship of tuditanus and cethegus, in which year, indeed, he as a very old man spoke in favour of the cincian law "on gifts and fees." now this man conducted wars with all the spirit of youth when he was far advanced in life, and by his persistence gradually wearied out hannibal, when rioting in all the confidence of youth. how brilliant are those lines of my friend ennius on him! for us, down beaten by the storms of fate, one man by wise delays restored the state. praise or dispraise moved not his constant mood, true to his purpose, to his country's good! down ever-lengthening avenues of fame thus shines and shall shine still his glorious name. again what vigilance, what profound skill did he show in the capture of tarentum! it was indeed in my hearing that he made the famous retort to salinator, who had retreated into the citadel after losing the town: "it was owing to me, quintus fabius, that you retook tarentum." "quite so," he replied with a laugh; "for had you not lost it, i should never have recovered it." nor was he less eminent in civil life than in war. in his second consulship, though his colleague would not move in the matter, he resisted as long as he could the proposal of the tribune c. flaminius to divide the territory of the picenians and gauls in free allotments in defiance of a resolution of the senate. again, though he was an augur, he ventured to say that whatever was done in the interests of the state was done with the best possible auspices, that any laws proposed against its interest were proposed against the auspices. i was cognisant of much that was admirable in that great man, but nothing struck me with greater astonishment than the way in which he bore the death of his son--a man of brilliant character and who had been consul. his funeral speech over him is in wide circulation, and when we read it, is there any philosopher of whom we do not think meanly? nor in truth was he only great in the light of day and in the sight of his fellow-citizens; he was still more eminent in private and at home. what a wealth of conversation! what weighty maxims! what a wide acquaintance with ancient history! what an accurate knowledge of the science of augury! for a roman, too, he had a great tincture of letters. he had a tenacious memory for military history of every sort, whether of roman or foreign wars. and i used at that time to enjoy his conversation with a passionate eagerness, as though i already divined, what actually turned out to be the case, that when he died there would be no one to teach me anything. . what then is the purpose of such a long disquisition on maximus? it is because you now see that an old age like his cannot conscientiously be called unhappy. yet it is after all true that everybody cannot be a scipio or a maximus, with stormings of cities, with battles by land and sea, with wars in which they themselves commanded, and with triumphs to recall. besides this there is a quiet, pure, and cultivated life which produces a calm and gentle old age, such as we have been told plato's was, who died at his writing-desk in his eighty-first year; or like that of isocrates, who says that he wrote the book called the panegyric in his ninety-fourth year, and who lived for five years afterwards; while his master gorgias of leontini completed a hundred and seven years without ever relaxing his diligence or giving up work. when some one asked him why he consented to remain so long alive--"i have no fault," said he, "to find with old age." that was a noble answer, and worthy of a scholar. for fools impute their own frailties and guilt to old age, contrary to the practice of ennui, whom i mentioned just now. in the lines-- like some brave steed that oft before the olympic wreath of victory bore, now by the weight of years oppressed, forgets the race, and takes his rest-- he compares his own old age to that of a high-spirited and successful race-horse. and him indeed you may very well remember. for the present consuls titus flamininus and manius acilius were elected in the nineteenth year after his death; and his death occurred in the consulship of caepio and philippus, the latter consul for the second time: in which year i, then sixty-six years old, spoke in favour of the voconian law in a voice that was still strong and with lungs still sound; while be, though seventy years old, supported two burdens considered the heaviest of all--poverty and old age--in such a way as to be all but fond of them. the fact is that when i come to think it over, i find that there are four reasons for old age being thought unhappy: first, that it withdraws us from active employments; second, that it enfeebles the body; third, that it deprives us of nearly all physical pleasures; fourth, that it is the next step to death. of each of these reasons, if you will allow me, let us examine the force and justice separately. . old age withdraws us from active employments. from which of them? do you mean from those carried on by youth and bodily strength? are there then no old men's employments to be after all conducted by the intellect, even when bodies are weak? so then q. maximus did nothing; nor l. aemilius--our father, scipio, and my excellent son's father-in-law! so with other old men--the fabricii, the guru and coruncanii--when they were supporting the state by their advice and influence, they were doing nothing! to old age appius claudius had the additional disadvantage of being blind; yet it was he who, when the senate was inclining towards a peace with pyrrhus and was for making a treaty, did not hesitate to say what ennius has embalmed in the verses: whither have swerved the souls so firm of yore? is sense grown senseless? can feet stand no more? and so on in a tone of the most passionate vehemence. you know the poem, and the speech of appius himself is extant. now, he delivered it seventeen years after his second consulship, there having been an interval of ten years between the two consulships, and he having been censor before his previous consulship. this will show you that at the time of the war with pyrrhus he was a very old man. yet this is the story handed down to us. there is therefore nothing in the arguments of those who say that old age takes no part in public business. they are like men who would say that a steersman does nothing in sailing a ship, because, while some of the crew are climbing the masts, others hurrying up and down the gangways, others pumping out the bilge water, he sits quietly in the stern holding the tiller. he does not do what young men do; nevertheless he does what is much more important and better. the great affairs of life are not performed by physical strength, or activity, or nimbleness of body, but by deliberation, character, expression of opinion. of these old age is not only not deprived, but, as a rule, has them in a greater degree. unless by any chance i, who as a soldier in the ranks, as military tribune, as legate, and as consul have been employed in various kinds of war, now appear to you to be idle because not actively engaged in war. but i enjoin upon the senate what is to be done, and how. carthage has long been harbouring evil designs, and i accordingly proclaim war against her in good time. i shall never cease to entertain fears about her till i hear of her having been levelled with the ground. the glory of doing that i pray that the immortal gods may reserve for you, scipio, so that you may complete the task begun by your grand-father, now dead more than thirty-two years ago; though all years to come will keep that great man's memory green. he died in the year before my censorship, nine years after my consulship, having been returned consul for the second time in my own consulship. if then he had lived to his hundredth year, would he have regretted having lived to be old? for he would of course not have been practising rapid marches, nor dashing on a foe, nor hurling spears from a distance, nor using swords at close quarters--but only counsel, reason, and senatorial eloquence. and if those qualities had not resided in us _seniors_, our ancestors would never have called their supreme council a senate. at sparta, indeed, those who hold the highest magistracies are in accordance with the fact actually called "elders." but if you will take the trouble to read or listen to foreign history, you will find that the mightiest states have been brought into peril by young men, have been supported and restored by old. the question occurs in the poet naevius's _sport_: pray, who are those who brought your state with such despatch to meet its fate? there is a long answer, but this is the chief point: a crop of brand-new orators we grew, and foolish, paltry lads who thought they knew. for of course rashness is the note of youth, prudence of old age. . but, it is said, memory dwindles. no doubt, unless you keep it in practice, or if you happen to be somewhat dull by nature. themistocles had the names of all his fellow-citizens by heart. do you imagine that in his old age he used to address aristides as lysimachus? for my part, i know not only the present generation, but their fathers also, and their grandfathers. nor have i any fear of losing my memory by reading tombstones, according to the vulgar superstition. on the contrary, by reading them i renew my memory of those who are dead and gone. nor, in point of fact, have i ever heard of any old man forgetting where he had hidden his money. they remember everything that interests them: when to answer to their bail, business appointments, who owes them money, and to whom they owe it. what about lawyers, pontiffs, augurs, philosophers, when old? what a multitude of things they remember! old men retain their intellects well enough, if only they keep their minds active and fully employed. nor is that the case only with men of high position and great office: it applies equally to private life and peaceful pursuits. sophocles composed tragedies to extreme old age; and being believed to neglect the care of his property owing to his devotion to his art, his sons brought him into court to get a judicial decision depriving him of the management of his property on the ground of weak intellect--just as in our law it is customary to deprive a paterfamilias of the management of his property if he is squandering it. there--upon the old poet is said to have read to the judges the play he had on hand and had just composed--the _oedipus coloneus_--and to have asked them whether they thought that the work of a man of weak intellect. after the reading he was acquitted by the jury. did old age then compel this man to become silent in his particular art, or homer, hesiod, simonides, or isocrates and gorgias whom i mentioned before, or the founders of schools of philosophy, pythagoras, democritus, plato, xenocrates, or later zeno and cleanthus, or diogenes the stoic, whom you too saw at rome? is it not rather the case with all these that the active pursuit of study only ended with life? but, to pass over these sublime studies, i can name some rustic romans from the sabine district, neighbours and friends of my own, without whose presence farm work of importance is scarcely ever performed--whether sowing, or harvesting or storing crops. and yet in other things this is less surprising; for no one is so old as to think that he may not live a year. but they bestow their labour on what they know does not affect them in any case: he plants his trees to serve a race to come, as our poet statius says in his comrades. nor indeed would a farmer, however old, hesitate to answer any one who asked him for whom he was planting: "for the immortal gods, whose will it was that i should not merely receive these things from my ancestors, but should also hand them on to the next generation." . that remark about the old man is better than the following: if age brought nothing worse than this, it were enough to mar our bliss, that he who bides for many years sees much to shun and much for tears. yes, and perhaps much that gives him pleasure too. besides, as to subjects for tears, he often comes upon them in youth as well. a still more questionable sentiment in the same caecilius is: no greater misery can of age be told than this: be sure, the young dislike the old. delight in them is nearer the mark than dislike. for just as old men, if they are wise, take pleasure in the society of young men of good parts, and as old age is rendered less dreary for those who are courted and liked by the youth, so also do young men find pleasure in the maxims of the old, by which they are drawn to the pursuit of excellence. nor do i perceive that you find my society less pleasant than i do yours. but this is enough to show you how, so far from being listless and sluggish, old age is even a busy time, always doing and attempting something, of course of the same nature as each man's taste had been in the previous part of his life. nay, do not some even add to their stock of learning? we see solon, for instance, boasting in his poems that he grows old "daily learning something new." or again in my own case, it was only when an old man that i became acquainted with greek literature, which in fact i absorbed with such avidity--in my yearning to quench, as it were, a long-continued thirst--that i became acquainted with the very facts which you see me now using as precedents. when i heard what socrates had done about the lyre i should have liked for my part to have done that too, for the ancients used to learn the lyre but, at any rate, i worked hard at literature. . nor, again, do i now miss the bodily strength of a young man (for that was the second point as to the disadvantages of old age) any more than as a young man i missed the strength of a bull or an elephant. you should use what you have, and whatever you may chance to be doing, do it with all your might. what could be weaker than milo of croton's exclamation? when in his old age he was watching some athletes practising in the course, he is said to have looked at his arms and to have exclaimed with tears in his eyes: "ah well! these are now as good as dead." not a bit more so than yourself, you trifler! for at no time were you made famous by your real self, but by chest and biceps. sext. aelius never gave vent to such a remark, nor, many years before him, titus coruncanius, nor, more recently, p. crassus--all of them learned juris-consults in active practice, whose knowledge of their profession was maintained to their last breath. i am afraid an orator does lose vigour by old age, for his art is not a matter of the intellect alone, but of lungs and bodily strength. though as a rule that musical ring in the voice even gains in brilliance in a certain way as one grows old--certainly i have not yet lost it, and you see my years. yet after all the style of speech suitable to an old man is the quiet and unemotional, and it often happens that the chastened and calm delivery of an old man eloquent secures a hearing. if you cannot attain to that yourself, you might still instruct a scipio and a laelius. for what is more charming than old age surrounded by the enthusiasm of youth? shall we not allow old age even the strength to teach the young, to train and equip them for all the duties of life? and what can be a nobler employment? for my part, i used to think publius and gnaeus scipio and your two grandfathers, l. aemilius and p. africanus, fortunate men when i saw them with a company of young nobles about them. nor should we think any teachers of the fine arts otherwise than happy, however much their bodily forces may have decayed and failed. and yet that same failure of the bodily forces is more often brought about by the vices of youth than of old age; for a dissolute and intemperate youth hands down the body to old age in a worn-out state. xenophon's cyrus, for instance, in his discourse delivered on his death-bed and at a very advanced age, says that he never perceived his old age to have become weaker than his youth had been. i remember as a boy lucius metellus, who having been created pontifex maximus four years after his second consulship, held that office twenty-two years, enjoying such excellent strength of body in the very last hours of his life as not to miss his youth. i need not speak of myself; though that indeed is an old man's way and is generally allowed to my time of life. don't you see in homer how frequently nestor talks of his own good qualities? for he was living through a third generation; nor had he any reason to fear that upon saying what was true about himself he should appear either over vain or talkative. for, as homer says, "from his lips flowed discourse sweeter than honey," for which sweet breath he wanted no bodily strength. and yet, after all, the famous leader of the greeks nowhere wishes to have ten men like ajax, but like nestor: if he could get them, he feels no doubt of troy shortly falling. . but to return to my own case: i am in my eighty-fourth year. i could wish that i had been able to make the same boast as cyrus; but, after all, i can say this: i am not indeed as vigorous as i was as a private soldier in the punic war, or as quaestor in the same war, or as consul in spain, and four years later when as a military tribune i took part in the engagement at thermopylae under the consul manius acilius glabrio; but yet, as you see, old age has not entirely destroyed my muscles, has not quite brought me to the ground. the senate-house does not find all my vigour gone, nor the rostra, nor my friends, nor my clients, nor my foreign guests. for i have never given in to that ancient and much-praised proverb: old when young is old for long. for myself, i had rather be an old man a somewhat shorter time than an old man _before_ my time. accordingly, no one up to the present has wished to see me, to whom i have been denied as engaged. but, it may be said, i have less strength than either of you. neither have you the strength of the centurion t. pontius: is he the more eminent man on that account? let there be only a proper husbanding of strength, and let each man proportion his efforts to his powers. such an one will assuredly not be possessed with any great regret for his loss of strength. at olympia milo is said to have stepped into the course carrying a live ox on his shoulders. which then of the two would you prefer to have given to you--bodily strength like that, or intellectual strength like that of pythagoras? in fine, enjoy that blessing when you have it; when it is gone, don't wish it back--unless we are to think that young men should wish their childhood back, and those somewhat older their youth! the course of life is fixed, and nature admits of its being run but in one way, and only once; and to each part of our life there is something specially seasonable; so that the feebleness of children, as well as the high spirit of youth, the soberness of maturer years, and the ripe wisdom of old age--all have a certain natural advantage which should be secured in its proper season. i think you are informed, scipio, what your grandfather's foreign friend masinissa does to this day, though ninety years old. when he has once begun a journey on foot he does not mount his horse at all; when on horseback he never gets off his horse. by no rain or cold can he be induced to cover his head. his body is absolutely free from unhealthy humours, and so he still performs all the duties and functions of a king. active exercise, therefore, and temperance can preserve some part of one's former strength even in old age. . bodily strength is wanting to old age; but neither is bodily strength demanded from old men. therefore, both by law and custom, men of my time of life are exempt from those duties which cannot be supported without bodily strength. accordingly not only are we not forced to do what we cannot do; we are not even obliged to do as much as we can. but, it will be said, many old men are so feeble that they cannot perform any duty in life of any sort or kind. that is not a weakness to be set down as peculiar to old age: it is one shared by ill health. how feeble was the son of p. africanus, who adopted you! what weak health he had, or rather no health at all! if that had not been the case, we should have had in him a second brilliant light in the political horizon; for he had added a wider cultivation to his father's greatness of spirit. what wonder, then, that old men are eventually feeble, when even young men cannot escape it? my dear laelius and scipio, we must stand up against old age and make up for its drawbacks by taking pains. we must fight it as we should an illness. we must look after our health, use moderate exercise, take just enough food and drink to recruit, but not to overload, our strength. nor is it the body alone that must be supported, but the intellect and soul much more. for they are like lamps: unless you feed them with oil, they too go out from old age. again, the body is apt to get gross from exercise; but the intellect becomes nimbler by exercising itself. for what caecilius means by "old dotards of the comic stage" are the credulous, the forgetful, and the slipshod. these are faults that do not attach to old age as such, but to a sluggish, spiritless, and sleepy old age. young men are more frequently wanton and dissolute than old men; but yet, as it is not all young men that are so, but the bad set among them, even so senile folly--usually called imbecility--applies to old men of unsound character, not to all. appius governed four sturdy sons, five daughters, that great establishment, and all those clients, though he was both old and blind. for he kept his mind at full stretch like a bow, and never gave in to old age by growing slack. he maintained not merely an influence, but an absolute command over his family: his slaves feared him, his sons were in awe of him, all loved him. in that family, indeed, ancestral custom and discipline were in full vigour. the fact is that old age is respectable just as long as it asserts itself, maintains its proper rights, and is not enslaved to any one. for as i admire a young man who has something of the old man in him, so do i an old one who has something of a young man. the man who aims at this may possibly become old in body--in mind he never will. i am now engaged in composing the seventh book of my _origins_. i collect all the records of antiquity. the speeches delivered in all the celebrated cases which i have defended i am at this particular time getting into shape for publication. i am writing treatises on augural, pontifical, and civil law. i am, besides, studying hard at greek, and after the manner of the pythagoreans--to keep my memory in working order--i repeat in the evening whatever i have said, heard, or done in the course of each day. these are the exercises of the intellect, these the training grounds of the mind: while i sweat and labour on these i don't much feel the loss of bodily strength. i appear in court for my friends; i frequently attend the senate and bring motions before it on my own responsibility, prepared after deep and long reflection. and these i support by my intellectual, not my bodily forces. and if i were not strong enough to do these things, yet i should enjoy my sofa--imagining the very operations which i was now unable to perform. but what makes me capable of doing this is my past life. for a man who is always living in the midst of these studies and labours does not perceive when old age creeps upon him. thus, by slow and imperceptible degrees life draws to its end. there is no sudden breakage; it just slowly goes out. . the third charge against old age is that it lacks sensual pleasures. what a splendid service does old age render, if it takes from us the greatest blot of youth! listen, my dear young friends, to a speech of archytas of tarentum, among the greatest and most illustrious of men, which was put into my hands when as a young man i was at tarentum with q. maximus. "no more deadly curse than sensual pleasure has been inflicted on mankind by nature, to gratify which our wanton appetites are roused beyond all prudence or restraint. it is a fruitful source of treasons, revolutions, secret communications with the enemy. in fact, there is no crime, no evil deed, to which the appetite for sensual pleasures does not impel us. fornications and adulteries, and every abomination of that kind, are brought about by the enticements of pleasure and by them alone. intellect is the best gift of nature or god: to this divine gift and endowment there is nothing so inimical as pleasure. for when appetite is our master, there is no place for self-control; nor where pleasure reigns supreme can virtue hold its ground. to see this more vividly, imagine a man excited to the highest conceivable pitch of sensual pleasure. it can be doubtful to no one that such a person, so long as he is under the influence of such excitation of the senses, will be unable to use to any purpose either intellect, reason, or thought. therefore nothing can be so execrable and so fatal as pleasure; since, when more than ordinarily violent and lasting, it darkens all the light of the soul." these were the words addressed by archytas to the samnite caius pontius, father of the man by whom the consuls spurius postumius and titus veturius were beaten in the battle of caudium. my friend nearchus of tarentum, who had remained loyal to rome, told me that he had heard them repeated by some old men; and that plato the athenian was present, who visited tarentum, i find, in the consulship of l. camillus and appius claudius. what is the point of all this? it is to show you that, if we were unable to scorn pleasure by the aid of reason and philosophy, we ought to have been very grateful to old age for depriving us of all inclination for that which it was wrong to do. for pleasure hinders thought, is a foe to reason, and, so to speak, blinds the eyes of the mind. it is, moreover, entirely alien to virtue. i was sorry to have to expel lucius, brother of the gallant titus flamininus, from the senate seven years after his consulship; but i thought it imperative to affix a stigma on an act of gross sensuality. for when he was in gaul as consul, he had yielded to the entreaties of his paramour at a dinner-party to behead a man who happened to be in prison condemned on a capital charge. when his brother titus was censor, who preceded me, he escaped; but i and flaccus could not countenance an act of such criminal and abandoned lust, especially as, besides the personal dishonour, it brought disgrace on the government. . i have often been told by men older than myself, who said that they had heard it as boys from old men, that gaius fabricius was in the habit of expressing astonishment at having heard, when envoy at the headquarters of king pyrrhus, from the thessalian cineas, that there was a man of athens who professed to be a "philosopher," and affirmed that everything we did was to be referred to pleasure. when he told this to manius curius and publius decius, they used to remark that they wished that the samnites and pyrrhus himself would hold the same opinion. it would be much easier to conquer them, if they had once given themselves over to sensual indulgences. manius curius had been intimate with p. decius, who four years before the former's consulship had devoted himself to death for the republic. both fabricius and coruncanius knew him also, and from the experience of their own lives, as well as from the action of p. decius, they were of opinion that there did exist something intrinsically noble and great, which was sought for its own sake, and at which all the best men aimed, to the contempt and neglect of pleasure. why then do i spend so many words on the subject of pleasure? why, because, far from being a charge against old age, that it does not much feel the want of any pleasures, it is its highest praise. but, you will say, it is deprived of the pleasures of the table, the heaped up board, the rapid passing of the wine-cup. well, then, it is also free from headache, disordered digestion, broken sleep. but if we must grant pleasure something, since we do not find it easy to resist its charms,--for plato, with happy inspiration, calls pleasure "vice's bait," because of course men are caught by it as fish by a hook,--yet, although old age has to abstain from extravagant banquets, it is still capable of enjoying modest festivities. as a boy i often used to see gaius duilius the son of marcus, then an old man, returning from a dinner-party. he thoroughly enjoyed the frequent use of torch and flute-player, distinctions which he had assumed though unprecedented in the case of a private person. it was the privilege of his glory. but why mention others? i will come back to my own case. to begin with, i have always remained a member of a "club"--clubs, you know, were established in my quaestorship on the reception of the magna mater from ida. so i used to dine at their feast with the members of my club--on the whole with moderation, though there was a certain warmth of temperament natural to my time of life; but as that advances there is a daily decrease of all excitement. nor was i, in fact, ever wont to measure my enjoyment even of these banquets by the physical pleasures they gave more than by the gathering and conversation of friends. for it was a good idea of our ancestors to style the presence of guests at a dinner-table--seeing that it implied a community of enjoyment--a _convivium_, "a living together." it is a better term than the greek words which mean "a drinking together," or, "an eating together." for they would seem to give the preference to what is really the least important part of it. . for myself, owing to the pleasure i take in conversation, i enjoy even banquets that begin early in the afternoon, and not only in company with my contemporaries--of whom very few survive--but also with men of your age and with yourselves. i am thankful to old age, which has increased my avidity for conversation, while it has removed that for eating and drinking. but if anyone does enjoy these--not to seem to have proclaimed war against all pleasure without exception, which is perhaps a feeling inspired by nature--i fail to perceive even in these very pleasures that old age is entirely without the power of appreciation. for myself, i take delight even in the old-fashioned appointment of master of the feast; and in the arrangement of the conversation, which according to ancestral custom is begun from the last place on the left-hand couch when the wine is brought in; as also in the cups which, as in xenophon's banquet, are small and filled by driblets; and in the contrivance for cooling in summer, and for warming by the winter sun or winter fire. these things i keep up even among my sabine countrymen, and every day have a full dinner-party of neighbours, which we prolong as far into the night as we can with varied conversation. but you may urge--there is not the same tingling sensation of pleasure in old men. no doubt; but neither do they miss it so much. for nothing gives you uneasiness which you do not miss. that was a fine answer of sophocles to a man who asked him, when in extreme old age, whether he was still a lover. "heaven forbid!" he replied; "i was only too glad to escape from that, as though from a boorish and insane master." to men indeed who are keen after such things it may possibly appear disagreeable and uncomfortable to be without them; but to jaded appetites it is pleasanter to lack than to enjoy. however, he cannot be said to lack who does not want: my contention is that not to want is the pleasanter thing. but even granting that youth enjoys these pleasures with more zest; in the first place, they are insignificant things to enjoy, as i have said; and in the second place, such as age is not entirely without, if it does not possess them in profusion. just as a man gets greater pleasure from ambivius turpio if seated in the front row at the theatre than if he was in the last, yet, after all, the man in the last row does get pleasure; so youth, because it looks at pleasures at closer quarters, perhaps enjoys itself more, yet even old age, looking at them from a distance, does enjoy itself well enough. why, what blessings are these--that the soul, having served its time, so to speak, in the campaigns of desire and ambition, rivalry and hatred, and all the passions, should live in its own thoughts, and, as the expression goes, should dwell apart! indeed, if it has in store any of what i may call the food of study and philosophy, nothing can be pleasanter than an old age of leisure. we were witnesses to c. gallus--a friend of your father's, scipio--intent to the day of his death on mapping out the sky and land. how often did the light surprise him while still working out a problem begun during the night! how often did night find him busy on what he had begun at dawn! how he delighted in predicting for us solar and lunar eclipses long before they occurred! or again in studies of a lighter nature, though still requiring keenness of intellect, what pleasure naevius took in his _punic war_! plautus in his _truculentus_ and _pseudolus_! i even saw livius andronicus, who, having produced a play six years before i was born--in the consulship of cento and tuditanus--lived till i had become a young man. why speak of publius licinius crassus's devotion to pontifical and civil law, or of the publius scipio of the present time, who within these last few days has been created pontifex maximus? and yet i have seen all whom i have mentioned ardent in these pursuits when old men. then there is marcus cethegus, whom ennius justly called "persuasion's marrow"--with what enthusiasm did we see him exert himself in oratory even when quite old! what pleasures are there in feasts, games, or mistresses comparable to pleasures such as these? and they are all tastes, too, connected with learning, which in men of sense and good education grow with their growth. it is indeed an honourable sentiment which solon expresses in a verse which i have quoted before--that he grew old learning many a fresh lesson every day. than that intellectual pleasure none certainly can be greater. . i come now to the pleasures of the farmer, in which i take amazing delight. these are not hindered by any extent of old age, and seem to me to approach nearest to the ideal wise man's life. for he has to deal with the earth, which never refuses its obedience, nor ever returns what it has received without usury; sometimes, indeed, with less, but generally with greater interest. for my part, however, it is not merely the thing produced, but the earth's own force and natural productiveness that delight me. for received in its bosom the seed scattered broadcast upon it, softened and broken up, she first keeps it concealed therein (hence the harrowing which accomplishes this gets its name from a word meaning "to hide"); next, when it has been warmed by her heat and close pressure, she splits it open and draws from it the greenery of the blade. this, supported by the fibres of the root, little by little grows up, and held upright by its jointed stalk is enclosed in sheaths, as being still immature. when it has emerged from them it produces an ear of corn arranged in order, and is defended against the pecking of the smaller birds by a regular palisade of spikes. need i mention the starting, planting, and growth of vines? i can never have too much of this pleasure--to let you into the secret of what gives my old age repose and amusement. for i say nothing here of the natural force which all things propagated from the earth possess--the earth which from that tiny grain in a fig, or the grape-stone in a grape, or the most minute seeds of the other cereals and plants, produces such huge trunks and boughs. mallet-shoots, slips, cuttings, quicksets, layers--are they not enough to fill anyone with delight and astonishment? the vine by nature is apt to fall, and unless supported drops down to the earth; yet in order to keep itself upright it embraces whatever it reaches with its tendrils as though they were hands. then as it creeps on, spreading itself in intricate and wild profusion, the dresser's art prunes it with the knife and prevents it growing a forest of shoots and expanding to excess in every direction. accordingly at the beginning of spring in the shoots which have been left there protrudes at each of the joints what is termed an eye. from this the grape emerges and shows itself; which, swollen by the juice of the earth and the heat of the sun, is at first very bitter to the taste, but afterwards grows sweet as it matures; and being covered with tendrils is never without a moderate warmth, and yet is able to ward off the fiery heat of the sun. can anything be richer in product or more beautiful to contemplate? it is not its utility only, as i said before, that charms me, but the method of its cultivation and the natural process of its growth: the rows of uprights, the cross-pieces for the tops of the plants, the tying up of the vines and their propagation by layers, the pruning, to which i have already referred, of some shoots, the setting of others. i need hardly mention irrigation, or trenching and digging the soil, which much increase its fertility. as to the advantages of manuring i have spoken in my book on agriculture. the learned hesiod did not say a single word on this subject, though he was writing on the cultivation of the soil; yet homer, who in my opinion was many generations earlier, represents laertes as softening his regret for his son by cultivating and manuring his farm. nor is it only in cornfields and meadows and vineyards and plantations that a farmer's life is made cheerful. there are the garden and the orchard, the feeding of sheep, the swarms of bees, endless varieties of flowers. nor is it only planting out that charms: there is also grafting--surely the most ingenious invention ever made by husbandmen. . i might continue my list of the delights of country life; but even what i have said i think is somewhat over long. however, you must pardon me; for farming is a very favourite hobby of mine, and old age is naturally rather garrulous--for i would not be thought to acquit it of all faults. well, it was in a life of this sort that manius curius, after celebrating triumphs over the samnites, the sabines, and pyrrhus, spent his last days. when i look at his villa--for it is not far from my own--i never can enough admire the man's own frugality or the spirit of the age. as curius was sitting at his hearth the samnites, who brought him a large sum of gold, were repulsed by him; for it was not, he said, a fine thing in his eyes to possess gold, but to rule those who possessed it. could such a high spirit fail to make old age pleasant? but to return to farmers--not to wander from my own metier. in those days there were senators, _i. e_. old men, on their farms. for l. quinctius cincinnatus was actually at the plough when word was brought him that he had been named dictator. it was by his order as dictator, by the way, that c. servilius ahala, the master of the horse, seized and put to death spurius maelius when attempting to obtain royal power. curius as well as other old men used to receive their summonses to attend the senate in their farm-houses, from which circumstance the summoners were called _viatores_ or "travellers." was these men's old age an object of pity who found their pleasure in the cultivation of the land? in my opinion, scarcely any life can be more blessed, not alone from its utility (for agriculture is beneficial to the whole human race), but also as much from the mere pleasure of the thing, to which i have already alluded, and from the rich abundance and supply of all things necessary for the food of man and for the worship of the gods above. so, as these are objects of desire to certain people, let us make our peace with pleasure. for the good and hard-working farmer's wine-cellar and oil-store, as well as his larder, are always well filled, and his whole farm-house is richly furnished. it abounds in pigs, goats, lambs, fowls, milk, cheese, and honey. then there is the garden, which the farmers themselves call their "second flitch." a zest and flavour is added to all these by hunting and fowling in spare hours. need i mention the greenery of meadows, the rows of trees, the beauty of vineyard and olive-grove? i will put it briefly: nothing can either furnish necessaries more richly, or present a fairer spectacle, than well-cultivated land. and to the enjoyment of that, old age does not merely present no hindrance--it actually invites and allures to it. for where else can it better warm itself, either by basking in the sun or by sitting by the fire, or at the proper time cool itself more wholesomely by the help of shade or water? let the young keep their arms then to themselves, their horses, spears, their foils and ball, their swimming baths and running path. to us old men let them, out of the many forms of sport, leave dice and counters; but even that as they choose, since old age can be quite happy without them. . xenophon's books are very useful for many purposes. pray go on reading them with attention, as you have ever done. in what ample terms is agriculture lauded by him in the book about husbanding one's property, which is called _oceonomicus_! but to show you that he thought nothing so worthy of a prince as the taste for cultivating the soil, i will translate what socrates says to critobulus in that book: "when that most gallant lacedaemonian lysander came to visit the persian prince cyrus at sardis, so eminent for his character and the glory of his rule, bringing him presents from his allies, he treated lysander in all ways with courteous familiarity and kindness, and, among other things, took him to see a certain park carefully planted. lysander expressed admiration of the height of the trees and the exact arrangement of their rows in the quincunx, the careful cultivation of the soil, its freedom from weeds, and the sweetness of the odours exhaled from the flowers, and went on to say that what he admired was not the industry only, but also the skill of the man by whom this had been planned and laid out. cyrus replied: 'well, it was i who planned the whole thing these rows are my doing, the laying out is all mine; many of the trees were even planted by own hand.' then lysander, looking at his purple robe, the brilliance of his person, and his adornment persian fashion with gold and many jewels, said: 'people are quite right, cyrus, to call you happy, since the advantages of high fortune have been joined to an excellence like yours.'" this kind of good fortune, then, it is in the power of old men to enjoy; nor is age any bar to our maintaining pursuits of every other kind, and especially of agriculture, to the very extreme verge of old age. for instance, we have it on record that m. valerius corvus kept it up to his hundredth year, living on his land and cultivating it after his active career was over, though between his first and sixth consulships there was an interval of six and forty years. so that he had an official career lasting the number of years which our ancestors defined as coming between birth and the beginning of old age. moreover, that last period of his old age was more blessed than that of his middle life, inasmuch as he had greater influence and less labour. for the crowning grace of old age is influence. how great was that of l. caecilius metellus! how great that of atilius calatinus, over whom the famous epitaph was placed, "very many classes agree in deeming this to have been the very first man of the nation"! the line cut on his tomb is well known. it is natural, then, that a man should have had influence, in whose praise the verdict of history is unanimous. again, in recent times, what a great man was publius crassus, pontifex maximus, and his successor in the same office, m. lepidus! i need scarcely mention paulus or africanus, or, as i did before, maximus. it was not only their senatorial utterances that had weight: their least gesture had it also. in fact, old age, especially when it has enjoyed honours, has an influence worth all the pleasures of youth put together. . but throughout my discourse remember that my panegyric applies to an old age that has been established on foundations laid by youth. from which may be deduced what i once said with universal applause, that it was a wretched old age that had to defend itself by speech. neither white hairs nor wrinkles can at once claim influence in themselves: it is the honourable conduct of earlier days that is rewarded by possessing influence at the last. even things generally regarded as trifling and matters of course--being saluted, being courted, having way made for one, people rising when one approaches, being escorted to and from the forum, being referred to for advice--all these are marks of respect, observed among us and in other states--always most sedulously where the moral tone is highest. they say that lysander the spartan, whom i have mentioned before, used to remark that sparta was the most dignified home for old age; for that nowhere was more respect paid to years, no-where was old age held in higher honour. nay, the story is told of how when a man of advanced years came into the theatre at athens when the games were going on, no place was given him anywhere in that large assembly by his own countrymen; but when he came near the lacedaemonians, who as ambassadors had a fixed place assigned to them, they rose as one man out of respect for him, and gave the veteran a seat. when they were greeted with rounds of applause from the whole audience, one of them remarked: "the athenians know what is right, but will not do it." there are many excellent rules in our augural college, but among the best is one which affects our subject--that precedence in speech goes by seniority; and augurs who are older are preferred only to those who have held higher office, but even to those who are actually in possession of imperium. what then are the physical pleasures to be compared with the reward of influence? those who have employed it with distinction appear to me to have played the drama of life to its end, and not to have broken down in the last act like unpractised players. but, it will be said, old men are fretful, fidgety, ill-tempered, and disagreeable. if you come to that, they are also avaricious. but these are faults of character, not of the time of life. and, after all, fretfulness and the other faults i mentioned admit of some excuse--not, indeed, a complete one, but one that may possibly pass muster: they think themselves neglected, looked down upon, mocked, besides with bodily weakness every rub is a source of pain. yet all these faults are softened both by good character and good education. illustrations of this may be found in real life, as also on the stage in the case of the brothers in the _adeiphi_. what harshness in the one, what gracious manners in the other the fact is that, just as it is not every wine, so it is not every life, that turns sour from keeping, serious gravity i approve of in old age, but, as in other things, it must be within due limits: bitterness i can in no case approve. what the object of senile avarice may be i cannot conceive. for can there be anything more absurd than to seek more journey money, the less there remains of the journey? . there remains the fourth reason, which more than anything else appears to torment men of my age and keep them in a flutter--the nearness of death, which, it must be allowed, cannot be far from an old man. but what a poor dotard must he be who has not learnt in the course of so long a life that death is not a thing to be feared? death, that is either to be totally disregarded, if it entirely extinguishes the soul, or is even to be desired, if it brings him where he is to exist forever. a third alternative, at any rate, cannot possibly be discovered. why then should i be afraid if i am destined either not to be miserable after death or even to be happy? after all, who is such a fool as to feel certain--however young he may be--that he will be alive in the evening? nay, that time of life has many more chances of death than ours, young men more easily contract diseases; their illnesses are more serious; their treatment has to be more severe. accordingly, only a few arrive at old age. if that were not so, life would be conducted better and more wisely; for it is in old men that thought, reason, and prudence are to be found; and if there had been no old men, states would never have existed at all. but i return to the subject of the imminence of death. what sort of charge is this against old age, when you see that it is shared by youth? i had reason in the case of my excellent son--as you had, scipio, in that of your brothers, who were expected to attain the highest honours--to realise that death is common to every time of life. yes, you will say; but a young man expects to live long; an old man cannot expect to do so. well, he is a fool to expect it. for what can be more foolish than to regard the uncertain as certain, the false as true? "an old man has nothing even to hope." ah, but it is just there that he is in a better position than a young man, since what the latter only hopes he has obtained. the one wishes to live long; the other has lived long. and yet, good heaven! what is "long" in a man's life? for grant the utmost limit: let us expect an age like that of the king of the tartessi. for there was, as i find recorded, a certain agathonius at gades who reigned eighty years and lived a hundred and twenty. but to my mind nothing seems even long in which there is any "last," for when that arrives, then all the past has slipped away--only that remains to which you have attained by virtue and righteous actions. hours indeed, and days and months and years depart, nor does past time ever return, nor can the future be known. whatever time each is granted for life, with that he is bound to be content. an actor, in order to earn approval, is not bound to perform the play from beginning to end; let him only satisfy the audience in whatever act he appears. nor need a wise man go on to the concluding "plaudite." for a short term of life is long enough for living well and honourably. but if you go farther, you have no more right to grumble than farmers do because the charm of the spring season is past and the summer and autumn have come. for the word "spring" in a way suggests youth, and points to the harvest to be: the other seasons are suited for the reaping and storing of the crops. now the harvest of old age is, as i have often said, the memory and rich store of blessings laid up in easier life. again, all things that accord with nature are to be counted as good. but what can be more in accordance with nature than for old men to die? a thing, indeed, which also befalls young men, though nature revolts and fights against it. accordingly, the death of young men seems to me like putting out a great fire with a deluge of water; but old men die like a fire going out because it has burnt down of its own nature without artificial means. again, just as apples when unripe are torn from trees, but when ripe and mellow drop down, so it is violence that takes life from young men, ripeness from old. this ripeness is so delightful to me, that, as i approach nearer to death, i seem as it were to be sighting land, and to be coming to port at last after a long voyage. . again, there is no fixed borderline for old age, and you are making a good and proper use of it as long as you can satisfy the call of duty and disregard death. the result of this is, that old age is even more confident and courageous than youth. that is the meaning of solon's answer to the tyrant pisistratus. when the latter asked him what he relied upon in opposing him with such boldness, he is said to have replied, "on my old age." but that end of life is the best, when, without the intellect or senses being impaired, nature herself takes to pieces her own handiwork which she also put together. just as the builder of a ship or a house can break them up more easily than any one else, so the nature that knit together the human frame can also best unfasten it. moreover, a thing freshly glued together is always difficult to pull asunder; if old, this is easily done. the result is that the short time of life left to them is not to be grasped at by old men with greedy eagerness, or abandoned without cause. pythagoras forbids us, without an order from our commander, that is god, to desert life's fortress and outpost. solon's epitaph, indeed, is that of a wise man, in which he says that he does not wish his death to be unaccompanied by the sorrow and lamentations of his friends. he wants, i suppose, to be beloved by them. but i rather think ennius says better: none grace me with their tears, nor weeping loud make sad my funeral rites! he holds that a death is not a subject for mourning when it is followed by immortality. again, there may possibly be some sensation of dying and that only for a short time, especially in the case of an old man: after death, indeed, sensation is either what one would desire, or it disappears altogether. but to disregard death is a lesson which must be studied from our youth up; for unless that is learnt, no one can have a quiet mind. for die we certainly must, and that too without being certain whether it may not be this very day. as death, therefore, is hanging over our head every hour, how can a man ever be unshaken in soul if he fears it? but on this theme i don't think i need much enlarge: when i remember what lucius brutus did, who was killed while defending his country; or the two decii, who spurred their horses to a gallop and met a voluntary death; or m. atilius regulus, who left his home to confront a death of torture, rather than break the word which he had pledged to the enemy; or the two scipios, who determined to block the carthaginian advance even with their own bodies; or your grandfather lucius paulus, who paid with his life for the rashness of his colleague in the disgrace at cannae; or m. marcellus, whose death not even the most bloodthirsty of enemies would allow to go without the honour of burial. it is enough to recall that our legions (as i have recorded in my _origins_) have often marched with cheerful and lofty spirit to ground from which they believed that they would never return. that, therefore, which young men--not only uninstructed, but absolutely ignorant--treat as of no account, shall men who are neither young nor ignorant shrink from in terror? as a general truth, as it seems to me, it is weariness of all pursuits that creates weariness of life. there are certain pursuits adapted to childhood: do young men miss them? there are others suited to early manhood: does that settled time of life called "middle age" ask for them? there are others, again, suited to that age, but not looked for in old age. there are, finally, some which belong to old age. therefore, as the pursuits of the earlier ages have their time for disappearing, so also have those of old age. and when that takes place, a satiety of life brings on the ripe time for death. . for i do not see why i should not venture to tell you my personal opinion as to death, of which i seem to myself to have a clearer vision in proportion as i am nearer to it. i believe, scipio and laelius, that your fathers--those illustrious men and my dearest friends--are still alive, and that too with a life which alone deserves the name. for as long as we are imprisoned in this framework of the body, we perform a certain function and laborious work assigned us by fate. the soul, in fact, is of heavenly origin, forced down from its home in the highest, and, so to speak, buried in earth, a place quite opposed to its divine nature and its immortality. but i suppose the immortal gods to have sown souls broadcast in human bodies, that there might be some to survey the world, and while contemplating the order of the heavenly bodies to imitate it in the unvarying regularity of their life. nor is it only reason and arguments that have brought me to this belief, but the great fame and authority of the most distinguished philosophers. i used to be told that pythagoras and the pythagoreans--almost natives of our country, who in old times had been called the italian school of philosophers--never doubted that we had souls drafted from the universal divine intelligence. i used besides to have pointed out to me the discourse delivered by socrates on the last day of his life upon the immortality of the soul--socrates who was pronounced by the oracle at delphi to be the wisest of men. i need say no more. i have convinced myself, and i hold--in view of the rapid movement of the soul, its vivid memory of the past and its prophetic knowledge of the future, its many accomplishments, its vast range of knowledge, its numerous discoveries --that a nature embracing such varied gifts cannot itself be mortal. and since the soul is always in motion and yet has no external source of motion, for it is self-moved, i conclude that it will also have no end to its motion, because it is not likely ever to abandon itself. again, since the nature of the soul is not composite, nor has in it any admixture that is not homogeneous and similar, i conclude that it is indivisible, and, if indivisible, that it cannot perish. it is again a strong proof of men knowing most things before birth, that when mere children they grasp innumerable facts with such speed as to show that they are not then taking them in for the first time, but remembering and recalling them. this is roughly plato's argument. . once more in xenophon we have the elder cyrus on his deathbed speaking as follows:-- "do not suppose, my dearest sons, that when i have left you i shall be nowhere and no one. even when i was with you, you did not see my soul, but knew that it was in this body of mine from what i did. believe then that it is still the same, even though you see it not. the honours paid to illustrious men had not continued to exist after their death, had the souls of these very men not done something to make us retain our recollection of them beyond the ordinary time. for myself, i never could be persuaded that souls while in mortal bodies were alive, and died directly they left them; nor, in fact, that the soul only lost all intelligence when it left the unintelligent body. i believe rather that when, by being liberated from all corporeal admixture, it has begun to be pure and undefiled, it is then that it becomes wise. and again, when man's natural frame is resolved into its elements by death, it is clearly seen whither each of the other elements departs: for they all go to the place from which they came: but the soul alone is invisible alike when present and when departing. once more, you see that nothing is so like death as sleep. and yet it is in sleepers that souls most clearly reveal their divine nature; for they foresee many events when they are allowed to escape and are left free. this shows what they are likely to be when they have completely freed themselves from the fetters of the body. wherefore, if these things are so, obey me as a god. but if my soul is to perish with my body, nevertheless do you from awe of the gods, who guard and govern this fair universe, preserve my memory by the loyalty and piety of your lives." . such are the words of the dying cyrus. i will now, with your good leave, look at home. no one, my dear scipio, shall ever persuade me that your father paulus and your two grandfathers paulus and africanus, or the father of africanus, or his uncle, or many other illustrious men not necessary to mention, would have attempted such lofty deeds as to be remaindered by posterity, had they not seen in their minds that future ages concerned them. do you suppose--to take an old man's privilege of a little self-praise--that i should have been likely to undertake such heavy labours by day and night, at home and abroad, if i had been destined to have the same limit to my glory as to my life? had it not been much better to pass an age of ease and repose without any labour or exertion? but my soul, i know not how, refusing to be kept down, ever fixed its eyes upon future ages, as though from a conviction that it would begin to live only when it had left the body. but had it not been the case that souls were immortal, it would not have been the souls of all the best men that made the greatest efforts after an immortality of fame. again, is there not the fact that the wisest man ever dies with the greatest cheerfulness, the most unwise with the least? don't you think that the soul which has the clearer and longer sight sees that it is starting for better things, while the soul whose vision is dimmer does not see it? for my part, i am transported with the desire to see your fathers, who were the object of my reverence and affection. nor is it only those whom i knew that i long to see; it is those also of whom i have been told and have read, whom i have myself recorded in my history. when i am setting out for that, there is certainly no one who will find it easy to draw me back, or boil me up again like second pelios. nay, if some god should grant me to renew my childhood from my present age and once more to be crying in my cradle, i would firmly refuse; nor should i in truth be willing, after having, as it were, run the full course, to be recalled from the winning--crease to the barriers. for what blessing has life to offer? should we not rather say what labour? but granting that it has, at any rate it has after all a limit either to enjoyment or to existence. i don't wish to depreciate life, as many men and good philosophers have often done; nor do i regret having lived, for i have done so in a way that lets me think that i was not born in vain. but i quit life as i would an inn, not as i would a home. for nature has given us a place of entertainment, not of residence. oh glorious day when i shall set out to join that heavenly conclave and company of souls, and depart from the turmoil and impurities of this world! for i shall not go to join only those whom i have before mentioned, but also my son cato, than whom no better man was ever born, nor one more conspicuous for piety. his body was burnt by me, though mine ought, on the contrary, to have been burnt by him; but his spirit, not abandoning, but ever looking back upon me, has certainly gone whither he saw that i too must come. i was thought to bear that loss heroically, not that i really bore it without distress, but i found my own consolation in the thought that the parting and separation between us was not to be for long. it is by these means, my dear scipio,--for you said that you and laelius were wont to express surprise on this point,--that my old age sits lightly on me, and is not only not oppressive but even delightful. but if i am wrong in thinking the human soul immortal, i am glad to be wrong; nor will i allow the mistake which gives me so much pleasure to be wrested from me as long as i live. but if when dead, as some insignificant philosophers think, i am to be without sensation, i am not afraid of dead philosophers deriding my errors. again, if we are not to be immortal, it is nevertheless what a man must wish--to have his life end at its proper time. for nature puts a limit to living as to everything else. now, old age is as it were the playing out of the drama, the full fatigue of which we should shun, especially when we also feel that we have had more than enough of it. this is all i had to say on old age. i pray that you may arrive at it, that you may put my words to a practical test. none cicero's brutus, or history of famous orators: also, his orator, or accomplished speaker. now first translated into english by e. jones preface. as the following rhetorical pieces have never appeared before in the english language, i thought a translation of them would be no unacceptable offering to the public. the character of the author (marcus tullius cicero) is so universally celebrated, that it would be needless, and indeed impertinent, to say any thing to recommend them. the first of them was the fruit of his retirement, during the remains of the _civil war_ in africa; and was composed in the form of a dialogue. it contains a few short, but very masterly sketches of all the speakers who had flourished either in greece or rome, with any reputation of eloquence, down to his own time; and as he generally touches the principal incidents of their lives, it will be considered, by an attentive reader, as a _concealed epitome of the roman history_. the conference is supposed to have been held with atticus, and their common friend brutus, in cicero's garden at rome, under the statue of plato, whom he always admired, and usually imitated in his dialogues: and he seems in this to have copied even his _double titles_, calling it _brutus, or the history of famous orators_. it was intended as a _supplement_, or _fourth book_, to three former ones, on the qualifications of an orator. the second, which is intitled _the orator_, was composed a very short time afterwards (both of them in the st year of his age) and at the request of brutus. it contains a plan, or critical delineation, of what he himself esteemed the most finished eloquence, or style of speaking. he calls it _the fifth part, or book_, designed to complete his _brutus_, and _the former three_ on the same subject. it was received with great approbation; and in a letter to lepta, who had complimented him upon it, he declares, that whatever judgment he had in speaking, he had thrown it all into that work, and was content to risk his reputation on the merit of it. but it is particularly recommended to our curiosity, by a more exact account of the rhetorical _composition_, or _prosaic harmony_ of the ancients, than is to be met with in any other part of his works. as to the present translation, i must leave the merit of it to be decided by the public; and have only to observe, that though i have not, to my knowledge, omitted a single sentence of the original, i was obliged, in some places, to paraphrase my author, to render his meaning intelligible to a modern reader. my chief aim was to be clear and perspicuous: if i have succeeded in _that_, it is all i pretend to. i must leave it to abler pens to copy the _eloquence_ of cicero. _mine_ is unequal to the task. brutus, or the history of eloquence. when i had left cilicia, and arrived at rhodes, word was brought me of the death of hortensius. i was more affected with it than, i believe, was generally expected. for, by the loss of my friend, i saw myself for ever deprived of the pleasure of his acquaintance, and of our mutual intercourse of good offices. i likewise reflected, with concern, that the dignity of our college must suffer greatly by the decease of such an eminent augur. this reminded me, that _he_ was the person who first introduced me to the college, where he attested my qualification upon oath; and that it was _he_ also who installed me as a member; so that i was bound by the constitution of the order to respect and honour him as a parent. my affliction was increased, that, in such a deplorable dearth of wife and virtuous citizens, this excellent man, my faithful associate in the service of the public, expired at the very time when the commonwealth could least spare him, and when we had the greatest reason to regret the want of his prudence and authority. i can add, very sincerely, that in _him_ i lamented the loss, not (as most people imagined) of a dangerous rival and competitor, but of a generous partner and companion in the pursuit of same. for if we have instances in history, though in studies of less public consequence, that some of the poets have been greatly afflicted at the death of their contemporary bards; with what tender concern should i honour the memory of a man, with whom it is more glorious to have disputed the prize of eloquence, than never to have met with an antagonist! especially, as he was always so far from obstructing _my_ endeavours, or i _his_, that, on the contrary, we mutually assisted each other, with our credit and advice. but as _he_, who had a perpetual run of felicity, left the world at a happy moment for himself, though a most unfortunate one for his fellow- citizens; and died when it would have been much easier for him to lament the miseries of his country, than to assist it, after living in it as long as he _could_ have lived with honour and reputation;--we may, indeed, deplore his death as a heavy loss to _us_ who survive him. if, however, we consider it merely as a personal event, we ought rather to congratulate his fate, than to pity it; that, as often as we revive the memory of this illustrious and truly happy man, we may appear at least to have as much affection for him as for ourselves. for if we only lament that we are no longer permitted to enjoy him, it must, indeed, be acknowledged that this is a heavy misfortune to _us_; which it, however, becomes us to support with moderation, less our sorrow should be suspected to arise from motives of interest, and not from friendship. but if we afflict ourselves, on the supposition that _he_ was the sufferer;--we misconstrue an event, which to _him_ was certainly a very happy one. if hortensius was now living, he would probably regret many other advantages in common with his worthy fellow-citizens. but when he beheld the forum, the great theatre in which he used to exercise his genius, no longer accessible to that accomplished eloquence, which could charm the ears of a roman, or a grecian audience; he must have felt a pang of which none, or at least but few, besides himself, could be susceptible. even _i_ am unable to restrain my tears, when i behold my country no longer defensible by the genius, the prudence, and the authority of a legal magistrate,--the only weapons which i have learned to weild, and to which i have long been accustomed, and which are most suitable to the character of an illustrious citizen, and of a virtuous and well-regulated state. but if there ever was a time, when the authority and eloquence of an honest individual could have wrested their arms from the hands of his distracted fellow-citizens; it was then when the proposal of a compromise of our mutual differences was rejected, by the hasty imprudence of some, and the timorous mistrust of others. thus it happened, among other misfortunes of a more deplorable nature, that when my declining age, after a life spent in the service of the public, should have reposed in the peaceful harbour, not of an indolent, and a total inactivity, but of a moderate and becoming retirement; and when my eloquence was properly mellowed, and had acquired its full maturity;--thus it happened, i say, that recourse was then had to those fatal arms, which the persons who had learned the use of them in honourable conquest, could no longer employ to any salutary purpose. those, therefore, appear to me to have enjoyed a fortunate and a happy life, (of whatever state they were members, but especially in _our's_) who held their authority and reputation, either for their military or political services, without interruption: and the sole remembrance of them, in our present melancholy situation, was a pleasing relief to me, when we lately happened to mention them in the course of conversation. for, not long ago, when i was walking for my amusement, in a private avenue at home, i was agreeably interrupted by my friend brutus, and t. pomponius, who came, as indeed they frequently did, to visit me;--two worthy citizens who were united to each other in the closest friendship, and were so dear and so agreeable to me, that, on the first sight of them, all my anxiety for the commonwealth subsided. after the usual salutations,--"well, gentlemen," said i, "how go the times? what news have you brought?" "none," replied brutus, "that you would wish to hear, or that i can venture to tell you for truth."--"no," said atticus; "we are come with an intention that all matters of state should be dropped; and rather to hear something from you, than to say any thing which might serve to distress you." "indeed," said i, "your company is a present remedy for my sorrow; and your letters, when absent, were so encouraging, that they first revived my attention to my studies."--"i remember," replied atticus, "that brutus sent you a letter from asia, which i read with infinite pleasure: for he advised you in it like a man of sense, and gave you every consolation which the warmest friendship could suggest."-- "true," said i, "for it was the receipt of that letter which recovered me from a growing indisposition, to behold once more the cheerful face of day; and as the roman state, after the dreadful defeat near cannae, first raised its drooping head by the victory of marcellus at nola, which was succeeded by many other victories; so, after the dismal wreck of our affairs, both public and private, nothing occurred to me before the letter of my friend brutus, which i thought to be worth my attention, or which contributed, in any degree, to the anxiety of my heart."--"that was certainly my intention," answered brutus; "and if i had the happiness to succeed, i was sufficiently rewarded for my trouble. but i could wish to be informed, what you received from atticus which gave you such uncommon pleasure."--"that," said i, "which not only entertained me; but, i hope, has restored me entirely to myself."--"indeed!" replied he; "and what miraculous composition could that be?"--"nothing," answered i; "could have been a more acceptable, or a more seasonable present, than that excellent treatise of his which roused me from a state of languor and despondency." --"you mean," said he, "his short, and, i think, very accurate abridgment of universal history."--"the very same," said i; "for that little treatise has absolutely saved me."--"i am heartily glad of it," said atticus; "but what could you discover in it which was either new to you, or so wonderfully beneficial as you pretend?"--"it certainly furnished many hints," said i, "which were entirely new to me: and the exact order of time which you observed through the whole, gave me the opportunity i had long wished for, of beholding the history of all nations in one regular and comprehensive view. the attentive perusal of it proved an excellent remedy for my sorrows, and led me to think of attempting something on your own plan, partly to amuse myself, and partly to return your favour, by a grateful, though not an equal acknowledgment. we are commanded, it is true, in that precept of hesiod, so much admired by the learned, to return with the same measure we have received; or, if possible, with a larger. as to a friendly inclination, i shall certainly return you a full proportion of it; but as to a recompence in kind, i confess it to be out of my power, and therefore hope you will excuse me: for i have no first-fruits (like a prosperous husbandman) to acknowledge the obligation i have received; my whole harvest having sickened and died, for want of the usual manure: and as little am i able to present you with any thing from those hidden stores which are now consigned to perpetual darkness, and to which i am denied all access; though, formerly, i was almost the only person who was able to command them at pleasure. i must therefore, try my skill in a long- neglected and uncultivated soil; which i will endeavour to improve with so much care, that i may be able to repay your liberality with interest; provided my genius should be so happy as to resemble a fertile field, which, after being suffered to lie fallow a considerable time, produces a heavier crop than usual."--"very well," replied atticus, "i shall expect the fulfilment of your promise; but i shall not insist upon it till it suits your convenience; though, after all, i shall certainly be better pleased if you discharge the obligation."--"and i also," said brutus, "shall expect that you perform your promise to my friend atticus: nay, though i am only his voluntary solicitor, i shall, perhaps, be very pressing for the discharge of a debt, which the creditor himself is willing to submit to your own choice."--"but i shall refuse to pay you," said i, "unless the original creditor takes no farther part in the suit." --"this is more than i can promise," replied he, "for i can easily foresee, that this easy man, who disclaims all severity, will urge his demand upon you, not indeed to distress you, but yet very closely and seriously."--"to speak ingenuously," said atticus, "my friend brutus, i believe, is not much mistaken: for as i now find you in good spirits, for the first time, after a tedious interval of despondency, i shall soon make bold to apply to you; and as this gentleman has promised his assistance, to recover what you owe me, the least i can do is to solicit, in my turn, for what is due to him." "explain your meaning," said i.--"i mean," replied he, "that you must write something to amuse us; for your pen has been totally silent this long time; and since your treatise on politics, we have had nothing from you of any kind; though it was the perusal of that which fired me with the ambition to write an abridgment of universal history. but we shall, however, leave you to answer this demand, when, and in what manner you shall think most convenient. at present, if you are not otherwise engaged, you must give us your sentiments on a subject on which we both desire to be better informed."--"and what is that?" said i.--"what you gave me a hasty sketch of," replied he, "when i saw you last at tusculanum,--the history of famous orators;--_when_ they made their appearance, and _who_ and _what_ they were; which, furnished such an agreeable train of conversation, that when i related the substance of it to _your_, or i ought rather to have said our _common_ friend, brutus, he expressed a violent desire to hear the whole of it from your own mouth. knowing you, therefore, to be at leisure, we have taken the present opportunity to wait upon you; so that, if it is really convenient, you will oblige us both by resuming the subject."--"well, gentlemen," said i, "as you are so pressing, i will endeavour to satisfy you in the best manner i am able."-- "you are _able_ enough," replied he; "only unbend yourself a little, or, if you can set your mind at full liberty."--"if i remember right," said i, "atticus, what gave rise to the conversation, was my observing, that the cause of deiotarus, a most excellent sovereign, and a faithful ally, was pleaded by our friend brutus, in my hearing, with the greatest elegance and dignity."--"true," replied he, "and you took occasion from the ill success of brutus, to lament the loss of a fair administration of justice in the forum."--"i did so," answered i, "as indeed i frequently do: and whenever i see you, my brutus, i am concerned to think where your wonderful genius, your finished erudition, and unparalleled industry will find a theatre to display themselves. for after you had thoroughly improved your abilities, by pleading a variety of important causes; and when my declining vigour was just giving way, and lowering the ensigns of dignity to your more active talents; the liberty of the state received a fatal overthrow, and that eloquence, of which we are now to give the history, was condemned to perpetual silence."--"our other misfortunes," replied brutus, "i lament sincerely; and i think i ought to lament them:-- but as to eloquence, i am not so fond of the influence and the glory it bestows, as of the study and the practice of it, which nothing can deprive me of, while you are so well disposed to assist me: for no man can be an eloquent speaker, who has not a clear and ready conception. whoever, therefore, applies himself to the study of eloquence, is at the same time improving his judgment, which is a talent equally necessary in all military operations." "your remark," said i, "is very just; and i have a higher opinion of the merit of eloquence, because, though there is scarcely any person so diffident as not to persuade himself, that he either has, or may acquire every other accomplishment which, formerly, could have given him consequence in the state; i can find no person who has been made an orator by the success of his military prowess.--but that we may carry on the conversation with greater ease, let us seat ourselves."--as my visitors had no objection to this, we accordingly took our seats in a private lawn, near a statue of plato. then resuming the conversation,--"to recommend the study of eloquence," said i, "and describe its force, and the great dignity it confers upon those who have acquired it, is neither our present design, nor has any necessary connection with it. but i will not hesitate to affirm, that whether it is acquired by art or practice, or the mere powers of nature, it is the most difficult of all attainments; for each of the five branches of which it is said to consist, is of itself a very important art; from whence it may easily be conjectured, how great and arduous must be the profession which unites and comprehends them all. "greece alone is a sufficient witness of this:--for though she was fired with a wonderful love of eloquence, and has long since excelled every other nation in the practice of it, yet she had all the rest of the arts much earlier; and had not only invented, but even compleated them, a considerable time before she was mistress of the full powers of elocution. but when i direct my eyes to greece, your beloved athens, my atticus, first strikes my sight, and is the brightest object in my view: for in that illustrious city the _orator_ first made his appearance, and it is there we shall find the earliest records of eloquence, and the first specimens of a discourse conducted by rules of art. but even in athens there is not a single production now extant which discovers any taste for ornament, or seems to have been the effort of a real orator, before the time of pericles (whose name is prefixed to some orations which still remain) and his cotemporary thucydides; who flourished,--not in the infancy of the state, but when it was arrived at its full maturity of power. "it is, however, supposed, that pisistratus (who lived many years before) together with solon, who was something older, and clisthenes, who survived them both, were very able speakers for the age they lived in. but some years after these, as may be collected from the attic annals, came the above-mentioned themistocles, who is said to have been as much distinguished by his eloquence as by his political abilities;--and after him the celebrated pericles, who, though adorned with every kind of excellence, was most admired for his talent of speaking. cleon also (their cotemporary) though a turbulent citizen, was allowed to be a tolerable orator. "these were immediately succeeded by alcibiades, critias, and theramenes, whose manner of speaking may be easily inferred from the writings of thucydides, who lived at the same time: their discourses were nervous and stately, full of sententious remarks, and so excessively concise as to be sometimes obscure. but as soon as the force of a regular and a well- adjusted speech was understood, a sudden crowd of rhetoricians appeared,-- such as gorgias the leontine, thrasymachus the chalcedonian, protagoras the abderite, and hippias the elean, who were all held in great esteem,-- with many others of the same age, who professed (it must be owned, rather too arrogantly) to teach their scholars,--_how the worse might be made, by the force of eloquence, to appear the better cause_. but these were openly opposed by the famous socrates, who, by an adroit method of arguing which was peculiar to himself, took every opportunity to refute the principles of their art. his instructive conferences produced a number of intelligent men, and _philosophy_ is said to have derived her birth from him;--not the doctrine of _physics_, which was of an earlier date, but that philosophy which treats of men, and manners, and of the nature of good and evil. but as this is foreign to our present subject, we must defer the philosophers to another opportunity, and return to the orators, from whom i have ventured to make a sort digression. "when the professors therefore, abovementioned were in the decline of life, isocrates made his appearance, whos house stood open to all greece as the _school of eloquence_. he was an accomplished orator, and an excellent teacher; though he did not display his talents in the forum, but cherished and improved that glory within the walls of his academy, which, in my opinion, no poet has ever yet acquired. he composed many valuable specimens of his art, and taught the principles of it to others; and not only excelled his predecessors in every part of it, but first discovered that a certain _metre_ should be observed in prose, though totally different from the measured rhyme of the poets. before _him_, the artificial structure and harmony of language was unknown;--or if there are any traces of it to be discovered, they appear to have been made without design; which, perhaps, will be thought a beauty:--but whatever it may be deemed, it was, in the present case, the effect rather of native genius, or of accident, than of art and observation. for mere nature itself will measure and limit our sentences by a convenient compass of words; and when they are thus confined to a moderate flow of expression, they will frequently have a _numerous_ cadence:--for the ear alone can decide what is full and complete, and what is deficient; and the course of our language will necessarily be regulated by our breath, in which it is excessively disagreeable, not only to fail, but even to labour. "after isocrates came lysias, who, though not personally engaged in forensic causes, was a very artful and an elegant composer, and such a one as you might almost venture to pronounce a complete orator: for demosthenes is the man who approaches the character so nearly, that you may apply it to him without hesitation. no keen, no artful turns could have been contrived for the pleadings he has left behind him, which he did not readily discover;--nothing could have been expressed with greater nicety, or more clearly and poignantly, than it has been already expressed by him;--and nothing greater, nothing more rapid and forcible, nothing adorned with a nobler elevation either of language, or sentiment, can be conceived than what is to be found in his orations. he was soon rivalled by his cotemporaries hyperides, aeschines, lycurgus, dinarchus, and demades (none of whose writings are extant) with many others that might be mentioned: for this age was adorned with a profusion of good orators; and the genuine strength and vigour of eloquence appears to me to have subsisted to the end of this period, which was distinguished by a natural beauty of composition without disguise or affectation. "when these orators were in the decline of life, they were succeeded by phalereus; who was then in the prime of youth. he was indeed a man of greater learning than any of them, but was fitter to appear on the parade, than in the field; and, accordingly, he rather pleased and entertained the athenians, than inflamed their passions; and marched forth into the dust and heat of the forum, not from a weather-beaten tent, but from the shady recesses of theophrastus, a man of consummate erudition. he was the first who relaxed the force of eloquence, and gave her a soft and tender air: and he rather chose to be agreeable, as indeed he was, than great and striking; but agreeable in such a manner as rather charmed, than warmed the mind of the hearer. his greatest ambition was to impress his audience with a high opinion of his elegance, and not, as eupolis relates of pericles, to _sting_ as well as to _please_. "you see, then, in the very city in which eloquence was born and nurtured, how late it was before she grew to maturity; for before the time of solon and pisistratus, we meet with no one who is so much as mentioned for his talent of speaking. these, indeed, if we compute by the roman date, may be reckoned very ancient; but if by that of the athenians, we shall find them to be moderns. for though they flourished in the reign of servius tullius, athens had then subsisted much longer than rome has at present. i have not, however, the least doubt that the power of eloquence has been always more or less conspicuous. for homer, we may suppose, would not have ascribed such superior talents of elocution to ulysses, and nestor (one of whom he celebrates for his force, and the other for his sweetness) unless the art of speaking had then been held in some esteem; nor could the poet himself have been master of such an ornamental style, and so excellent a vein of oratory as we actually find in him.--the time indeed in which he lived is undetermined: but we are certain that he flourished many years before romulus: for he was at least of as early a date as the elder lycurgus, the legislator of the spartans. "but a particular attention to the art, and a greater ability in the practice of it, may be observed in pisistratus. he was succeeded in the following century by themistocles, who, according to the roman date, was a person of the remotest antiquity; but, according to that of the athenians, he was almost a modern. for he lived when greece was in the height of her power, but when the city of rome had but lately freed herself from the shackles of regal tyranny;--for the dangerous war with the volsci, who were headed by coriolanus (then a voluntary exile) happened nearly at the same time as the persian war; and we may add, that the fate of both commanders was remarkably similar. each of them, after distinguishing himself as an excellent citizen, being driven from his country by the wrongs of an ungrateful people, went over to the enemy: and each of them repressed the efforts of his resentment by a voluntary death. for though you, my atticus, have represented the exit of coriolanus in a different manner, you must give me leave to dispatch him in the way i have mentioned."--"you may use your pleasure," replied atticus with a smile: "for it is the privilege of rhetoricians to exceed the truth of history, that they may have an opportunity of embellishing the fate of their heroes: and accordingly, clitarchus and stratocles have entertained us with the same pretty fiction about the death of themistocles, which you have invented for coriolanus. thucydides, indeed, who was himself an athenian of the highest rank and merit, and lived nearly at the same time, has only informed us that he died, and was privately buried in attica, adding, that it was suspected by some that he had poisoned himself. but these ingenious writers have assured us, that, having slain a bull at the altar, he caught the blood in a large bowl, and, drinking it off, fell suddenly dead upon the ground. for this species of death had a tragical air, and might be described with all the pomp of rhetoric; whereas the ordinary way of dying afforded no opportunity for ornament. as it will, therefore, suit your purpose, that coriolanus should resemble themistocles in every thing, i give you leave to introduce the fatal bowl; and you may still farther heighten the catastrophe by a solemn sacrifice, that coriolanus may appear in all respects to have been a second themistocles." "i am much obliged to you," said i, "for your courtesy: but, for the future, i shall be more cautious in meddling with history when you are present; whom i may justly commend as a most exact and scrupulous relator of the roman history; but nearly at the time we are speaking of (though somewhat later) lived the above-mentioned pericles, the illustrious son of xantippus, who first improved his eloquence by the friendly aids of literature;--not that kind of literature which treats professedly of the art of speaking, of which there was then no regular system; but after he had studied under anaxagoras the naturalist, he easily transferred his capacity from abstruse and intricate speculations to forensic and popular debates. "all athens was charmed with the sweetness of his language; and not only admired him for his fluency, but was awed by the superior force and the _terrors_ of his eloquence. this age, therefore, which may be considered as the infancy of the art, furnished athens with an orator who almost reached the summit of his profession: for an emulation to shine in the forum is not usually found among a people who are either employed in settling the form of their government, or engaged in war, or struggling with difficulties, or subjected to the arbitrary power of kings. eloquence is the attendant of peace, the companion of ease and prosperity, and the tender offspring of a free and a well established constitution. aristotle, therefore, informs us, that when the tyrants were expelled from sicily, and private property (after a long interval of servitude) was determined by public trials, the sicilians corax and tisias (for this people, in general, were very quick and acute, and had a natural turn for controversy) first attempted to write precepts on the art of speaking. before them, he says, there was no one who spoke by method, and rules of art, though there were many who discoursed very sensibly, and generally from written notes: but protagoras took the pains to compose a number of dissertations, on such leading and general topics as are now called common places. gorgias, he adds, did the same, and wrote panegyrics and invectives on every subject: for he thought it was the province of an orator to be able either to exaggerate, or extenuate, as occasion might require. antiphon the rhamnusian composed several essays of the same species; and (according to thucydides, a very respectable writer, who was present to hear him) pleaded a capital cause in his own defence, with as much eloquence as had ever yet been displayed by any man. but lysias was the first who openly professed the _art_; and, after him, theodorus, being better versed in the theory than the practice of it, begun to compose orations for others to pronounce; but reserved the method of doing it to himself. in the same manner, isocrates at first disclaimed the art, but wrote speeches for other people to deliver; on which account, being often prosecuted for assisting, contrary to law, to circumvent one or another of the parties in judgment, he left off composing orations for other people, and wholly applied himself to writing rules and systems. "thus then we have traced the birth and origin of the orators of greece, who were, indeed, very ancient, as i have before observed, if we compute by the roman annals; but of a much later date, if we reckon by their own: for the athenian state had signalized itself by a variety of great exploits, both at home and abroad, a considerable time before she was ravished with the charms of eloquence. but this noble art was not common to greece in general, but almost peculiar to athens. for who has ever heard of an argive, a corinthian, or a theban orator at the times we are speaking of? unless, perhaps, some merit of the kind may be allowed to epaminondas, who was a man of uncommon erudition. but i have never read of a lacedemonian orator, from the earliest period of time to the present. for menelaus himself, though said by homer to have possessed a sweet elocution, is likewise described as a man of few words. brevity, indeed, upon some occasions, is a real excellence; but it is very far from being compatible with the general character of eloquence. "the art of speaking was likewise studied, and admired, beyond the limits of greece; and the extraordinary honours which were paid to oratory have perpetuated the names of many foreigners who had the happiness to excel in it. for no sooner had eloquence ventured to sail from the pireaeus, but she traversed all the isles, and visited every part of asia; till at last she infected herself with their manners, and lost all the purity and the healthy complexion of the attic style, and indeed had almost forgot her native language. the asiatic orators, therefore, though not to be undervalued for the rapidity and the copious variety of their elocution, were certainly too loose and luxuriant. but the rhodians were of a sounder constitution, and more resembled the athenians. so much, then, for the greeks; for, perhaps, what i have already said of them, is more than was necessary." "as to the necessity of it," answered brutus, "there is no occasion to speak of it: but what you have said of them has entertained me so agreeably, that instead of being longer, it has been much shorter than i could have wished."--"a very handsome compliment," said i;--"but it is time to begin with our own countrymen, of whom it is difficult to give any further account than what we are able to conjecture from our annals.--for who can question the address, and the capacity of brutus, the illustrious founder of your family? that brutus, who so readily discovered the meaning of the oracle, which promised the supremacy to him who should first salute his mother? that brutus, who concealed the most consummate abilities under the appearance of a natural defect of understanding? who dethroned and banished a powerful monarch, the son of an illustrious sovereign? who settled the state, which he had rescued from arbitrary power, by the appointment of an annual magistracy, a regular system of laws, and a free and open course of justice? and who abrogated the authority of his colleague, that he might rid the city of the smallest vestige of the _regal_ name?--events, which could never have been produced without exerting the powers of persuasion!--we are likewise informed that a few years after the expulsion of the kings, when the plebeians retired to the banks of the anio, about three miles from the city, and had possessed themselves of what is called the _sacred_ mount, m. valerius the dictator appeased their fury by a public harangue; for which he was afterwards rewarded with the highest posts of honour, and was the first roman who was distinguished by the surname of _maximus_. nor can l. valerius potitus be supposed to have been destitute of the powers of utterance, who, after the odium which had been excited against the patricians by the tyrannical government of the _decemviri_, reconciled the people to the senate, by his prudent laws and conciliatory speeches. we may likewise suppose, that appius claudius was a man of some eloquence; since he dissuaded the senate from consenting to a peace with king pyrrhus, though they were much inclined to it. the same might be said of caius fabricius, who was dispatched to pyrrhus to treat for the ransom of his captive fellow- citizens; and of titus coruncanius, who appears by the memoirs of the pontifical college, to have been a person of no contemptible genius: and likewise of m. curius (then a tribune of the people) who, when the interrex appius _the blind_, an artful speaker, held the _comitia_ contrary to law, by refusing to admit any consuls of plebeian rank, prevailed upon the senate to protest against the conduct: of his antagonist; which, if we consider that the moenian law was not then in being, was a very bold attempt. we may also conjecture, that m. popilius was a man of abilities, who, in the time of his consulship, when he was solemnizing a public sacrifice in the proper habit of his office, (for he was also a flamen carmentalis) hearing of the mutiny and insurrection of the people against the senate, rushed immediately into the midst of the assembly, covered as he was with his sacerdotal robes, and quelled the sedition by his authority and the force of his elocution. i do not pretend to have read that the persons i have mentioned were then reckoned orators, or that any fort of reward or encouragement was given to eloquence: i only conjecture what appears very probable. it is also recorded, that c. flaminius, who, when tribune of the people proposed the law for dividing the conquered territories of the gauls and piceni among the citizens, and who, after his promotion to the consulship, was slain near the lake thrasimenus, became very popular by the mere force of his address, quintus maximus verrucosus was likewise reckoned a good speaker by his cotemporaries; as was also quintus metellus, who, in the second punic war, was joint consul with l. veturius philo. but the first person we have any certain account of, who was publicly distinguished as an _orator_, and who really appears to have been such, was m. cornelius cethegus; whose eloquence is attested by q. ennius, a voucher of the highest credibility; since he actually heard him speak, and gave him this character after his death; so that there is no reason to suspect that he was prompted by the warmth of his friendship to exceed the bounds of truth. in his ninth book of annals, he has mentioned him in the following terms: "_additur orator corneliu' suaviloquenti ore cethegus marcu', tuditano collega, marci filius._" "_add the_ orator _m. cornelius cethegus, so much admired for his mellifluent tongue; who was the colleague of tuditanus, and the son of marcus_." "he expressly calls him an _orator_, you see, and attributes to him a remarkable sweetness of elocution; which, even now a-days, is an excellence of which few are possessed: for some of our modern orators are so insufferably harsh, that they may rather be said to bark than to speak. but what the poet so much admires in his friend, may certainly be considered as one of the principal ornaments of eloquence. he adds; " ----_is dictus, ollis popularibus olim, qui tum vivebant homines, atque aevum agitabant, flos delibatus populi_." "_he was called by his cotemporaries, the choicest flower of the state_." "a very elegant compliment! for as the glory of a man is the strength of his mental capacity, so the brightest ornament of that is eloquence; in which, whoever had the happiness to excel, was beautifully styled, by the ancients, the _flower_ of the state; and, as the poet immediately subjoins, "'--_suadaeque medulla:' "the very marrow and quintessence of persuasion_." "that which the greeks call [greek: peitho], _(i.e. persuasion)_ and which it is the chief business of an orator to effect, is here called _suada_ by ennius; and of this he commends cethegus as the _quintessence_; so that he makes the roman orator to be himself the very substance of that amiable goddess, who is said by eupolis to have dwelt on the lips of pericles. this cethegus was joint-consul with p. tuditanus in the second punic war; at which time also m. cato was quaestor, about one hundred and forty years before i myself was promoted to the consulship; which circumstance would have been absolutely lost, if it had not been recorded by ennius; and the memory of that illustrious citizen, as has probably been the case of many others, would have been obliterated by the rust of antiquity. the manner of speaking which was then in vogue, may easily be collected from the writings of _naevius_: for naevius died, as we learn from the memoirs of the times, when the persons above-mentioned were consuls; though varro, a most accurate investigator of historical truth, thinks there is a mistake in this, and fixes the death of naevius something later. for plautus died in the consulship of p. claudius and l. porcius, twenty years after the consulship of the persons we have been speaking of, and when cato was censor. cato, therefore, must have been younger than cethegus, for he was consul nine years after him: but we always consider him as a person of the remotest antiquity, though he died in the consulship of lucius marcius and m. manilius, and but eighty-three years before my own promotion to the same office. he is certainly, however, the most ancient orator we have, whose writings may claim our attention; unless any one is pleased with the above-mentioned speech of appius, on the peace with pyrrhus, or with a set of panegyrics on the dead, which, i own, are still extant. for it was customary in most families of note to preserve their images, their trophies of honour, and their memoirs, either to adorn a funeral when any of the family deceased, or to perpetuate the fame of their ancestors, or prove their own nobility. but the truth of history has been much corrupted by these laudatory essays; for many circumstances were recorded in them which never existed; such as false triumphs, a pretended succession of consulships, and false alliances and elevations, when men of inferior rank were confounded with a noble family of the same name: as if i myself should pretend that i am descended from m. tullius, who was a patrician, and shared the consulship with servius sulpicius, about ten years after the expulsion of the kings. "but the real speeches of cato are almost as numerous as those of lysias the athenian; a great number of whose are still extant. for lysias was certainly an athenian; because he not only died but received his birth at athens, and served all the offices of the city; though timaesus, as if he acted by the licinian or the mucian law, remands him back to syracuse. there is, however, a manifest resemblance between _his_ character and that of _cato_: for they are both of them distinguished by their acuteness, their elegance, their agreeable humour, and their brevity. but the greek has the happiness to be most admired: for there are some who are so extravagantly fond of him, as to prefer a graceful air to a vigorous constitution, and who are perfectly satisfied with a slender and an easy shape, if it is only attended with a moderate share of health. it must, however, be acknowledged, that even lysias often displays a strength of arm, than which nothing can be more strenuous and forcible; though he is certainly, in all respects, of a more thin and feeble habit than cato, notwithstanding he has so many admirers, who are charmed with his very slenderness. but as to cato, where will you find a modern orator who condescends to read him?--nay, i might have said, who has the least knowledge of him?--and yet, good gods! what a wonderful man! i say nothing of his merit as a citizen, a senator, and a general; we must confine our attention to the orator. who, then, has displayed more dignity as a panegyrist?--more severity as an accuser?--more ingenuity in the turn of his sentiments?--or more neatness and address in his narratives and explanations? though he composed above a hundred and fifty orations, (which i have seen and read) they are crowded with all the beauties of language and sentiment. let us select from these what deserves our notice and applause: they will supply us with all the graces of oratory. not to omit his _antiquities_, who will deny that these also are adorned with every flower, and with all the lustre of eloquence? and yet he has scarcely any admirers; which some ages ago was the case of philistus the syracusan, and even of thucydides himself. for as the lofty and elevated style of theopompus soon diminished the reputation of their pithy and laconic harangues, which were sometimes scarcely intelligible through their excessive brevity and quaintness; and as demosthenes eclipsed the glory of lysias, so the pompous and stately elocution of the moderns has obscured the lustre of cato. but many of us are shamefully ignorant and inattentive; for we admire the greeks for their antiquity, and what is called their attic neatness, and yet have never noticed the same quality in cato. it was the distinguishing character, say they, of lysias and hyperides. i own it, and i admire them for it: but why not allow a share of it to cato? they are fond, they tell us, of the _attic_ style of eloquence: and their choice is certainly judicious, provided they borrow the blood and the healthy juices, as well as the bones and membranes. what they recommend, however, is, to do it justice, an agreeable quality. but why must lysias and hyperides be so fondly courted, while cato is entirely overlooked? his language indeed has an antiquated air, and some of his expressions are rather too harsh and crabbed. but let us remember that this was the language of the time: only change and modernize it, which it was not in his power to do;--add the improvements of number and cadence, give an easier turn to his sentences, and regulate the structure and connection of his words, (which was as little practised even by the older greeks as by him) and you will discover no one who can claim the preference to cato. the greeks themselves acknowledge that the chief beauty of composition results from the frequent use of those _translatitious_ forms of expression which they call _tropes_, and of those various attitudes of language and sentiment which they call _figures_: but it is almost incredible in what numbers, and with what amazing variety, they are all employed by cato. i know, indeed, that he is not sufficiently polished, and that recourse must be had to a more perfect model for imitation: for he is an author of such antiquity, that he is the oldest now extant, whose writings can be read with patience; and the ancients in general acquired a much greater reputation in every other art, than in that of speaking. but who that has seen the statues of the moderns, will not perceive in a moment, that the figures of canachus are too stiff and formal, to resemble life? those of calamis, though evidently harsh, are somewhat softer. even the statues of myron are not sufficiently alive; and yet you would not hesitate to pronounce them beautiful. but those of polycletes are much finer, and, in my mind, completely finished. the case is the same in painting; for in the works of zeuxis, polygnotus, timanthes, and several other masters who confined themselves to the use of four colours, we commend the air and the symmetry of their figures; but in aetion, nicomachus, protogenes, and apelles, every thing is finished to perfection. this, i believe, will hold equally true in all the other arts; for there is not one of them which was invented and completed at the same time. i cannot doubt, for instance, that there were many poets before homer: we may infer it from those very songs which he himself informs us were sung at the feasts of the phaeacians, and of the profligate suitors of penelope. nay, to go no farther, what is become of the ancient poems of our own countrymen?" "such as the fauns and rustic bards compos'd, when none the rocks of poetry had cross'd, nor wish'd to form his style by rules of art, before this vent'rous man: &c. "old ennius here speaks of himself; nor does he carry his boast beyond the bounds of truth: the case being really as he describes it. for we had only an odyssey in latin, which resembled one of the rough and unfinished statues of daedalus; and some dramatic pieces of livius, which will scarcely bear a second reading. this livius exhibited his first performance at rome in the consulship of m. tuditanus, and c. clodius the son of caecus, the year before ennius was born, and, according to the account of my friend atticus, (whom i choose to follow) the five hundred and fourteenth from the building of the city. but historians are not agreed about the date of the year. attius informs us that livius was taken prisoner at tarentum by quintus maximus in his fifth consulship, about thirty years after he is said by atticus, and our ancient annals, to have introduced the drama. he adds that he exhibited his first dramatic piece about eleven years after, in the consulship of c. cornelius and q. minucius, at the public games which salinator had vowed to the goddess of youth for his victory over the senones. but in this, attius was so far mistaken, that ennius, when the persons above-mentioned were consuls, was forty years old: so that if livius was of the same age, as in this case he would have been, the first dramatic author we had must have been younger than plautus and naevius, who had exhibited a great number of plays before the time he specifies. if these remarks, my brutus, appear unsuitable to the subject before us, you must throw the whole blame upon atticus, who has inspired me with a strange curiosity to enquire into the age of illustrious men, and the respective times of their appearance."--"on the contrary," said brutus, "i am highly pleased that you have carried your attention so far; and i think your remarks well adapted to the curious task you have undertaken, the giving us a history of the different classes of orators in their proper order."--"you understand me right," said i; "and i heartily wish those venerable odes were still extant, which cato informs us in his antiquities, used to be sung by every guest in his turn at the homely feasts of our ancestors, many ages before, to commemorate the feats of their heroes. but the _punic war_ of that antiquated poet, whom ennius so proudly ranks among the _fauns and rustic bards_, affords me as exquisite a pleasure as the finest statue that was ever formed by myron. ennius, i allow, was a more finished writer: but if he had really undervalued the other, as he pretends to do, he would scarcely have omitted such a bloody war as the first _punic_, when he attempted professedly to describe all the wars of the republic. nay he himself assigns the reason. "others" (said he) "that cruel war have sung:" very true, and they have sung it with great order and precision, though not, indeed, in such elegant strains as yourself. this you ought to have acknowledged, as you must certainly be conscious that you have borrowed many ornaments from naevius; or if you refuse to own it, i shall tell you plainly that you have _pilfered_ them. "cotemporary with the cato above-mentioned (though somewhat older) were c. flaminius, c. varro, q. maximus, q. metellus, p. lentulus, and p. crassus who was joint consul with the elder africanus. this scipio, we are told, was not destitute of the powers of elocution: but his son, who adopted the younger scipio (the son of paulus aemilius) would have stood foremost in the list of orators, if he had possessed a firmer constitution. this is evident from a few speeches, and a greek history of his, which are very agreeably written. in the same class we may place sextus aelius, who was the best lawyer of his time, and a ready speaker. a little after these, was c. sulpicius gallus, who was better acquainted with the grecian literature than all the rest of the nobility, and was reckoned a graceful orator, being equally distinguished, in every other respect, by the superior elegance of his taste; for a more copious and splendid way of speaking began now to prevail. when this sulpicius, in quality of praetor, was celebrating the public shews in honour of apollo, died the poet ennius, in the consulship of q. marcius and cn. servilius, after exhibiting his tragedy of _thyestes_. at the same time lived tiberius gracchus, the son of publius, who was twice consul and censor: a greek oration of his to the rhodians is still extant, and he bore the character of a worthy citizen, and an eloquent speaker. we are likewise told that p. scipio nasica, surnamed the darling of the people, and who also had the honor to be twice chosen consul and censor, was esteemed an able orator: to him we may add l. lentulus, who was joint consul with c. figulus;--q. nobilior, the son of marcus, who was inclined to the study of literature by his father's example, and presented ennius (who had served under his father in aetolia) with the freedom of the city, when he founded a colony in quality of triumvir: and his colleague, t. annius luscus, who is said to have been tolerably eloquent. we are likewise informed that l. paulus, the father of africanus, defended the character of an eminent citizen in a public speech; and that cato, who died in the d year of his age, was then living, and actually pleaded, that very year, against the defendant servius galba, in the open forum, with great energy and spirit:--he has left a copy of this oration behind him. but when cato was in the decline of life, a crowd of orators, all younger than himself, made their appearance at the same time: for a. albinus, who wrote a history in greek, and shared the consulship with l. lucullus, was greatly admired for his learning and elocution: and almost equal to him were servius fulvius, and servius fabius pictor, the latter of whom was well acquainted with the laws of his country, the belles lettres, and the history of antiquity. quintus fabius labeo was likewise adorned with the same accomplishments. but q. metellus whose four sons attained the consular dignity, was admired for his eloquence beyond the rest;--he undertook the defence of l. cotta, when he was accused by africanus,--and composed many other speeches, particularly that against tiberius gracchus, which we have a full account of in the annals of c. fannius. l. cotta himself was likewise reckoned a _veteran_; but c. laelius, and p. africanus were allowed by all to be more finished speakers: their orations are still extant, and may serve as specimens of their respective abilities. but servius galba, who was something older than any of them, was indisputably the best speaker of the age. he was the first among the romans who displayed the proper and distinguishing talents of an orator, such as, digressing from his subject to embellish and diversify it,--soothing or alarming the passions, exhibiting every circumstance in the strongest light,--imploring the compassion of his audience, and artfully enlarging on those topics, or general principles of prudence or morality, on which the stress of his argument depended: and yet, i know not how, though he is allowed to have been the greatest orator of his time, the orations he has left are more lifeless, and have a more antiquated air, than those of laelius, or scipio, or even of cato himself: in short, the strength and substance of them has so far evaporated, that we have scarcely any thing of them remaining but the bare skeletons. in the same manner, though both laelius and scipio are greatly extolled for their abilities; the preference was given to laelius as a speaker; and yet his oration, in defence of the privileges of the sacerdotal college, has no greater merit than any one you may please to fix upon of the numerous speeches of scipio. nothing, indeed, can be sweeter and milder than that of laelius, nor could any thing have been urged with greater dignity to support the honour of religion: but, of the two, laelius appears to me to be rougher, and more old-fashioned than scipio; and, as different speakers have different tastes, he had in my mind too strong a relish for antiquity, and was too fond of using obsolete expressions. but such is the jealousy of mankind, that they will not allow the same person to be possessed of too many perfections. for as in military prowess they thought it impossible that any man could vie with scipio, though laelius had not a little distinguished himself in the war with viriathus; so for learning, eloquence, and wisdom, though each was allowed to be above the reach of any other competitor, they adjudged the preference to laelius. nor was this only the opinion of the world, but it seems to have been allowed by mutual consent between themselves: for it was then a general custom, as candid in this respect as it was fair and just in every other, to give his due to each. i accordingly remember that p. rutilius rufus once told me at smyrna, that when he was a young man, the two consuls p. scipio and d. brutus, by order of the senate, tried a capital cause of great consequence. for several persons of note having been murdered in the silan forest, and the domestics, and some of the sons, of a company of gentlemen who farmed the taxes of the pitch-manufactory, being charged with the fact, the consuls were ordered to try the cause in person. laelius, he said, spoke very sensibly and elegantly, as indeed he always did, on the side of the farmers of the customs. but the consuls, after hearing both sides, judging it necessary to refer the matter to a second trial, the same laelius, a few days after, pleaded their cause again with more accuracy, and much better than at first. the affair, however, was once more put off for a further hearing. upon this, when his clients attended laelius to his own house, and, after thanking him for what he had already done, earnestly begged him not to be disheartened by the fatigue he had suffered;--he assured them he had exerted his utmost to defend their reputation; but frankly added, that he thought their cause would be more effectually supported by servius galba, whose manner of speaking was more embellished and more spirited than his own. they, accordingly, by the advice of laelius, requested galba to undertake it. to this he consented; but with the greatest modesty and reluctance, out of respect to the illustrious advocate he was going to succeed:--and as he had only the next day to prepare himself, he spent the whole of it in considering and digesting his cause. when the day of trial was come, rutilius himself, at the request of the defendants, went early in the morning to galba, to give him notice of it, and conduct him to the court in proper time. but till word was brought that the consuls were going to the bench, he confined himself in his study, where he suffered no one to be admitted; and continued very busy in dictating to his amanuenses, several of whom (as indeed he often used to do) he kept fully employed at once. while he was thus engaged, being informed that it was high time for him to appear in court, he left his house with so much life in his eyes, and such an ardent glow upon his countenance, that you would have thought he had not only _prepared_ his cause, but actually _carried_ it. rutilius added, as another circumstance worth noticing, that his scribes, who attended him to the bar, appeared excessively fatigued: from whence he thought it probable that he was equally warm and vigorous in the composition, as in the delivery of his speeches. but to conclude the story, galba pleaded his cause before laelius himself, and a very numerous and attentive audience, with such uncommon force and dignity, that every part of his oration received the applause of his hearers: and so powerfully did he move the feelings, and affect the pity of the judges, that his clients were immediately acquitted of the charge, to the satisfaction of the whole court. "as, therefore, the two principal qualities required in an orator, are to be neat and clear in stating the nature of his subject, and warm and forcible in moving the passions; and as he who fires and inflames his audience, will always effect more than he who can barely inform and amuse them; we may conjecture from the above narrative, which i was favoured with by rutilius, that laelius was most admired for his elegance, and galba for his pathetic force. but this force of his was most remarkably exerted, when, having in his praetorship put to death some lusitanians, contrary (it was believed) to his previous and express engagement;--t. libo the tribune exasperated the people against him, and preferred a bill which was to operate against his conduct as a subsequent law. m. cato (as i have before mentioned) though extremely old, spoke in support of the bill with great vehemence; which speech he inserted in his book of _antiquities_, a few days, or at most only a month or two, before his death. on this occasion, galba refusing to plead to the charge, and submitting his fate to the generosity of the people, recommended his children to their protection, with tears in his eyes; and particularly his young ward the son of c. gallus sulpicius his deceased friend, whose orphan state and piercing cries, which were the more regarded for the sake of his illustrious father, excited their pity in a wonderful manner;--and thus (as cato informs us in his history) he escaped the flames which would otherwise have consumed him, by employing the children to move the compassion of the people. i likewise find (what may be easily judged from his orations still extant) that his prosecutor libo was a man of some eloquence." as i concluded these remarks with a short pause;--"what can be the reason," said brutus, "if there was so much merit in the oratory of galba, that there is no trace of it to be seen in his orations;--a circumstance which i have no opportunity to be surprized at in others, who have left nothing behind them in writing."--"the reasons," said i, "why some have not wrote any thing, and others not so well as they spoke, are very different. some of our orators have writ nothing through mere indolence, and because they were loath to add a private fatigue to a public one: for most of the orations we are now possessed of were written not before they were spoken, but some time afterwards. others did not choose the trouble of improving themselves; to which nothing more contributes than frequent writing; and as to perpetuating the fame of their eloquence, they thought it unnecessary; supposing that their eminence in that respect was sufficiently established already, and that it would be rather diminished than increased by submitting any written specimen of it to the arbitrary test of criticism. some also were sensible that they spoke much better than they were able to write; which is generally the case of those who have a great genius, but little learning, such as servius galba. when he spoke, he was perhaps so much animated by the force of his abilities, and the natural warmth and impetuosity of his temper, that his language was rapid, bold, and striking; but afterwards, when he took up the pen in his leisure hours, and his passion had sunk into a calm, his elocution became dull and languid. this indeed can never happen to those whose only aim is to be neat and polished; because an orator may always be master of that discretion which will enable him both to speak and write in the same agreeable manner: but no man can revive at pleasure the ardour of his passions; and when that has once subsided, the fire and pathos of his language will be extinguished. this is the reason why the calm and easy spirit of laelius seems still to breathe in his writings, whereas the force of galba is entirely withered and lost. "we may also reckon in the number of middling orators, the two brothers l. and sp. mummius, both whose orations are still in being:--the style of lucius is plain and antiquated; but that of spurius, though equally unembellished, is more close, and compact; for he was well versed in the doctrine of the stoics. the orations of sp. alpinus, their cotemporary, are very numerous: and we have several by l. and c. aurelius oresta, who were esteemed indifferent speakers. p. popilius also was a worthy citizen, and had a tolerable share of utterance: but his son caius was really eloquent. to _these_ we may add c. tuditanus, who was not only very polished, and genteel, in his manners and appearance, but had an elegant turn of expression; and of the same class was m. octavius, a man of inflexible constancy in every just and laudable measure; and who, after being affronted and disgraced in the most public manner, defeated his rival tiberius gracchus by the mere dint of his perseverance. but m. aemilius lepidus, who was surnamed porcina, and flourished at the same time as galba, though he was indeed something younger, was esteemed an orator of the first eminence; and really appears, from his orations which are still extant, to have been a masterly writer. for he was the first speaker, among the romans, who gave us a specimen of the easy gracefulness of the greeks; and who was distinguished by the measured flow of his language, and a style regularly polished and improved by art. his manner was carefully studied by c. carbo and tib. gracchus, two accomplished youths who were nearly of an age: but we must defer their character as public speakers, till we have finished our account of their elders. for q. pompeius, according to the style of the time, was no contemptible orator; and actually raised himself to the highest honours of the state by his own personal merit, and without being recommended, as usual, by the quality of his ancestors. lucius cassius too derived his influence, which was very considerable, not indeed from his _eloquence_, but from his manly way of speaking: for it is remarkable that he made himself popular, not, as others did, by his complaisance and liberality, but by the gloomy rigour and severity of his manners. his law for collecting the votes of the people by way of ballot, was strongly opposed by the tribune m. antius briso, who was supported by m. lepidus one of the consuls: and it was afterwards objected to africanus, that briso dropped the opposition by his advice. at this time the two scipios were very serviceable to a number of clients by their superior judgment, and eloquence; but still more so by their extensive interest and popularity. but the written speeches of pompeius (though it must be owned they have rather an antiquated air) discover an amazing sagacity, and are very far from being dry and spiritless. to these we must add p. crassus, an orator of uncommon merit, who was qualified for the profession by the united efforts of art and nature, and enjoyed some other advantages which were almost peculiar to his family. for he had contracted an affinity with that accomplished speaker servius galba above-mentioned, by giving his daughter in marriage to galba's son; and being likewise himself the son of mucius, and the brother of p. scaevola, he had a fine opportunity at home (which he made the best use of) to gain a thorough knowledge of the civil law. he was a man of unusual application, and was much beloved by his fellow-citizens; being constantly employed either in giving his advice, or pleading causes in the forum. cotemporary with the speakers i have mentioned were the two c. fannii, the sons of c. and m. one of whom, (the son of c.) who was joint consul with domitius, has left us an excellent speech against gracchus, who proposed the admission of the latin and italian allies to the freedom of rome."--"do you really think, then," said atticus, "that fannius was the author of that oration? for when we were young, there were different opinions about it. some asserted it was wrote by c. persius, a man of letters, and the same who is so much extolled for his learning by lucilius: and others believed it was the joint production of a number of noblemen, each of whom contributed his best to complete it."--"this i remember," said i; "but i could never persuade myself to coincide with either of them. their suspicion, i believe, was entirely founded on the character of fannius, who was only reckoned among the _middling_ orators; whereas the speech in question is esteemed the best which the time afforded. but, on the other hand, it is too much of a piece to have been the mingled composition of many: for the flow of the periods, and the turn of the language, are perfectly similar, throughout the whole of it.--and as to _persius_, if _he_ had composed it for fannius to pronounce, gracchus would certainly have taken some notice of it in his reply; because fannius rallies gracchus pretty severely, in one part of it, for employing menelaus of marathon, and several others, to manufacture his speeches. we may add that fannius himself was no contemptible orator: for he pleaded a number of causes, and his tribuneship, which was chiefly conducted under the management and direction of p. africanus, was very far from being an idle one. but the other c. fannius, (the son of m.) and son- in-law of c. laelius, was of a rougher cast, both in his temper, and manner of speaking. by the advice of his father-in-law, (of whom, by the bye, he was not remarkably fond, because he had not voted for his admission into the college of augurs, but gave the preference to his younger son-in-law q. scaevola; though laelius genteely excused himself, by saying that the preference was not given to the youngest son, but to his wife the eldest daughter,) by his advice, i say, he attended the lectures of panaetius. his abilities as a speaker may be easily conjectured from his history, which is neither destitute of elegance, nor a perfect model of composition. as to his brother mucius the augur, whenever he was called upon to defend himself, he always pleaded his own cause; as, for instance, in the action which was brought against him for bribery by t. albucius. but he was never ranked among the orators; his chief merit being a critical knowledge of the civil law, and an uncommon accuracy of judgment. l. caelius antipater likewise (as you may see by his works) was an elegant and a handsome writer for the time he lived in; he was also an excellent lawyer, and taught the principles of jurisprudence to many others, particularly to l. crassus. as to caius carbo and t. gracchus, i wish they had been as well inclined to maintain peace and good order in the state, as they were qualified to support it by their eloquence: their glory would then have been out-rivaled by no one. but the latter, for his turbulent tribuneship, which he entered upon with a heart full of resentment against the great and good, on account of the odium he had brought upon himself by the treaty of numantia, was slain by the hands of the republic: and the other, being impeached of a seditious affectation of popularity, rescued himself from the severity of the judges by a voluntary death. that both of them were excellent speakers, is very plain from the general testimony of their cotemporaries: for as to their speeches now extant, though i allow them to be very artful and judicious, they are certainly defective in elocution. gracchus had the advantage of being carefully instructed by his mother cornelia from his very childhood, and his mind was enriched with all the stores of grecian literature: for he was constantly attended by the ablest masters from greece, and particularly, in his youth, by diophanes of mitylene, who was the most eloquent grecian of his age: but though he was a man of uncommon genius, he had but a short time to improve and display it. as to carbo, his whole life was spent in trials, and forensic debates. he is said by very sensible men who heard him, and, among others, by our friend l. gellius who lived in his family in the time of his consulship, to have been a sonorous, a fluent, and a spirited speaker, and likewise, upon occasion, very pathetic, very engaging, and excessively humorous: gellius used to add, that he applied himself very closely to his studies, and bestowed much of his time in writing and private declamation. he was, therefore, esteemed the best pleader of his time; for no sooner had he began to distinguish himself in the forum, but the depravity of the age gave birth to a number of law-suits; and it was first found necessary, in the time of his youth, to settle the form of public trials, which had never been done before. we accordingly find that l. piso, then a tribune of the people, was the first who proposed a law against bribery; which he did when censorinus and manilius were consuls. this piso too was a professed pleader, and the proposer and opposer of a great number of laws: he left some orations behind him, which are now lost, and a book of annals very indifferently written. but in the public trials, in which carbo was concerned, the assistance of an able advocate had become more necessary than ever, in consequence of the law for voting by ballots, which was proposed and carried by l. cassius, in the consulship of lepidus and mancinus. "i have likewise been often assured by the poet attius, (an intimate friend of his) that your ancestor d. brutus, the son of m. was no inelegant speaker; and that for the time he lived in, he was well versed both in the greek and roman literature. he ascribed the same accomplishments to q. maximus, the grandson of l. paulus: and added that, a little prior to maximus, the scipio, by whose instigation (though only in a private capacity) t. gracchus was assassinated, was not only a man of great ardour in all other respects, but very warm and spirited in his manner of speaking. p. lentulus too, the father of the senate, had a sufficient share of eloquence for an honest and useful magistrate. about the same time l. furius philus was thought to speak our language as elegantly, and more correctly than any other man; p. scaevola to be very artful and judicious, and rather more fluent than philus; m. manilius to possess almost an equal share of judgment with the latter; and appius claudius to be equally fluent, but more warm and pathetic. m. fulvius flaccus, and c. cato the nephew of africanus, were likewise tolerable orators: some of the writings of flaccus are still in being, in which nothing, however, is to be seen but the mere scholar. p. decius was a professed rival of flaccus; he too was not destitute of eloquence; but his style, as well as his temper, was too violent. m. drusus the son of c. who, in his tribuneship, baffled [footnote: _laffiea_. in the original it runs, "_caium gracchum collegam, iterum tribinum fecit_." but this was undoubtedly a mistake of the transcriber, as being contrary not only to the truth of history, but to cicero's own account of the matter in lib. iv. _di finibus_. pighius therefore has very properly recommended the word _fregit_ instead of _fecit_.] his colleague gracchus (then raised to the same office a second time) was a nervous speaker, and a man of great popularity: and next to him was his brother c. drusus. your kinsman also, my brutus, (m. pennus) successfully opposed the tribune gracchus, who was something younger than himself. for gracchus was quaestor, and pennus (the son of that m. who was joint consul with q. aelius) was tribune, in the consulship of m. lepidus and l. orestes: but after enjoying the aedileship, and a prospect: of succeeding to the highest honours, he was snatched off by an untimely death. as to t. flaminius, whom i myself have seen, i can learn nothing but that he spoke our language with great accuracy. to these we may join c. curio, m. scaurus, p. rutilius, and c. gracchus. it will not be amiss to give a short account of scaurus and rutilius; neither of whom, indeed, had the reputation of being a first- rate orator, though each of them pleaded a number of causes. but some deserving men, who were not remarkable for their genius, may be justly commended for their industry; not that the persons i am speaking of were really destitute of genius, but only of that particular kind of it which distinguishes the orator. for it is of little consequence to discover what is proper to be said, unless you are able to express it in a free and agreeable manner: and even that will be insufficient, if not recommended by the voice, the look, and the gesture. it is needless to add that much depends upon _art_: for though, even without this, it is possible, by the mere force of nature, to say many striking things; yet, as they will after all be nothing more than so many lucky hits, we shall not be able to repeat them at our pleasure. the style of scaurus, who was a very sensible and honest man, was remarkably serious, and commanded the respect of the hearer: so that when he was speaking for his client, you would rather have thought he was giving evidence in his favour, than pleading his cause. this manner of speaking, however, though but indifferently adapted to the bar, was very much so to a calm, debate in the senate, of which scaurus was then esteemed the father: for it not only bespoke his prudence, but what was still a more important recommendation, his credibility. this advantage, which it is not easy to acquire by art, he derived entirely from nature: though you know that even _here_ we have some precepts to assist us. we have several of his orations still extant, and three books inscribed to l. fufidius containing the history of his own life, which, though a very useful work, is scarcely read by any body. but the _institution of cyrus_, by xenophon, is read by every one; which, though an excellent performance of the kind, is much less adapted to our manners and form of government, and not superior in merit to the honest simplicity of scaurus. fufidius himself was likewise a tolerable pleader. but rutilius was distinguished by his solemn and austere way of speaking; and both of them were naturally warm, and spirited. accordingly, after they had rivalled each other for the consulship, he who had lost his election, immediately sued his competitor for bribery; and scaurus, the defendant, being honourably acquitted of the charge, returned the compliment to rutilius, by commencing a similar prosecution against _him_. rutilius was a man of great industry and application; for which he was the more respected, because, besides his pleadings, he undertook the office (which was a very troublesome one) of giving advice to all who applied to him, in matters of law. his orations are very dry, but his juridical remarks are excellent: for he was a learned man, and well versed in the greek literature, and was likewise an attentive and constant hearer of panaetius, and a thorough proficient in the doctrine of the stoics; whose method of discoursing, though very close and artful, is too precise, and not at all adapted to engage the attention of common people. that self- confidence, therefore, which is so peculiar to the sect, was displayed by _him_ with amazing firmness and resolution; for though he was perfectly innocent of the charge, a prosecution was commenced against him for bribery (a trial which raised a violent commotion in the city)--and yet though l. crassus and m. antonius, both of consular dignity, were, at that time, in very high repute for their eloquence, he refused the assistance of either; being determined to plead his cause himself, which he accordingly did. c. cotta, indeed, who was his nephew, made a short speech in his vindication, which he spoke in the true style of an orator, though he was then but a youth. q. mucius too said much in his defence, with his usual accuracy and elegance; but not with that force, and extension, which the mode of trial, and the importance of the cause demanded. rutilius, therefore, was an orator of the _stoical_, and scaurus of the _antique_ cast: but they are both entitled to our commendation; because, in _them_, even this formal and unpromising species of elocution has appeared among us with some degree of merit. for as in the theatre, so in the forum, i would not have our applause confined to those alone who act the busy, and more important characters; but reserve a share of it for the quiet and unambitious performer who is distinguished by a simple truth of gesture, without any violence. as i have mentioned the stoics, i must take some notice of q. aelius tubero, the grandson of l. paullus, who made his appearance at the time we are speaking of. he was never esteemed an orator, but was a man of the most rigid virtue, and strictly conformable to the doctrine he professed: but, in truth, he was rather too crabbed. in his triumvirate, he declared, contrary to the opinion of p. africanus his uncle, that the augurs had no right of exemption from sitting in the courts of justice: and as in his temper, so in his manner of speaking, he was harsh, unpolished, and austere; on which account, he could never raise himself to the honourable ports which were enjoyed by his ancestors. but he was a brave and steady citizen, and a warm opposer of gracchus, as appears from an oration of gracchus against him: we have likewise some of tubero's speeches against gracchus. he was not indeed a shining orator: but he was a learned, and a very skilfull disputant. "i find," said brutus, "that the case is much the same among us, as with the greeks; and that the stoics, in general, are very judicious at an argument, which they conduct by certain rules of art, and are likewise very neat and exact in their language; but if we take them from this, to speak in public, they make a poor appearance. cato, however, must be excepted; in whom, though as rigid a stoic as ever existed, i could not wish for a more consummate degree of eloquence: i can likewise discover a moderate share of it in fannius,--not so much in rutilius;--but none at all in tubero."--"true," said i; "and we may easily account for it: their whole attention was so closely confined to the study of logic, that they never troubled themselves to acquire the free, diffusive, and variegated style which is so necessary for a public speaker. but your uncle, you doubtless know, was wise enough to borrow only that from the stoics, which they were able to furnish for his purpose (the art of reasoning:) but for the art of speaking, he had recourse to the masters of rhetoric, and exercised himself in the manner they directed. if, however, we must be indebted for everything to the philosophers, the peripatetic discipline is, in my mind, much the properest to form our language. for which reason, my brutus, i the more approve your choice, in attaching yourself to a sect, (i mean the philosophers of the old academy,) in whose system, a just and accurate way of reasoning is enlivened by a perpetual sweetness and fluency of expression: but even the delicate and flowing style of the peripatetics, and academics, is not sufficient to complete an orator; nor yet can he be complete without it. for as the language of the stoics is too close, and contracted, to suit the ears of common people; so that of the latter is too diffusive and luxuriant for a spirited contest in the forum, or a pleading at the bar. who had a richer style than plato? the philosophers tell us, that if jupiter himself was to converse in greek, he would speak like _him_. who also was more nervous than aristotle? who sweeter than theophrastus? we are told that even demosthenes attended the lectures of plato, and was fond of reading what he published; which, indeed, is sufficiently evident from the turn, and the majesty of his language and he himself has expressly mentioned it in one of his letters. but the style of this excellent orator is, notwithstanding, much too fierce for the academy; as that of the philosophers is too mild and placid for the forum. i shall now, with your leave, proceed to the age and merits of the rest of the roman orators."--"nothing," said atticus, "(for i can safely answer for my friend brutus) would please us better."--"curio, then," said i, "was nearly of the age i have just mentioned,--a celebrated speaker, whose genius may be easily decided from his orations. for, among several others, we have a noble speech of his for ser. fulvius, in a prosecution for incest. when we were children, it was esteemed the best then extant; but now it is almost overlooked among the numerous performances of the same kind which have been lately published."--"i am very sensible," replied brutus, "to whom we are obliged for the numerous performances you speak of."--"and i am equally sensible," said i, "who is the person you intend: for i have at least done a service to my young countrymen, by introducing a loftier, and more embellished way of speaking, than was used before: and, perhaps, i have also done some harm, because after _mine_ appeared, the speeches of our ancestors and predecessors began to be neglected by most people; though never by _me_, for i can assure you, i always prefer them to my own."--"but you must reckon me," said brutus, "among the _most people_; though i now see, from your recommendation, that i have a great many books to read, of which before i had very little opinion."--"but this celebrated oration," said i, "in the prosecution for incest, is in some places excessively puerile; and what is said in it of the passion of love, the inefficacy of questioning by tortures, and the danger of trusting to common hear-say, is indeed pretty enough, but would be insufferable to the tutored ears of the moderns, and to a people who are justly distinguished for the solidity of their knowledge. he likewise wrote several other pieces, spoke a number of good orations, and was certainly an eminent pleader; so that i much wonder, considering how long he lived, and the character he bore, that he was never preferred to the consulship. but i have a man here, [footnote: he refers, perhaps, to the works of gracchus, which he might then have in his hand; or, more probably, to a statue of him, which stood near the place where he and his friends were sitting.] (c. gracchus) who had an amazing genius, and the warmest application; and was a scholar from his very childhood: for you must not imagine, my brutus, that we have ever yet had a speaker, whose language was richer and more copious than his."--"i really think so," answered brutus; "and he is almost the only author we have, among the ancients, that i take the trouble to read." "and he well _deserves_ it," said i; "for the roman name and literature were great losers by his untimely fate. i wish he had transferred his affection for his brother to his country! how easily, if he had thus prolonged his life, would he have rivalled the glory of his father, and grandfather! in eloquence, i scarcely know whether we should yet have had his equal. his language was noble; his sentiments manly and judicious; and his whole manner great and striking. he wanted nothing but the finishing touch: for though his first attempts were as excellent as they were numerous, he did not live to complete them. in short, my brutus, _he_, if any one, should be carefully studied by the roman youth: for he is able, not only to edge, but to feed and ripen their talents. after _him_ appeared c. galba, the son of the eloquent servius, and the son-in-law of p. crassus, who was both an eminent speaker, and a skilful civilian. he was much commended by our fathers, who respected him for the sake of _his_: but he had the misfortune to be stopped in his career. for being tried by the mamilian law, as a party concerned in the conspiracy to support jugurtha, though he exerted all his abilities to defend himself, he was unhappily cast. his peroration, or, as it is often called, his epilogue, is still extant; and was so much in repute, when we were school-boys, that we used to learn it by heart: he was the first member of the sacerdotal college, since the building of rome, who was publicly tried and condemned. as to p. scipio, who died in his consulship, he neither spoke much, nor often: but he was inferior to no one in the purity of his language, and superior to all in wit and pleasantry. his colleague l. bestia, who begun his tribuneship very successfully, (for, by a law which he preferred for the purpose, he procured the recall of popillius, who had been exiled by the influence of caius gracchus) was a man of spirit, and a tolerable speaker: but he did not finish his consulship so happily. for, in consequence of the invidious law of mamilius above-mentioned, c. galba one of the priests, and the four consular gentlemen l. bestia, c. cato, sp. albinus, and that excellent citizen l. opimius, who killed gracchus; of which he was acquitted by the people, though he had constantly sided against them,--were all condemned by their judges, who were of the gracchan party. very unlike him in his tribuneship, and indeed in every other part of his life, was that infamous citizen c. licinius nerva; but he was not destitute of eloquence. nearly at the same time, (though, indeed, he was somewhat older) flourished c. fimbria, who was rather rough and abusive, and much too warm and hasty: but his application, and his great integrity and firmness made him a serviceable speaker in the senate. he was likewise a tolerable pleader, and civilian, and distinguished by the same rigid freedom in the turn of his language, as in that of his virtues. when we were boys, we used to think his orations worth reading; though they are now scarcely to be met with. but c. sextius calvinus was equally elegant both in his taste, and his language, though, unhappily, of a very infirm constitution:--when the pain in his feet intermitted, he did not decline the trouble of pleading, but he did not attempt it very often. his fellow-citizens, therefore, made use of his advice, whenever they had occasion for it; but of his patronage, only when his health permitted. cotemporary with these, my good friend, was your namesake m. brutus, the disgrace of your noble family; who, though he bore that honourable name, and had the best of men, and an eminent civilian, for his father, confined his practice to accusations, as lycurgus is said to have done at athens. he never sued for any of our magistracies; but was a severe, and a troublesome prosecutor: so that we easily see that, in _him_, the natural goodness of the flock was corrupted by the vicious inclinations of the man. at the same time lived l. caesulenus, a man of plebeian rank, and a professed accuser, like the former: i myself heard him in his old age, when he endeavoured, by the aquilian law, to subject l. sabellius to a fine, for a breach of justice. but i should not have taken any notice of such a low-born wretch, if i had not thought that no person i ever heard, could give a more suspicious turn to the cause of the defendant, or exaggerate it to a higher degree of criminality. t. albucius, who lived in the same age, was well versed in the grecian literature, or, rather, was almost a greek himself. i speak of him, as i think; but any person, who pleases, may judge what he was by his orations. in his youth, he studied at athens, and returned from thence a thorough proficient in the doctrine of epicurus; which, of all others, is the least adapted to form an orator. his cotemporary, q. catulus, was an accomplished speaker, not in the ancient taste, but (unless any thing more perfect can be exhibited) in the finished style of the moderns. he had a plentiful stock of learning; an easy, winning elegance, not only in his manners and disposition, but in his very language; and an unblemished purity and correctness of style. this may be easily seen by his orations; and particularly, by the history of his consulship, and of his subsequent transactions, which he composed in the soft and agreeable manner of xenophon, and made a present of to the poet, a. furius, an intimate acquaintance of his: but this performance is as little known, as the three books of scaurus before-mentioned."--"indeed, i must confess," said brutus, "that both the one and the other, are perfectly unknown to me: but that is entirely my _own_ fault. i shall now, therefore, request a sight of them from _you_; and am resolved, in future, to be more careful in collecting such valuable curiosities."--"this catulus," said i, "as i have just observed, was distinguished by the purity of his language; which, though a material accomplishment, is too much neglected by most of the roman orators; for as to the elegant tone of his voice, and the sweetness of his accent, as you knew his son, it will be needless to take any notice of them. his son, indeed, was not in the list of orators: but whenever he had occasion to deliver his sentiments in public, he neither wanted judgment, nor a neat and liberal turn of expression. nay, even the father himself was not reckoned the foremost in the list of orators: but still he had that kind of merit, that notwithstanding, after you had heard two or three speakers, who were particularly eminent in their profession, you might judge him inferior; yet, whenever you heard him _alone_, and without an immediate opportunity of making a comparison, you would not only be satisfied with him, but scarcely wish for a better advocate. as to q. metellus numidicus, and his colleague m. silanus, they spoke, on matters of government, with as much eloquence as was really necessary for men of their illustrious character, and of consular dignity. but m. aurelius scaurus, though he spoke in public but seldom, always spoke very neatly, and he had a more elegant command of the roman language than most men. a. albinus was a speaker of the same kind; but albinus, the flamen, was esteemed an _orator_. q. capio too had a great deal of spirit, and was a brave citizen: but the unlucky chance of war was imputed to him as a crime, and the general odium of the people proved his ruin. c. and l. memmius were likewise indifferent orators, and distinguished by the bitterness and asperity of their accusations: for they prosecuted many, but seldom spoke for the defendant. sp. torius, on the other hand, was distinguished by his _popular_ way of speaking; the very same man, who, by his corrupt and frivolous law, diminished [footnote: by dividing great part of them among the people.] the taxes which were levied on the public lands. m. marcellus, the father of aeserninus, though not reckoned a professed pleader, was a prompt, and, in some degree, a practised speaker; as was also his son p. lentulus. l. cotta likewise, a man of praetorian rank, was esteemed a tolerable orator; but he never made any great progress; on the contrary, he purposely endeavoured, both in the choice of his words, and the rusticity of his pronunciation, to imitate the manner of the ancients. i am indeed sensible that in this instance of cotta, and in many others, i have, and shall again insert in the list of orators, those who, in reality, had but little claim to the character. for it was, professedly, my design, to collect an account of all the romans, without exception, who made it their business to excel in the profession of _eloquence_: and it may be easily seen from this account, by what slow gradations they advanced, and how excessively difficult it is, in every thing, to rise to the summit of perfection. as a proof of this, how many orators have been already recounted, and how much time have we bestowed upon them, before we could force our way, after infinite fatigue and drudgery, as, among the greek's, to _demosthenes_ and _hyperides_, so now, among our own countrymen, to _antonius_ and _crassus_! for, in my mind, these were consummate orators, and the first among the romans whose diffusive eloquence rivalled the glory of the greeks. antonius discovered every thing which could be of service to his cause, and that in the very order in which it would be most so: and as a skilful general posts the cavalry, the infantry, and the light troops, where each of them can act to most advantage; so antonius drew up his arguments in those parts of his discourse, where they were likely to have the best effect. he had a quick and retentive memory, and a frankness of manner which precluded any suspicion of artifice. all his speeches were, in appearance, the unpremeditated effusions of an honest heart; and yet, in reality, they were preconcerted with so much skill, that the judges were, sometimes, not so well prepared, as they should have been, to withstand the force of them. his language, indeed, was not so refined as to pass for the standard of elegance; for which reason he was thought to be rather a careless speaker; and yet, on the other hand, it was neither vulgar nor incorrect, but of that solid and judicious turn, which constitutes the real merit of an orator, as to the choice of his words. for, as to a purity of style, though this is certainly (as before observed) a very commendable quality, it is not so much so for its intrinsic consequence, as because it is too generally neglected. in short, it is not so meritorious to speak our native tongue correctly, as it is scandalous to speak it otherwise; nor is it so much the property of a good orator, as of a well-bred citizen. but in the choice of his words (in which he had more regard to their weight than their brilliance) and likewise in the structure of his language, and the compass of his periods, antonius conformed himself to the dictates of reason, and, in a great measure, to the nicer rules of art: though his chief excellence was a judicious management of the figures and decorations of sentiment. this was likewise the distinguishing excellence of demosthenes; in which he was so far superior to all others, as to be allowed, in the opinion of the best judges, to be the prince of orators. for the _figures_ (as they are called by the greeks) are the principal ornaments of an able speaker, i mean those which contribute not so much to paint and embellish our language, as to give a lustre to our sentiments. but besides these, of which antonius had a great command, he had a peculiar excellence in his manner of delivery, both as to his voice and gesture; for the latter was such as to correspond to the meaning of every sentence, without beating time to the words. his hands, his shoulders, the turn of his body, the stamp of his foot, his posture, his air, and, in short, his every motion, was adapted to his language and sentiments: and his voice was strong and firm, though naturally hoarse;--a defect which he alone was capable of improving to his advantage; for in capital causes, it had a mournful dignity of accent, which was exceedingly proper, both to win the assent of the judges, and excite their compassion for a suffering client: so that in _him_ the observation of demosthenes was eminently verified, who being asked what was the _first_ quality of a good orator, what the _second_, and what the _third_, constantly replied, a good enunciation. "but many thought that he was equalled, and others that he was even excelled by lucius crassus. all, however, were agreed in this, that whoever had either of them for his advocate, had no cause to wish for a better. for my own part, notwithstanding the uncommon merit i have ascribed to antonius, i must also acknowlege, that there cannot be a more finished character than that of crassus. he possessed a wonderful dignity of elocution, with an agreeable mixture of wit and pleasantry, which was perfectly genteel, and without the smallest tincture of scurrility. his style was correct and elegant without stiffness or affectation: his method of reasoning was remarkably clear and distinct: and when his cause turned upon any point of law, or equity, he had an inexhaustible fund of arguments, and comparative illustrations. for as antonius had an admirable turn for suggesting apposite hints, and either suppressing or exciting the suspicions of the hearer; so no man could explain and define, or discuss a point of equity, with a more copious facility than crassus; as sufficiently appeared upon many other occasions, but particularly in the cause of m. curius, which was tried before the centum viri. for he urged a great variety of arguments in the defence of right and equity, against the literal _jubeat_ of the law; and supported them by such a numerous series of precedents, that he overpowered q. scaevola (a man of uncommon penetration, and the ablest civilian of his time) though the case before them was only a matter of legal right. but the cause was so ably managed by the two advocates, who were nearly of an age, and both of consular rank, that while each endeavoured to interpret the law in favour of his client, crassus was universally allowed to be the best lawyer among the orators, and scaevola to be the most eloquent civilian of the age: for the latter could not only discover with the nicest precision what was agreeable to law and equity; but had likewise a conciseness and propriety of expression, which was admirably adapted to his purpose. in short, he had such a wonderful vein of oratory in commenting, explaining, and discussing, that i never beheld his equal; though in amplifying, embellishing, and refuting, he was rather to be dreaded as a formidable critic, than admired as an eloquent speaker."--"indeed," said brutus, "though i always thought i sufficiently understood the character of scaevola, by the account i had heard of him from c. rutilius, whose company i frequented for the sake of his acquaintance with him, i had not the least idea of his merit as an orator. i am now, therefore, not a little pleased to be informed, that our republic has had the honour of producing so accomplished a man, and such an excellent genius."--"really, my brutus," said i, "you may take it from me, that the roman state had never been adorned with two finer characters than these. for, as i have before observed, that the one was the best lawyer among the orators, and the other the best speaker among the civilians of his time; so the difference between them, in all other respects, was of such a nature, that it would almost be impossible for you to determine which of the two you would rather choose to resemble. for, as crassus was the closest of all our elegant speakers, so scaevola was the most elegant among those who were distinguished by the frugal accuracy of their language: and as crassus tempered his affability with a proper share of severity, so the rigid air of scaevola was not destitute of the milder graces of an affable condescension. though this was really their character, it is very possible that i may be thought to have embellished it beyond the bounds of truth, to give an agreeable air to my narrative: but as your favourite sect, my brutus, the old academy, has defined all virtue to be a just mediocrity, it was the constant endeavour of these two eminent men to pursue this golden mean; and yet it so happened, that while each of them shared a part of the other's excellence, he preserved his own entire."--"to speak what i think," replied brutus, "i have not only acquired a proper acquaintance with their characters from your account of them, but i can likewise discover, that the same comparison might be drawn between _you_ and serv. sulpicius, which you have just been making between crassus and scaevola." --"in what manner?" said i.--"because _you_," replied brutus, "have taken the pains to acquire as extensive a knowledge of the law as is necessary for an orator; and sulpicius, on the other hand, took care to furnish himself with sufficient eloquence to support the character of an able civilian. besides, your age corresponded as nearly to his, as the age of crassus did to that of scaevola."--"as to my own abilities," said i, "the rules of decency forbid me to speak of them: but your character of servius is a very just one, and i may freely tell you what i think of him. there are few, i believe, who have applied themselves more assiduously to the art of speaking than he did, or indeed to the study of every useful science. in our youth, we both of us followed the same liberal exercises; and he afterwards accompanied me to rhodes, to pursue those studies which might equally improve him as a man and a scholar; but when he returned from thence, he appears to me to have been rather ambitious to be the foremost man in a secondary profession, than the second in that which claims the highest dignity. i will not pretend to say that he could not have ranked himself among the foremost in the latter profession; but he rather chose to be, what he actually made himself, the first lawyer of his time."--"indeed!" said brutus: "and do you really prefer servius to q. scaevola?"--"my opinion," said i, "brutus, is, that q. scaevola, and many others, had a thorough practical knowledge of the law; but that servius alone understood it as _science_: which he could never have done by the mere study of the law, and without a previous acquaintance with the art which teaches us to divide a whole into its subordinate parts, to, decide an indeterminate idea by an accurate definition: to explain what is obscure, by a clear interpretation; and first to discover what things are of a _doubtful_ nature, then to distinguish them by their different degrees of probability; and lastly, to be provided with a certain rule or measure by which we may judge what is true, and what false, and what inferences fairly may, or may not be deduced from any given premises. this important art he applied to those subjects which, for want of it, were necessarily managed by others without due order and precision."--"you mean, i suppose," said brutus, "the art of logic."--"you suppose very right," answered i: "but he added to it an extensive acquaintance with polite literature, and an elegant manner of expressing himself; as is sufficiently evident from the incomparable writings he has left behind him. and as he attached himself, for the improvement of his eloquence, to l. lucilius balbus, and c. aquilius gallus, two very able speakers; he effectually thwarted the prompt celerity of the latter (though a keen, experienced man) both in supporting and refuting a charge, by his accuracy and precision, and overpowered the deliberate formality of balbus (a man of great learning and erudition) by his adroit and dextrous method of arguing: so that he equally possessed the good qualities of both, without their defects. as crassus, therefore, in my mind, acted more prudently than scaevola; (for the latter was very fond of pleading causes, in which he was certainly inferior to crassus; whereas the former never engaged himself in an unequal competition with scaevola, by assuming the character of a civilian;) so servius pursued a plan which sufficiently discovered his wisdom; for as the profession of a pleader, and a lawyer, are both of them held in great esteem, and give those who are masters of them the most extensive influence among their fellow-citizens; he acquired an undisputed superiority in the one, and improved himself as much in the other as was necessary to support the authority of the civil law, and promote him to the dignity of a consul."--"this is precisely the opinion i had formed of him," said brutus. "for, a few years ago i heard him often and very attentively at samos, when i wanted to be instructed by him in the pontifical law, as far as it is connected with the civil; and i am now greatly confirmed in my opinion of him, by finding that it coincides so exactly with yours. i am likewise not a little pleased to observe, that the equality of your ages, your sharing the same honours and preferments, and the vicinity of your respective studies and professions, has been so far from precipitating either of you into that envious detraction of the other's merit, which most people are tormented with, that, instead of wounding your mutual friendship, it has only served to increase and strengthen it; for, to my own knowlege, he had the same affection for, and the same favourable sentiments of _you_, which i now discover in you towards _him_. i cannot, therefore, help regretting very sincerely, that the roman state has so long been deprived of the benefit of his advice, and of your eloquence;--a circumstance which is indeed calamitous enough in itself; but must appear much more so to him who considers into what hands that once respectable authority has been of late, i will not say transferred, but forcibly wrested."--"you certainly forget," said atticus, "that i proposed, when we began the conversation, to drop all matters of state; by all means, therefore, let us keep to our plan: for if we once begin to repeat our grievances, there will be no end, i need not say to our inquiries, but to our sighs and lamentations."--"let us proceed, then," said i, "without any farther digression, and pursue the plan we set out upon. crassus (for he is the orator we were just speaking of) always came into the forum ready prepared for the combat. he was expected with impatience, and heard with pleasure. when he first began his oration (which he always did in a very accurate style) he seemed worthy of the great expectations he had raised. he was very moderate in the sway of his body, had no remarkable variation of voice, never advanced from the ground he stood upon, and seldom stamped his foot: his language was forcible, and sometimes warm and pathetic; he had many strokes of humour, which were always tempered with a becoming dignity; and, what is a difficult character to hit, he was at once very florid, and very concise. in a close contest, he never met with his equal; and there was scarcely any kind of causes, in which he had not signalized his abilities; so that he enrolled himself very early among the first orators of the time. he accused c. carbo, though a man of great eloquence, when he was but a youth;--and displayed his talents in such a manner, that they were not only applauded, but admired by every body. he afterwards defended the virgin licinia, when he was only twenty-seven years of age; on which occasion he discovered an uncommon share of eloquence, as is evident from those parts of his oration which he left behind him in writing. as he was then desirous to have the honour of settling the colony of narbonne (as he afterwards did) he thought it adviseable to recommend himself, by undertaking the management of some popular cause. his oration, in support of the act which was proposed for that purpose, is still extant; and discovers a greater maturity of genius than might have been expected at that time of life. he afterwards pleaded many other causes: but his tribuneship was such a remarkably silent one, that if he had not supped with granius the beadle when he enjoyed that office (a circumstance which has been twice mentioned by lucilius) we should scarcely have known that a tribune of that name had existed."--"i believe so," replied brutus: "but i have heard as little of the tribuneship of scaevola, though i must naturally suppose that he was the colleague of crassus."--"he was so," said i, "in all his other preferments; but he was not tribune till the year after him; and when he sat in the rostrum in that capacity, crassus spoke in support of the servilian law. i must observe, however, that crassus had not scaevola for his colleague in the censorship; for none of the scaevolas ever sued for that office. but when the last-mentioned oration of crassus was published (which i dare say you have frequently read) he was thirty-four years of age, which was exactly the difference between his age and mine. for he supported the law i have just been speaking of, in the very consulship under which i was born; whereas he himself was born in the consulship of q. caepio, and c. laelius, about three years later than antonius. i have particularly noticed this circumstance, to specify the time when the roman eloquence attained its first _maturity_; and was actually carried to such a degree of perfection, as to leave no room for any one to carry it higher, unless by the assistance of a more complete and extensive knowledge of philosophy, jurisprudence, and history."--"but does there," said brutus, "or will there ever exist a man, who is furnished with all the united accomplishments you require?"--"i really don't know," said i; "but we have a speech made by crassus in his consulship, in praise of q. caepio, intermingled with a defence of his conduct, which, though a short one if we consider it as an oration, is not so as a panegyric;--and another, which was his last, and which he spoke in the th year of his age, at the time he was censor. in these we have the genuine complexion of eloquence, without any painting or disguise: but his periods (i mean crassus's) were generally short and concise; and he was fond of expressing himself in those minuter sentences, or members, which the greeks call colons."--"as you have spoken so largely," said brutus, "in praise of the two last-mentioned orators, i heartily wish that antonius had left us some other specimen of his abilities, than his trifling essay on the art of speaking, and crassus more than he has: by so doing, they would have transmitted their fame to _posterity_; and to us a valuable system of eloquence. for as to the elegant language of scaevola, we have sufficient proofs of it in the orations he has left behind him."--"for my part," said i, "the oration i was speaking of, on caepio's case, has been my pattern, and my tutoress, from my very childhood. it supports the dignity of the senate, which was deeply interested in the debate; and excites the jealousy of the audience against the party of the judges and accusers, whose power it was necessary to expose in the most popular terms. many parts of it are very strong and nervous, many others very cool and composed; and some are distinguished by the asperity of their language, and not a few by their wit and pleasantry: but much more was said than was committed to writing, as is sufficiently evident from several heads of the oration, which are merely proposed without any enlargement or explanation. but the oration in his censorship against his colleague cn. domitius, is not so much an oration, as an analysis of the subject, or a general sketch of what he had said, with here and there a few ornamental touches, by way of specimen: for no contest was ever conducted with greater spirit than this. crassus, however, was eminently distinguished by the popular turn of his language: but that of antonius was better adapted to judicial trials, than to a public debate. as we have had occasion to mention him, domitius himself must not be left unnoticed: for though he is not enrolled in the list of orators, he had a sufficient share both of utterance and genius, to support his character as a magistrate and his dignity as a consul. i might likewise observe of c. caelius, that he was a man of great application, and many eminent qualities, and had eloquence enough to support the private interests of his friends, and his own dignity in the state. at the same time lived m. herennius, who was reckoned among the middling orators, whose principal merit was the purity and correctness of their language; and yet, in a suit for the consulship, he got the better of l. philippus, a man of the first rank and family, and of the most extensive connections, and who was likewise a member of the college, and a very eloquent speaker. _then_ also lived c. clodius, who, besides his consequence as a nobleman of the first distinction, and a man of the most powerful influence, was likewise possessed of a moderate share of eloquence. nearly of the same age was c. titius, a roman knight, who, in my judgment, arrived at as high a degree of perfection as a roman orator was able to do, without the assistance of the grecian literature, and a good share of practice. his orations have so many delicate turns, such a number of well-chosen examples, and such an agreeable vein of politeness, that they almost seem to have been composed in the true attic style. he likewise transferred his delicacies into his very tragedies, with ingenuity enough, i confess, but not in the tragic taste. but the poet l. afranius, whom he studiously imitated, was a very smart writer, and, as you well know, a man of great expression in the dramatic way. q. rubrius varro, who with c. marius, was declared an enemy by the senate, was likewise a warm, and a very spirited prosecutor. my relation, m. gratidius, was a plausible speaker of the same kind, well versed in the grecian literature, formed by nature for the profession of eloquence, and an intimate acquaintance of m. antonius: he commanded under him in cilicia, where he lost his life: and he once commenced a prosecution against c. fimbria, the father of m. marius gratidianus. there have likewise been several among the allies, and the latins, who were esteemed good orators; as, for instance, q. vettius of vettium, one of the marsi, whom i myself was acquainted with, a man of sense, and a concise speaker; --the q. and d. valerii of sora, my neighbours and acquaintances, who were not so remarkable for their talent of speaking, as for their skill both in the greek and roman literature; and c. rusticellus of bononia, an experienced orator, and a man of great natural volubility. but the most eloquent of all those who were not citizens of rome, was t. betucius barrus of asculum, some of whose orations, which were spoken in that city, are still extant: that which he made at rome against caepio, is really an excellent one: the speech which caepio delivered in answer to it, was made by aelius, who composed a number of orations, but pronounced none himself. but among those of a remoter date, l. papirius of fregellae in latium, who was almost cotemporary with ti. gracchus, was universally esteemed the most eloquent: we have a speech of his in vindication of the fregellani, and the latin colonies, which was delivered before the senate."--"and what then is the merit," said brutus, "which you mean to ascribe to these provincial orators?"--"what else," replied i, "but the very same which i have ascribed to the city-orators; excepting that their language is not tinctured with the same fashionable delicacy?"--"what fashionable delicacy do you mean?" said he.--"i cannot," said i, "pretend to define it: i only know that there is such a quality existing. when you go to your province in gaul, you will be convinced of it. you will there find many expressions which are not current in rome; but these may be easily changed, and corrected. but, what is of greater importance, our orators have a particular accent in their manner of pronouncing, which is more elegant, and has a more agreeable effect than any other. this, however, is not peculiar to the orators, but is equally common to every well-bred citizen. i myself remember that t. tineas, of placentia, who was a very facetious man, once engaged in a repartee skirmish with my old friend q. granius, the public crier."--"do you mean that granius," said brutus, "of whom lucilius has related such a number of stories?"--"the very same," said i: "but though tineas said as many smart things as the other, granius at last overpowered him by a certain vernacular _goût_, which gave an additional relish to his humour: so that i am no longer surprised at what is said to have happened to theophrastus, when he enquired of an old woman who kept a stall, what was the price of something which he wanted to purchase. after telling him the value of it,--"honest _stranger_," said she, "i cannot afford it for less": "an answer which nettled him not a little, to think that _he_ who had resided almost all his life at athens, and spoke the language very correctly, should be taken at last for a foreigner. in the same manner, there is, in my opinion, a certain accent as peculiar to the native citizens of rome, as the other was to those of athens. but it is time for us to return home; i mean to the orators of our own growth. next, therefore, to the two capital speakers above-mentioned, (that is crassus and antonius) came l. philippus,--not indeed till a considerable time afterwards; but still he must be reckoned the next. i do not mean, however, though nobody appeared in the interim who could dispute the prize with him, that he was entitled to the second, or even the third post of honour. for, as in a chariot-race i cannot properly consider _him_ as either the second, or third winner, who has scarcely got clear of the starting-post, before the first has reached the goal; so, among orators, i can scarcely honour him with the name of a competitor, who has been so far distanced by the foremost as hardly to appear on the same ground with him. but yet there were certainly some talents to be observed in philippus, which any person who considers them, without subjecting them to a comparison with the superior merits of the two before-mentioned, must allow to have been respectable. he had an uncommon freedom of address, a large fund of humour, great facility in the invention of his sentiments, and a ready and easy manner of expressing them. he was likewise, for the time he lived in, a great adept in the literature of the greeks; and, in the heat of a debate, he could sting, and gash, as well as ridicule his opponents. almost cotemporary with these was l. gellius, who was not so much to be valued for his positive, as for his negative merits: for he was neither destitute of learning, nor invention, nor unacquainted with the history and the laws of his country; besides which, he had a tolerable freedom of expression. but he happened to live at a time when many excellent orators made their appearance; and yet he served his friends upon many occasions to good purpose: in short, his life was so long, that he was successively cotemporary with a variety of orators of different dates, and had an extensive series of practice in judicial causes. nearly at the same time lived d. brutus, who was fellow-consul with mamercus;-- and was equally skilled both in the grecian and roman literature. l. scipio likewise was not an unskilful speaker; and cnaeus pompeius, the son of sextus, had some reputation as an orator; for his brother sextus applied the excellent genius he was possessed of, to acquire a thorough knowledge of the civil law, and a complete acquaintance with geometry and the doctrine of the stoics. a little before these, m. brutus, and very soon after him, c. bilienus, who was a man of great natural capacity, made themselves, by nearly the same application, equally eminent in the profession of the law;--the latter would have been chosen consul, if he had not been thwarted by the repeated promotion of marius, and some other collateral embarrassments which attended his suit. but the eloquence of cn. octavius, which was wholly unknown before his elevation to the consulship, was effectually displayed, after his preferment to that office, in a great variety of speeches. it is, however, time for us to drop those who were only classed in the number of good _speakers_, and turn our attention to such as were really _orators_."--"i think so too," replied atticus; "for i understood that you meant to give us an account, not of those who took great pains to be eloquent, but of those who were so in reality."--"c. julius then," said i, (the son of lucius) was certainly superior, not only to his predecessors, but to all his cotemporaries, in wit and humour: he was not, indeed, a nervous and striking orator, but, in the elegance, the pleasantry, and the agreeableness of his manner, he has not been excelled by any man. there are some orations of his still extant, in which, as well as in his tragedies, we may discover a pleasing tranquillity of expression with very little energy. p. cethegus, his cotemporary, had always enough to say on matters of civil regulation; for he had studied and comprehended them with the minutest accuracy; by which means he acquired an equal authority in the senate with those who had served the office of consul, and though he made no figure in a public debate, he was a serviceable veteran in any suit of a private nature. q. lucretius vispillo was an acute speaker, and a good civilian in the same kind of causes: but osella was better qualified for a public harangue, than to conduct a judicial process. t. annius velina was likewise a man of sense, and a tolerable pleader; and t. juventius had a great deal of practice in the same way:--the latter indeed was rather too heavy and unanimated, but at the same time he was keen and artful, and knew how to seize every advantage which was offered by his antagonist; to which we may add, that he was far from being a man of no literature, and had an extensive knowledge of the civil law. his scholar, p. orbius, who was almost cotemporary with me, had no great practice as a pleader; but his skill in the civil law was nothing inferior to his master's. as to titus aufidius, who lived to a great age, he was a professed imitator of both; and was indeed a worthy inoffensive man, but seldom spoke at the bar. his brother, m. virgilius, who when he was a tribune of the people, commenced a prosecution against l. sylla, then advanced to the rank of general, had as little practice as aufidius. virgilius's colleague, p. magius, was more copious and diffusive. but of all the orators, or rather _ranters_, i ever knew, who were totally illiterate and unpolished, and (i might have added) absolutely coarse and rustic, the readiest and keenest, were q. sertorius, and c. gorgonius, the one of consular, and the other of equestrian rank. t. junius (the son of l.) who had served the office of tribune, and prosecuted and convicted p. sextius of bribery, when he was praetor elect, was a prompt and an easy speaker: he lived in great splendor, and had a very promising genius; and, if he had not been of a weak, and indeed a sickly constitution, he would have advanced much farther than he did in the road to preferment. i am sensible, however, that in the account i have been giving, i have included many who were neither real, nor reputed orators; and that i have omitted others, among those of a remoter date, who well deserved not only to have been mentioned, but to be recorded with honour. but this i was forced to do, for want of better information: for what could i say concerning men of a distant age, none of whose productions are now remaining, and of whom no mention is made in the writings of other people? but i have omitted none of those who have fallen within the compass of my own knowledge, or that i myself remember to have heard. for i wish to make it appear, that in such a powerful and ancient republic as ours, in which the greatest rewards have been proposed to eloquence, though all have desired to be good speakers, not many have attempted the talk, and but very few have succeeded. but i shall give my opinion of every one in such explicit terms, that it may be easily understood whom i consider as a mere declaimer, and whom as an orator." "about the same time, or rather something later than the above-mentioned julius, but almost cotemporary with each other, were c. cotta, p. sulpicius, q. varius, cn. pomponius, c. curio, l. fufius, m. drusus, and p. antistius; for no age whatsoever has been distingushed by a more numerous progeny of orators. of these, cotta and sulpicius, both in my opinion, and in that of the public at large, had an evident claim to the preference."--"but wherefore," interrupted atticus, "do you say, _in your own opinion, and in that of the public at large?_ in deciding the merits of an orator, does the opinion of the vulgar, think you, always coincide with that of the learned? or rather does not one receive the approbation of the populace, while another of a quite opposite character is preferred by those who are better qualified to give their judgment?"--"you have started a very pertinent question," said i; "but, perhaps, _the public at large_ will not approve my answer to it."--"and what concern need _that_ give you," replied atticus, "if it meets the approbation of brutus?"-- "very true," said i; "for i had rather my _sentiments_ on the qualifications of an orator would please you and brutus, than all the world besides: but as to my _eloquence_, i should wish _this_ to please every one. for he who speaks in such a manner as to please the people, must inevitably receive the approbation of the learned. as to the truth and propriety of what i hear, i am indeed to judge of this for myself, as well as i am able: but the general merit of an orator must and will be decided by the effects which his eloquence produces. for (in my opinion at least) there are three things which an orator should be able to effect; _viz_. to _inform_ his hearers, to _please_ them, and to _move their passions_. by what qualities in the speaker each of these, effects may be produced, or by what deficiencies they are either lost, or but imperfectly performed, is an enquiry which none but an artist can resolve: but whether an audience is really so affected by an orator as shall best answer his purpose, must be left to their own feelings, and the decision of the public. the learned, therefore, and the people at large, have never disagreed about who was a good orator, and who was otherwise. for do you suppose, that while the speakers above-mentioned were in being, they had not the same degree of reputation among the learned as among the populace? if you had enquired of one of the latter, _who was the most eloquent man in the city_, he might have hesitated whether to say _antonius_ or _crassus_; or this man, perhaps, would have mentioned the one, and that the other. but would any one have given the preference to _philippus_, though otherwise a smooth, a sensible, and a facetious speaker?--that _philippus_ whom we, who form our judgment upon these matters by rules of art, have decided to have been the next in merit? nobody would, i am certain. for it is the invariable, property of an accomplished orator, to be reckoned such in the opinion of the people. though antigenidas, therefore, the musician, might say to his scholar, who was but coldly received by the public, play on, to please me and the muses;--i shall say to my friend brutus, when he mounts the rostra, as he frequently does,-- play to me and the people;--that those who hear him may be sensible of the effect of his eloquence, while i can likewise amuse myself with remarking the causes which produce it. when a citizen hears an able orator, he readily credits what is said;--he imagines every thing to be true, he believes and relishes the force of it; and, in short, the persuasive language of the speaker wins his absolute, his hearty assent. you, who are possessed of a critical knowledge of the art, what more will you require? the listening multitude is charmed and captivated by the force of his eloquence, and feels a pleasure which is not to be resisted. what here can you find to censure? the whole audience is either flushed with joy, or overwhelmed with grief;--it smiles, or weeps,--it loves, or hates,--it scorns or envies,--and, in short, is alternately seized with the various emotions of pity, shame, remorse, resentment, wonder, hope, and fear, according as it is influenced by the language, the sentiments, and the action of the speaker. in this case, what necessity is there to await the sanction of a critic? for here, whatever is approved by the feelings of the people, must be equally so by men of taste and erudition: and, in this instance of public decision, there can be no disagreement between the opinion of the vulgar, and that of the learned. for though many good speakers have appeared in every species of oratory, which of them who was thought to excel the rest in the judgment of the populace, was not approved as such by every man of learning? or which of our ancestors, when the choice of a pleader was left to his own option, did not immediately fix it either upon crassus or antonius? there were certainly many others to be had: but though any person might have hesitated to which of the above two he should give the preference, there was nobody, i believe, who would have made choice of a third. and in the time of my youth, when cotta and hortensius were in such high reputation, who, that had liberty to choose for himself, would have employed any other?"--"but what occasion is there," said brutus, "to quote the example of other speakers to support your assertion? have we not seen what has always been the wish of the defendant, and what the judgment of hortensius, concerning yourself? for whenever the latter shared a cause with you, (and i was often present on those occasions) the peroration, which requires the greatest exertion of the powers of eloquence, was constantly left to _you_."--"it was," said i; "and hortensius (induced, i suppose, by the warmth of his friendship) always resigned the post of honour to me. but, as to myself, what rank i hold in the opinion of the people i am unable to determine: as to others, however, i may safely assert, that such of them as were reckoned most eloquent in the judgment of the vulgar, were equally high in the estimation of the learned. for even demosthenes himself could not have said what is related of antimachus, a poet of claros, who, when he was rehearsing to an audience assembled for the purpose, that voluminous piece of his which you are well acquainted with, and was deserted by all his hearers except plato, in the midst of his performance, cried out, "i shall proceed notwithstanding_; for plato alone is of _more consequence to me than many thousands_." "the remark was very just. for an abstruse poem, such as his, only requires the approbation of the judicious few; but a discourse intended for the people should be perfectly suited to their taste. if demosthenes, therefore, after being deserted by the rest of his audience, had even plato left to hear him, and no one else, i will answer for it, he could not have uttered another syllable. 'nay, or could you yourself, my brutus, if the whole assembly was to leave you, as it once did curio?"--"to open my whole mind to you," replied he, "i must confess that even in such causes as fall under the cognizance of a few select judges, and not of the people at large, if i was to be deserted by the casual crowd who came to hear the trial, i should not be able to proceed."--"the case, then, is plainly this," said i: "as a flute, which will not return its proper sound when it is applied to the lips, would be laid aside by the musician as useless; so, the ears of the people are the instrument upon which an orator is to play: and if these refuse to admit the breath he bestows upon them, or if the hearer, like a restive horse, will not obey the spur, the speaker must cease to exert himself any farther. there is, however, the exception to be made; the people sometimes give their approbation to an orator who does not deserve it. but even here they approve what they have had no opportunity of comparing with something better: as, for instance, when they are pleased with an indifferent, or, perhaps, a bad speaker. his abilities satisfy their expectation: they have seen nothing preferable: and, therefore, the merit of the day, whatever it may happen to be, meets their full applause. for even a middling orator, if he is possessed of any degree of eloquence, will always captivate the ear; and the order and beauty of a good discourse has an astonishing effect upon the human mind. accordingly, what common hearer who was present when q. scaevola pleaded for m. coponius, in the cause above- mentioned, would have wished for, or indeed thought it possible to find any thing which was more correct, more elegant, or more complete? when he attempted to prove, that, as m. curius was left heir to the estate only in case of the death of his future ward before he came of age, he could not possibly be a legal heir, when the expected ward was never born;--what did he leave unsaid of the scrupulous regard which should be paid to the literal meaning of every testament? what of the accuracy and preciseness of the old and established forms; of law? and how carefully did he specify the manner in which the will would have been expressed, if it had intended that curius should be the heir in case of a total default of issue? in what a masterly manner did he represent the ill consequences to the public, if the letter of a will should be disregarded, its intention decided by arbitrary conjectures, and the written bequests of plain illiterate men, left to the artful interpretation of a pleader? how often did he urge the authority of his father, who had always been an advocate for a strict adherence to the letter of a testament? and with what emphasis did he enlarge upon the necessity of supporting the common forms of law? all which particulars he discussed not only very artfully, and skilfully; but in such a neat,--such a close,--and, i may add, in so florid, and so elegant a style, that there was not a single person among the common part of the audience, who could expect any thing more complete, or even think it possible to exist. but when crassus, who spoke on the opposite side, began with the story of a notable youth, who having found a cock-boat as he was rambling along the shore, took it into his head immediately that he would build a ship to it;--and when he applied the tale to scaevola, who, from the cock-boat of an argument [which he had deduced from certain imaginary ill consequences to the public] represented the decision of a private will to be a matter of such importance as to deserve he attention of the _centum-viri_;--when crassus, i say, in the beginning of his discourse, had thus taken off the edge of the strongest plea of his antagonist, he entertained his hearers with many other turns of a similar kind; and, in a short time, changed the serious apprehensions of all who were present into open mirth and good-humour; which is one of those three effects which i have just observed an orator should be able to produce. he then proceeded to remark that it was evidently the intention and the will of the testator, that in cafe, either by death, or default of issue, there should happen to be no son to fall to his charge, the inheritance should devolve to curius:--'that most people in a similar case would express themselves in the same manner, and that it would certainly stand good in law, and always had. by these, and many other observations of the same kind, he gained the assent of his hearers; which is another of the three duties of an orator. lastly, he supported, at all events, the true meaning and spirit of a will, against the literal construction: justly observing, that there would be an endless cavilling about words, not only in wills, but in all other legal deeds, if the real intention of the party was to be disregarded: and hinting very smartly, that his friend scaevola had assumed a most unwarrantable degree of importance, if no person must afterwards presume to indite a legacy, but in the musty form which he himself might please to prescribe. as he enlarged on each of these arguments with great force and propriety, supported them by a number of precedents, exhibited them in a variety of views, and enlivened them with many occasional turns of wit and pleasantry, he gained so much applause, and gave such general satisfaction, that it was scarcely remembered that any thing had been said on the contrary side of the question. this was the third, and the most important duty we assigned to an orator. "here, if one of the people was to be judge, the same person who had heard the first speaker with a degree of admiration, would, on hearing the second, despise himself for his former want of judgment:--whereas a man of taste and erudition, on hearing scaevola, would have observed that he was really master of a rich and ornamental style; but if, on comparing the manner in which each of them concluded his cause, it was to be enquired which of the two was the best orator, the decision of the man of learning would not have differed from that of the vulgar. what advantage, then, it will be said, has the skilful critic over the illiterate hearer? a great and very important advantage; if it is indeed a matter of any consequence, to be able to discover by what means that which is the true and real end of speaking, is either obtained or lost. he has likewise this additional superiority, that when two or more orators, as has frequently happened, have shared the applauses of the public, he can judge, on a careful observation of the principal merits of each, what is the most perfect character of eloquence: since whatever does not meet the approbation of the people, must be equally condemned by a more intelligent hearer. for as it is easily understood by the sound of a harp, whether the strings are skilfully touched; so it may likewise be discovered from the manner in which the passions of an audience are affected, how far the speaker is able to command them. a man, therefore, who is a real connoisseur in the art, can sometimes by a single glance as he passes through the forum, and without stopping to listen attentively to what is said, form a tolerable judgment of the ability of the speaker. when he observes any of the bench either yawning, or speaking to the person who is next to him, or looking carelessly about him, or sending to enquire the time of day, or teazing the quaestor to dismiss the court; he concludes very naturally that the cause upon trial is not pleaded by an orator who understands how to apply the powers of language to the passions of the judges, as a skilful musician applies his fingers to the harp. on the other hand, if, as he passes by, he beholds the judges looking attentively before them, as if they were either receiving some material information, or visibly approved what they had already heard--if he sees them listening to the voice of the pleader with a kind of extasy like a fond bird to some melodious tune;-- and, above all, if he discovers in their looks any strong indications of pity, abhorrence, or any other emotion of the mind;--though he should not be near enough to hear a single word, he immediately discovers that the cause is managed by a real orator, who is either performing, or has already played his part to good purpose." after i had concluded these digressive remarks, my two friends were kind enough to signify their approbation, and i resumed my subject.--"as this digression," said i, "took its rise from cotta and sulpicius, whom i mentioned as the two most approved orators of the age they lived in, i shall first return to _them,_ and afterwards notice the rest in their proper order, according to the plan we began upon. i have already observed that there are two classes of _good_ orators (for we have no concern with any others) of which the former are distinguished by the simple neatness and brevity of their language, and the latter by their copious dignity and elevation: but although the preference must always be given to that which is great and striking; yet, in speakers of real merit, whatever is most perfect of the kind, is justly entitled to our commendation. it must, however, be observed, that the close and simple orator should be careful not to sink into a driness and poverty of expression; while, on the other hand, the copious and more stately speaker should be equally on his guard against a swelling and empty parade of words. "to begin with cotta, he had a ready, quick invention, and spoke correctly and freely; and as he very prudently avoided every forcible exertion of his voice on account of the weakness of his lungs, so his language was equally adapted to the delicacy of his constitution. there was nothing in his style but what was neat, compact, and healthy; and (what may justly be considered as his greatest excellence) though he was scarcely able, and therefore never attempted to force the passions of the judges by a strong and spirited elocution, yet he managed them so artfully, that the gentle emotions he raised in them, answered exactly the same purpose, and produced the same effect, as the violent ones which were excited by sulpicius. for sulpicius was really the most striking, and, if i may be allowed the expression, the most tragical orator i ever heard:--his voice was strong and sonorous, and yet sweet, and flowing:--his gesture, and the sway of his body, was graceful and ornamental, but in such a style as to appear to have been formed for the forum, and not for the stage:--and his language, though rapid and voluble, was neither loose nor exuberant. he was a professed imitator of crassus, while cotta chose antonius for his model: but the latter wanted the force of antonius, and the former the agreeable humour of crassus."--"how extremely difficult, then," said brutus, "must be the art of speaking, when such consummate orators as these were each of them destitute of one of its principal beauties!"--"we may likewise observe," said i, "in the present instance, that two orators may have the highest degree of merit, who are totally unlike each other: for none could be more so than cotta and sulpicius, and yet both of them were far superior to any of their cotemporaries. it is therefore the business of every intelligent matter to take notice what is the natural bent of his pupil's capacity; and, taking that for his guide, to imitate the conduct of socrates with his two scholars theopompus and ephorus, who, after remarking the lively genius of the former, and the mild and timid bashfulness of the latter, is reported to have said that he applied a spur to the one, and a curb to the other. the orations now extant, which bear the name of sulpicius, are supposed to have been written after his decease by my cotemporary p. canutius, a man indeed of inferior rank, but who, in my mind, had a great command of language. but we have not a single speech of sulpicius that was really his own: for i have often heard him say, that he neither had, nor ever could commit any thing of the kind to writing. and as to cotta's speech in defence of himself, called a vindication of the _varian law_, it was composed, at his own request, by l. aelius. this aelius was a man of merit, and a very worthy roman knight, who was thoroughly versed in the greek and roman literature. he had likewise a critical knowledge of the antiquities of his country, both as to the date and particulars of every new improvement, and every memorable transaction, and was perfectly well read in the ancient writers;--a branch of learning in which he was succeeded by our friend varro, a man of genius, and of the most extensive erudition, who afterwards enlarged the plan by many valuable collections of his own, and gave a much fuller and more elegant system of it to the public. for aelius himself chose to assume the character of a stoic, and neither aimed to be, nor ever was an orator: but he composed several orations for other people to pronounce; as for q. metellus, f. q. caepio, and q. pompeius rufus; though the latter composed those speeches himself which he spoke in his own defence, but not without the assistance of aelius. for i myself was present at the writing of them, in the younger part of my life, when i used to attend aelius for the benefit of his instructions. but i am surprised, that cotta, who was really an excellent orator, and a man of good learning, should be willing that the trifling speeches of aelius mould be published to the world as _his_. "to the two above-mentioned, no third person of the same age was esteemed an equal: pomponius, however, was a speaker much to my taste; or, at least, i have very little fault to find with him. but there was no employment for any in capital causes, excepting for those i have already mentioned; because antonius, who was always courted on these occasions, was very ready to give his service; and crassus, though not so compliable, generally consented, on any pressing sollicitation, to give _his_. those who had not interest enough to engage either of these, commonly applied to philip, or caesar; but when cotta and sulpicius were at liberty, they generally had the preference: so that all the causes in which any honour was to be acquired, were pleaded by these six orators. we may add, that trials were not so frequent then as they are at present; neither did people employ, as they do now, several pleaders on the same side of the question,--a practice which is attended with many disadvantages. for hereby we are often obliged to speak in reply to those whom we had not an opportunity of hearing; in which case, what has been alledged on the opposite side, is often represented to us either falsely or imperfectly; and besides, it is a very material circumstance, that i myself should be present to see with what countenance my antagonist supports his allegations, and, still more so, to observe the effect of every part of his discourse upon the audience. and as every defence should be conducted upon one uniform plan, nothing can be more improperly contrived, than to re-commence it by assigning the peroration, or pathetical part of it, to a second advocate. for every cause can have but one natural introduction and conclusion; and all the other parts of it, like the members of an animal body, will best retain their proper strength and beauty, when they are regularly disposed and connected. we may add, that as it is very difficult in a single oration of any length, to avoid saying something which does not comport with the rest of it so well as it ought to do, how much more difficult must it be to contrive that nothing shall be said, which does not tally exactly with the speech of another person who has spoken before you? but as it certainly requires more labour to plead a whole cause, than only a part of it, and as many advantageous connections are formed by assisting in a suit in which several persons are interested, the custom, however preposterous in itself, has been readily adopted. "there were some, however, who esteemed curio the third best orator of the age; perhaps, because his language was brilliant and pompous, and because he had a habit (for which i suppose he was indebted to his domestic education) of expressing himself with tolerable correctness: for he was a man of very little learning. but it is a circumstance of great importance, what sort of people we are used to converse with at home, especially in the more early part of life; and what sort of language we have been accustomed to hear from our tutors and parents, not excepting the mother. we have all read the letters of cornelia, the mother of the gracchi; and are satisfied, that her sons were not so much nurtured in their mother's lap, as in the elegance and purity of her language. i have often too enjoyed the agreeable conversation of laelia, the daughter of caius, and observed in her a strong tincture of her father's elegance. i have likewise conversed with his two daughters, the muciae, and his granddaughters, the two liciniae, with one of whom (the wife of scipio) you, my brutus, i believe, have sometimes been in company."--"i have," replied he, "and was much pleased with her conversation; and the more so, because she was the daughter of crassus."--"and what think you," said i, "of crassus, the son of that licinia, who was adopted by crassus in his will?"--"he is said," replied he, "to have been a man of great genius: and the scipio you have mentioned, who was my colleague, likewise appears to me to have been a good speaker, and an elegant companion."--"your opinion, my brutus," said i, "is very just. for this family, if i may be allowed the expression, seems to have been the offspring of wisdom. as to their two grandfathers, scipio and crassus, we have taken notice of them already: as we also have of their great grandfathers, q. metellus, who had four sons,--p. scipio, who, when a private citizen, freed the republic from the arbitrary influence of t. gracchus,--and q. scaevola, the augur, who was the ablest and most affable civilian of his time. and lastly, how illustrious are the names of their next immediate progenitors, p. scipio, who was twice consul, and was called the darling of the people,--and c. laelius, who was esteemed the wisest of men?"--"a generous stock indeed!" cries brutus, "into which the wisdom of many has been successively ingrafted, like a number of scions on the same tree!"--"i have likewise a suspicion," replied i, "(if we may compare small things with great) that curio's family, though he himself was left an orphan, was indebted to his father's instruction, and good example, for the habitual purity of their language: and so much the more, because, of all those who were held in any estimation for their eloquence, i never knew one who was so totally rude and unskilled in every branch of liberal science. he had not read a single poet, or studied a single orator; and he knew little or nothing either of public, civil, or common law. we might say almost the same, indeed, of several others, and some of them very able orators, who (we know) were but little acquainted with these useful parts of knowledge; as, for instance, of sulpicius and antonius. but this deficiency was supplied in them by an elaborate knowledge of the art of speaking; and there was not one of them who was totally unqualified in any of the five [footnote: invention, disposition, elocution, memory, and pronunciation.] principal parts of which it is composed; for whenever this is the case, (and it matters not in which of those parts it happens) it intirely incapacitates a man to shine as an orator. some, however, excelled in one part, and some in another. thus antonius could readily invent such arguments as were most in point, and afterwards digest and methodize them to the best advantage; and he could likewise retain the plan he had formed with great exactness: but his chief merit was the goodness of his delivery, in which he was justly allowed to excel. in some of these qualifications he was upon an equal footing with crassus, and in others he was superior: but then the language of crassus was indisputably preferable to _his_. in the same manner, it cannot be said that either sulpicius or cotta, or any other speaker of repute, was absolutely deficient in any one of the five parts of oratory. but we may justly infer from the example of curio, that nothing will more recommend an orator, than a brilliant and ready flow of expression; for he was remarkably dull in the invention, and very loose and unconnected in the disposition of his arguments. the two remaining parts are pronunciation and memory; in each of which he was so poorly qualified, as to excite the laughter and the ridicule of his hearers. his gesture was really such as c. julius represented it, in a severe sarcasm, that will never be forgotten; for as he was swaying and reeling his whole body from side to side, julius enquired very merrily, _who it was that was speaking from a boat_. to the same purpose was the jest of cn. sicinius, a very vulgar sort of man, but exceedingly humourous, which was the only qualification he had to recommend him as an orator. when this man, as tribune of the people, had summoned curio and octavius, who were then consuls, into the forum, and curio had delivered a tedious harangue, while octavius sat silently by him, wrapt up in flannels, and besmeared with ointments, to ease the pain of the gout;"--"_octavius," said he, "you are infinitely obliged to your colleague; for if he had not tossed and flung himself about to-day, in the manner he did, you would have certainly have been devoured by the flies._"--"as to his memory, it was so extremely treacherous, that after he had divided his subject into three general heads, he would sometimes, in the course of speaking, either add a fourth, or omit the third. in a capital trial, in which i had pleaded for titinia, the daughter of cotta, when he attempted to reply to me in defence of serv. naevius, he suddenly forgot every thing he had intended to say, and attributed it to the pretended witchcraft, and magic artifices of titinia. these were undoubted proofs of the weakness of his memory. but, what is still more inexcusable, he sometimes forgot, even in his written treatises, what he had mentioned but a little before. thus, in a book of his, in which he introduces himself as entering into conversation with our friend pansa, and his son curio, when he was walking home from the senate- house; the senate is supposed to have been summoned by caesar in his first consulship; and the whole conversation arises from the son's enquiry what the house had resolved upon. curio launches out into a long invective against the conduct of caesar, and, as is generally the custom in dialogues, the parties are engaged in a close dispute on the subject: but very unhappily, though the conversation commences at the breaking up of the senate which caesar held when he was first consul, the author censures those very actions of the same caesar, which did not happen till the next, and several other succeeding years of his government in gaul."--"is it possible then," said brutus, with an air of surprize, "that any man, (and especially in a written performance) could be so forgetful as not to discover, upon a subsequent perusal of his own work, what an egregious blunder he had committed?"--"very true," said i; "for if he wrote with a design to discredit the measures which he represents in such an odious light, nothing could be more stupid than not to commence his dialogue at a period which was subsequent to those measures. but he so entirely forgets himself, as to tell us, that he did not choose to attend a senate which was held in one of caesar's future consulships, in the very same dialogue in which he introduces himself as returning home from a senate which was held in his first consulship. it cannot, therefore, be wondered at, that he who was so remarkably defective in a faculty which is the steward of our other intellectual powers, as to forget, even in a written treatise, a material circumstance which he had mentioned but a little before, should find his memory fail him, as it generally did, in a sudden and unpremeditated harangue. it accordingly happened, though he had many connections, and was fond of speaking in public, that few causes were intrusted to his management. but, among his cotemporaries, he was esteemed next in merit to the first orators of the age; and that merely, as i said before, for his good choice of words, and his uncommon readiness, and great fluency of expression. his orations, therefore, may deserve a cursory perusal. it is true, indeed, they are much too languid and spiritless; but they may yet be of service to enlarge and improve an accomplishment, of which he certainly had a moderate share; and which has so much force and efficacy, that it gave curio the appearance and reputation of an orator, without the assistance of any other good quality. "but to return to our subject,--c. carbo, of the same age, was likewise reckoned an orator of the second class: he was the son, indeed, of the truly eloquent man before-mentioned, but was far from being an acute speaker himself: he was, however, esteemed an orator. his language was tolerably nervous, he spoke with ease,--and there was an air of authority in his address that was perfectly natural. but q. varius was a man of quicker invention, and, at the same time, had an equal freedom of expression: besides which, he had a bold and spirited delivery, and a vein of elocution which was neither poor, nor coarse and vulgar;--in short, you need not hesitate to pronounce him an _orator_. cn. pomponius was a vehement, a rousing, and a fierce and eager speaker, and more inclined to act the part of a prosecutor, than of an advocate. but far inferior to these was l. fufius; though his application was, in some measure, rewarded by the success of his prosecution against m. aquilius. for as to m. drusus, your great uncle, who spoke like an orator only upon matters of government;--l. lucullus, who was indeed an artful speaker, and your father, my brutus, who was well acquainted with the common and civil law; --m. lucullus, and m. octavius, the son of cnaeus, who was a man of so much authority and address, as to procure the repeal of sempronius's corn-act, by the suffrages of a full assembly of the people;--cn. octavius, the son of marcus,--and m. cato, the father, and q. catulus, the son;--we must excuse these (if i may so express myself) from the fatigues and dangers of the field,--that is, from the management of judicial causes, and place them in garison over the general interests of the republic, a duty to which they seem to have been sufficiently adequate. i should have assigned the same post to q. caepio, if he had not been so violently attached to the equestrian order, as to set himself at variance with the senate. i have also remarked, that cn. carbo, m. marius, and several others of the same stamp, who would not have merited the attention of an audience that had any taste for elegance, were extremely well suited to address a tumultuous crowd. in the same class, (if i may be allowed to interrupt the series of my narrative) l. quintius lately made his appearance: though palicanus, it must be owned, was still better adapted to please the ears of the populace. but, as i have mentioned this inferior kind of speakers, i must be so just to l. apuleius saturninus, as to observe that, of all the factious declaimers since the time of the gracchi, he was generally esteemed the ablest: and yet he caught the attention of the public, more by his appearance, his gesture, and his dress, than by any real fluency of expression, or even a tolerable share of good sense. but c. servilius glaucia, though the most abandoned wretch that ever existed, was very keen and artful, and excessively humourous; and notwithstanding the meanness of his birth, and the depravity of his life, he would have been advanced to the dignity of a consul in his praetorship, if it had been judged lawful to admit his suit: for the populace were entirely at his devotion, and he had secured the interest of the knights, by an act he had procured in their favour. he was slain in the open forum, while he was praetor, on the same day as the tribune saturninus, in the consulship of marius and flaccus; and bore a near resemblance to hyperbolus, the athenian, whose profligacy was so severely stigmatized in the old attic comedies. these were succeeded by sext. titius, who was indeed a voluble speaker, and possessed a ready comprehension, but he was so loose and effeminate in his gesture, as to furnish room for the invention of a dance, which was called the _titian jigg_: so careful should we be to avoid every oddity in our manner of speaking, which may afterwards be exposed to ridicule by a ludicrous imitation. "but we have rambled back insensibly to a period which has been already examined: let us, therefore, return to that which we were reviewing a little before. cotemporary with sulpicius was p. antistius,--a plausible declaimer, who, after being silent for several years, and exposed, (as he often was) not only to the contempt, but the derision of his hearers, first spoke with applause in his tribuneship, in a real and very interesting protest against the illegal application of c. julius for the consulship; and that so much the more, because though sulpicius himself, who then happened to be his colleague, spoke on the same side of the debate, antistius argued more copiously, and to better purpose. this raised his reputation so high, that many, and (soon afterwards) every cause of importance, was eagerly recommended to his patronage. to speak the truth, he had a quick conception, a methodical judgment, and a retentive memory; and though his language was not much embellished, it was very far from being low. in short, his style was easy, and flowing, and his appearance rather genteel than otherwise: but his action was a little defective, partly through the disagreeable tone of his voice, and partly by a few ridiculous gestures, of which he could not entirely break himself. he flourished in the time between the flight and the return of sylla, when the republic was deprived of a regular administration of justice, and of its former dignity and splendor. but the very favourable reception he met with was, in some measure, owing to the great scarcity of good orators which then prevailed in the forum. for sulpicius was dead; cotta and curio were abroad; and no pleaders of any eminence were left but carbo and pomponius, from each of whom he easily carried off the palm. his nearest successor in the following age was l. sisenna, who was a man of learning, had a taste for the liberal sciences, spoke the roman language with accuracy, was well acquainted with the laws and constitution of his country, and had a tolerable share of wit; but he was not a speaker of any great application, or extensive practice; and as he happened to live in the intermediate time between the appearance of sulpicius and hortensius, he was unable to equal the former, and forced to yield to the superior talents of the latter. we may easily form a judgment of his abilities from the historical works he has left behind him; which, though evidently preferable to any thing of the kind which had appeared before, may serve as a proof that he was far below the standard of perfection, and that this species of composition had not then been improved to any great degree of excellence among the romans. but the genius of q. hortensius, even in his early youth, like one of phidias's statues, was no sooner beheld than it was universally admired! he spoke his first oration in the forum in the consulship of l. crassus and q. scaevola, to whom it was personally adressed; and though he was then only nineteen years old, he descended from the rostra with the hearty approbation not only of the audience in general, but of the two consuls themselves, who were the most intelligent judges in the whole city. he died in the consulship of l. paulus and c. marcellus; from which it appears that he was four-and-forty years a pleader. we shall review his character more at large in the sequel: but in this part of my history, i chose to include him in the number of orators who were rather of an earlier date. this indeed must necessarily happen to all whose lives are of any considerable length: for they are equally liable to a comparison with their elders and their juniors; as in the case of the poet attius, who says that both he and pacuvius applied themselves to the cultivation of the drama under the fame aediles; though, at the time, the one was eighty, and the other only thirty years old. thus hortensius may be paralleled not only with those who were properly his contemporaries, but with me, and you, my brutus, and with others of a prior date. for he began to speak in public while crassus was living but his fame increased when he appeared as a joint advocate with antonius and philip (at that time in the decline of life) in defence of cn. pompeius,-- a cause in which (though a mere youth) he distinguished himself above the rest. he may therefore be included in the lift of those whom i have placed in the time of sulpicius; but among his proper coëvals, such as m. piso, m. crassus, cn. lentulus, and p. lentulus sura, he excelled beyond the reach of competition; and after these he happened upon me, in the early part of my life (for i was eight years younger than himself) and spent a number of years with me in pursuit of the same forensic glory: and at last, (a little before his death) he once pleaded with _you_, in defence of appius claudius, as i have frequently done for others. thus you see, my brutus, i am come insensibly to _yourself_, though there was undoubtedly a great variety of orators between my first appearance in the forum, and yours. but as i determined, when we began the conversation, to make no mention of those among them who are still living, to prevent your enquiring too minutely what is my opinion concerning each; i shall confine myself to such as are now no more."--"that is not the true reason," said brutus, "why you choose to be silent about the living."--"what then do you suppose it to be," said i?--"you are only fearful," replied he, "that your remarks should afterwards be mentioned by us in other company, and that, by this means, you should expose yourself to the resentment of those, whom you may not think it worth your while to notice."--"indeed," answered i, "i have not the least doubt of your secresy."--"neither have you any reason," said he; "but after all, i suppose, you had rather be silent _yourself_, than rely upon our taciturnity."--"to confess the truth," replied i, "when i first entered upon the subject, i never imagined that i should have extended it to the age now before us; whereas i have been drawn by a continued series of history among the moderns of latest date." --"introduce, then," said he, "those intermediate orators you may think worthy of our notice: and afterwards let us return to yourself, and hortensius."--"to hortensius," replied i, "with all my heart; but as to my _own_ character, i shall leave it to other people to examine, if they choose to take the trouble."--"i can by no means agree to _that_," said he: "for though every part of the account you have favoured us with, has entertained me very agreeably, it now begins to seem tedious, because i am impatient to hear something of _yourself_: i do not mean the wonderful qualities, but the _progressive steps_, and advances of your eloquence; for the former are sufficiently known already both to me, and the whole world."--"as you do not require me," said i, "to sound the praises of my own genius, but only to describe my labour and application to improve it, your request shall be complied with. but to preserve the order of my narrative, i shall first introduce such other speakers as i think ought to be previously noticed: and i shall begin with m. crassus, who was contemporary with hortensius. with a tolerable share of learning, and a very moderate capacity, his application, assiduity, and interest, procured him a place among the ablest pleaders of the time for several years. his language was pure, his expression neither low nor ungenteel, and his ideas well digested: but he had nothing in him that was florid, and ornamental; and the real ardor of his mind was not supported by any vigorous exertion of his voice, so that he pronounced almost every thing in the same uniform tone. his equal, and professed antagonist c. fimbria was not able to maintain his character so long; and though he always spoke with a strong and elevated voice, and poured forth a rapid torrent of well-chosen expressions, he was so immoderately vehement that you might justly be surprised that the people should have been so absent and inattentive as to admit a _madman_, like him, into the lift of orators. as to cn. lentulus, his action acquired him a reputation for his eloquence very far beyond his real abilities: for though he was not a man of any great penetration (notwithstanding he carried the appearance of it in his countenance) nor possessed any real fluency of expression (though he was equally specious in this respect as in the former)--yet by his sudden breaks, and exclamations, he affected such an ironical air of surprize, with a sweet and sonorous turn of voice, and his whole action was so warm and lively, that his defects were scarcely noticed. for as curio acquired the reputation of an orator with no other quality than a tolerable freedom of elocution; so cn. lentulus concealed the mediocrity of his other accomplishments by his _action_, which was really excellent. much the same might be said of p. lentulus, whose poverty of invention and expression was secured from notice by the mere dignity of his presence, his correct and graceful gesture, and the strength and sweetness of his voice: and his merit depended so entirely upon his action, that he was more deficient in every other quality than his namesake. but m. piso derived all his talents from his erudition; for he was much better versed in the grecian literature than any of his predecessors. he had, however, a natural keenness of discernment, which he greatly improved by art, and exerted with great address and dexterity, though in very indifferent language: but he was frequently warm and choleric, sometimes cold and insipid, and now and then rather smart and humourous. he did not long support the fatigue, and emulous contention of the forum; partly, on account of the weakness of his constitution; and partly, because he could not submit to the follies and impertinencies of the common people (which we orators are forced to swallow) either, as it was generally supposed, from a peculiar moroseness of temper, or from a liberal and ingenuous pride of heart. after acquiring, therefore, in his youth, a tolerable degree of reputation, his character began to sink: but in the trial of the vestals, he again recovered it with some additional lustre, and being thus recalled to the theatre of eloquence, he kept his rank, as long as he was able to support the fatigue of it; after which his credit declined, in proportion as he remitted his application.--p. murena had a moderate genius, but was passionately fond of the study of antiquity; he applied himself with equal diligence to the belles lettres, in which he was tolerably versed; in short, he was a man of great industry, and took the utmost pains to distinguish himself.--c. censorinus had a good stock of grecian literature, explained whatever he advanced with great neatness and perspicuity, and had a graceful action, but was too cold and unanimated for the forum.--l. turius with a very indifferent genius, but the most indefatigable application, spoke in public very often, in the best manner he was able; and, accordingly, he only wanted the votes of a few centuries to promote him to the consulship.--c. macer was never a man of much interest or authority, but was one of the most active pleaders of his time; and if his life, his manners, and his very looks, had not ruined the credit of his genius, he would have ranked higher in the lift of orators. he was neither copious, nor dry and barren; neither eat and embellished, nor wholly inelegant; and his voice, his gesture, and every part of his action, was without any grace: but in inventing and digesting his ideas, he had a wonderful accuracy, such as no man i ever saw either possessed or exerted in a more eminent degree; and yet, some how, he displayed it rather with the air of a quibbler, than of an orator. though he had acquired some reputation in public causes, he appeared to most advantage and was most courted and employed in private ones.--c. piso, who comes next in order, had scarcely any exertion, but he was a speaker of a very convertible style; and though, in fact, he was far from being slow of invention, he had more penetration in his look and appearance than he really possessed.--his cotemporary m. glabrio, though carefully instructed by his grandfather scaevola, was prevented from distinguishing himself by his natural indolence and want of attention.--l. torquatus, on the contrary, had an elegant turn of expression, and a clear comprehension, and was perfectly genteel and well-bred in his whole manner.--but cn. pompeius, my coeval, a man who was born to excel in every thing, would have acquired a more distinguished reputation for his eloquence, if he had not been diverted from the pursuit of it by the more dazzling charms of military fame. his language was naturally bold and elevated, and he was always master of his subject; and as to his powers of enunciation, his voice was sonorous and manly, and his gesture noble, and full of dignity. --d. silanus, another of my cotemporaries, and your father-in-law, was not a man of much application, but he had a very competent share of discernment, and elocution.--q. pompeius, the son of aulus, who had the title of _bithynicus_, and was about two years older than myself, was, to my own knowledge, remarkably fond of the study of eloquence, had an uncommon stock of learning, and was a man of indefatigable industry and perseverance: for he was connected with me and m. piso, not only as an intimate acquaintance, but as an associate in our studies, and private exercises. his elocution was but poorly recommended by his action: for though the former was sufficiently copious and diffusive, there was nothing graceful in the latter.--his contemporary, p. autronius, had a very clear, and strong voice; but he was distinguished by no other accomplishment.--l. octavius reatinus died in his youth, while he was in full practice: but he ascended the rostra with more assurance, than ability.--c. staienus, who changed his name into aelius by a kind of self- adoption, was a warm, an abusive, and indeed a furious speaker; which was so agreeable to the taste of many, that he would have risen to some rank in the state, if it had not been for a crime of which he was clearly convicted, and for which he afterwards suffered.--at the same time were the two brothers c. and l. caepasius, who, though men of an obscure family, and little previous consequence, were yet, by mere dint of application, suddenly promoted to the quaestorship, with no other recommendation than a provincial and unpolished kind of oratory.--that i may not seem to have put a wilful slight on any of the vociferous tribe, i must also notice c. cosconius calidianus, who, without any discernment, amused the people with a rapidity of language (if such it might be called) which he attended with a perpetual hurry of action, and a most violent exertion of his voice.--of much the same cast was q. arrius, who may be considered as a second-hand m. crassus. he is a striking proof of what consequence it is in such a city as ours to devote one's-self to the occasions of _the many_, and to be as active as possible in promoting their safety, or their honour. for by these means, though of the lowest parentage, having raised himself to offices of rank, and to considerable wealth and influence, he likewise acquired the reputation of a tolerable patron, without either learning or abilities. but as inexperienced champions, who, from a passionate desire to distinguish themselves in the circus, can bear the blows of their opponents without shrinking, are often overpowered by the heat of the sun, when it is increased by the reflection of the sand; so _he_, who had hitherto supported even the sharpest encounters with good success, could not stand the severity of that year of judicial contest, which blazed upon him like a summer's sun." "upon my word," cried atticus, "you are now treating us with the very _dregs_ of oratory, and you have entertained us in this manner for some time: but i did not offer to interrupt you, because i never dreamed you would have descended so low as to mention the _staieni_ and _autronii_!"-- "as i have been speaking of the dead, you will not imagine, i suppose," said i, "that i have done it to court their favour: but in pursuing the order of history, i was necessarily led by degrees to a period of time which falls within the compass of our own knowledge. but i wish it to be noticed, that after recounting all who ever ventured to speak in public, we find but few, (very few indeed!) whose names are worth recording; and not many who had even the repute of being orators. let us, however, return to our subject. t. torquatus, then, the son of titus, was a man of learning, (which he first acquired in the school of molo in rhodes,) and of a free and easy elocution which he received from nature. if he had lived to a proper age, he would have been chosen consul, without any canvassing; but he had more ability for speaking than inclination; _so_ that, in fact, he did not do justice to the art he professed; and yet he was never wanting to his duty, either in the private causes of his friends and dependents, or in his senatorial capacity.--my townsman too, p. pontidius, pleaded a number of private causes. he had a rapidity of expression, and a tolerable quickness of comprehension: but he was very warm, and indeed rather too choleric and irascible; so that he often wrangled not only with his antagonist, but (what appears very strange) with the judge himself, whom it was rather his business to sooth and gratify.--m. messala, who was something younger than myself, was far from being a poor and an abject pleader, and yet he was not a very embellished one. he was judicious, penetrating, and wary, very exact in digesting and methodizing his subject, and a man of uncommon diligence and application, and of very extensive practice.--as to the two metelli (celer and nepos) these also had a moderate share of employment at the bar; but being destitute neither of learning nor abilities, they chiefly applied themselves (and with some success) to debates of a more popular kind.--but caius lentulus marcellinus, who was never reckoned a bad speaker, was esteemed a very eloquent one in his consulship. he wanted neither sentiment, nor expression; his voice was sweet and sonorous; and he had a sufficient stock of humour.--c. memmius, the son of lucius, was a perfect adept in the _belles lettres_ of the greeks; for he had an insuperable disgust to the literature of the romans. he was a neat and polished speaker, and had a sweet and harmonious turn of expression; but as he was equally averse to every laborious effort either of the mind or the tongue, his eloquence declined in proportion as he lessened his application."-- "but i heartily wish," said brutus, "that you would give us your opinion of those orators who are still living; or, if you are determined to say nothing of the rest, there are two at least, (that is caesar and marcellus, whom i have often heard you speak of with the highest approbation) whose characters would give me as much entertainment as any of those you have already specified."--"but why," answered i, "would you expect that i would give you my opinion of men who are as well known to yourself as to me?"--"marcellus, indeed," replied he, "i am very well acquainted with; but as to caesar, i know little of _him_. for i have _heard_ the former very often: but, by the time i was able to judge for myself, the latter had set out for his province."--"mighty well," said i; "and what think you of him you have heard so often?"--"what else can i think," replied he, "but that you will soon have an orator, who will very nearly resemble yourself?"--"if that is the case," answered i, "pray think of him as favourably as you can." "i do," said he; "for he pleases me very highly; and not without reason. he is absolutely master of his trade, and, neglecting every other profession, has applied himself solely to _this_; and, for that purpose, has persevered in the rigorous task of composing a daily essay in writing. his words are well chosen; his language is full and copious; and every thing he says receives an additional ornament from the graceful tone of his voice, and the dignity of his action. in short, he is so compleat an orator, that there is no quality i know of, in which i can think him deficient. but he is still more to be admired, for being able, in these unhappy times, (which are marked with a distress that, by some cruel fatality, has overwhelmed us all) to console himself, as opportunity offers, with the consciousness of his own integrity, and by the frequent renewal of his literary pursuits. i saw him lately at mitylene; and then (as i have already hinted) i saw him a thorough man. for though i had before discovered in him a strong resemblance of yourself, the likeness was much improved, after he was enriched by the instructions of your learned, and very intimate friend cratippus."-- "though i acknowledge," said i, "that i have listened with pleasure to your elogies on a very worthy man, for whom i have the warmest esteem, they have led me insensibly to the recollection of our common miseries, which our present conversation was intended to suspend. but i would willingly hear what is atticus's opinion of caesar."--"upon my word," replied atticus, "you are wonderfully consistent with your plan, to say nothing _yourself_ of the living: and indeed, if you was to deal with _them_, as you already have with the _dead_, and say something of every paltry fellow that occurs to your memory, you would plague us with _autronii_ and _steiani_ without end. but though you might possibly have it in view not to incumber yourself with such a numerous crowd of insignificant wretches; or perhaps, to avoid giving any one room to complain that he was either unnoticed, or not extolled according to his imaginary merit; yet, certainly, you might have said something of caesar; especially, as your opinion of _his_ abilities is well known to every body, and his concerning _your's_ is very far from being a secret. but, however," said he, (addressing himself to brutus) "i really think of caesar, and every body else says the same of this accurate connoisseur in the art of speaking, that he has the purest and the most elegant command of the roman language of all the orators that have yet appeared: and that not merely by domestic habit, as we have lately heard it observed of the families of the laelii and the mucii, (though even here, i believe, this might partly have been the case) but he chiefly acquired and brought it to its present perfection, by a studious application to the most intricate and refined branches of literature, and by a careful and constant attention to the purity of his style. but that _he_, who, involved as he was in a perpetual hurry of business, could dedicate to _you_, my cicero, a laboured treatise on the art of speaking correctly; that _he_, who, in the first book of it, laid it down as an axiom, that an accurate choice of words is the foundation of eloquence; and who has bestowed," said he, (addressing himself again to brutus) "the highest encomiums on this friend of ours, who yet chooses to leave caesar's character to _me_;--that _he_ should be a perfect master of the language of polite conservation, is a circumstance which is almost too obvious to be mentioned." "i said, _the highest encomiums_," pursued atticus, "because he says in so many words, when he addresses himself to cicero--_if others have bestowed all their time and attention to acquire a habit of expressing themselves with ease and correctness, how much is the name and dignity of the roman people indebted to you, who are the highest pattern, and indeed the first inventor of that rich fertility of language which distinguishes your performances?_"--indeed," said brutus, "i think he has extolled your merit in a very friendly, and a very magnificent style: for you are not only the _highest pattern_, and even the _first inventor_ of all our _fertility_ of language, which alone is praise enough to content any reasonable man, but you have added fresh honours to the name and dignity of the roman people; for the very excellence in which we had hitherto been conquered by the vanquished greeks, has now been either wrested from their hands, or equally shared, at least, between us and them. so that i prefer this honourable testimony of caesar, i will not say to the public thanksgiving, which was decreed for your _own_ military services, but to the triumphs of many heroes."--"very true," replied i, "provided this honourable testimony was really the voice of caesar's judgment, and not of his friendship: for _he_ certainly has added more to the dignity of the roman people, whoever he may be (if indeed any such man has yet existed) who has not only exemplified and enlarged, but first produced this rich fertility of expression, than the doughty warrior who has stormed a few paltry castles of the ligurians, which have furnished us, you know, with many repeated triumphs. in reality, if we can submit to hear the truth, it may be asserted (to say nothing of those god-like plans, which, supported by the wisdom of our generals, has frequently saved the sinking state both abroad and at home) that an orator is justly entitled to the preference to any commander in a petty war. but the general, you will say, is the more serviceable man to the public. nobody denies it: and yet (for i am not afraid of provoking your censure, in a conversation which leaves each of us at liberty to say what he thinks) i had rather be the author of the single oration of crassus, in defence of curius, than be honoured with two ligurian triumphs. you will, perhaps, reply, that the storming a castle of the ligurians was a thing of more consequence to the state, than that the claim of curius should be ably supported. this i own to be true. but it was also of more consequence to the athenians, that their houses should be securely roofed, than to have their city graced with a most beautiful statue of minerva: and yet, notwithstanding this, i would much rather have been a phidias, than the most skilful joiner in athens. in the present case, therefore, we are not to consider a man's usefulness, but the strength of his abilities; especially as the number of painters and statuaries, who have excelled in their profession, is very small; whereas, there can never be any want of joiners and mechanic labourers. but proceed, my atticus, with caesar; and oblige us with the remainder of his character."--"we see then," said he, "from what has just been mentioned, that a pure and correct style is the groundwork, and the very basis and foundation, upon which an orator must build his other accomplishments: though, it is true, that those who had hitherto possessed it, derived it more from early habit, than from any principles of art. it is needless to refer you to the instances of laelius and scipio; for a purity of language, as well as of manners, was the characteristic of the age they lived in. it could not, indeed, be applied to every one; for their two cotemporaries, caecilius and pacuvius, spoke very incorrectly: but yet people in general, who had not resided out of the city, nor been corrupted by any domestic barbarisms, spoke the roman language with purity. time, however, as well at rome as in greece, soon altered matters for the worse: for this city, (as had formerly been the case at athens) was resorted to by a crowd of adventurers from different parts, who spoke very corruptly; which shews the necessity of reforming our language, and reducing it to a certain standard, which shall not be liable to vary like the capricious laws of custom. though we were then very young, we can easily remember t. flaminius, who was joint-consul with q. metellus: he was supposed to speak his native language with correctness, but was a man of no literature. as to catulus, he was far indeed from being destitute of learning, as you have already observed: but his reputed purity of diction was chiefly owing to the sweetness of his voice, and the delicacy of his accent. cotta, who, by his broad pronunciation, threw off all resemblance of the elegant tone of the greeks, and affected a harsh and rustic utterance, quite opposite to that of catulus, acquired the same reputation of correctness by pursuing a wild and unfrequented path. but sisenna, who had the ambition to think of reforming our phraseology, could not be lashed out of his whimsical and new-fangled turns of expression, by all the raillery of c. rufius."--"what do you refer to?" said brutus; "and who was the caius rufius you are speaking of?"--"he was a noted prosecutor," replied he, "some years ago. when this man had supported an indictment against one christilius, sisenna, who was counsel for the defendant, told him, that several parts of his accusation were absolutely _spitatical_. [footnote: in the original _sputatilica_, worthy to be spit upon. it appears, from the connection, to have been a very unclassical word, whimsically derived by the author of it from _sputa_, spittle.] _my lords_, cried rufius to the judges, _i shall be cruelly over-reached, unless you give me your assistance. his charge overpowers my comprehension; and i am afraid he has some unfair design upon me. what, in the name of heaven, can be intend by_ spitatical? _i know the meaning of_ spit, _or_ spittle; _but this horrid_ atical, _at the end of it, absolutely puzzles me._ the whole bench laughed very heartily at the singular oddity of the expression: my old friend, however, was still of opinion, that to speak correctly, was to speak differently from other people. but caesar, who was guided by the principles of art, has corrected the imperfections of a vicious custom, by adopting the rules and improvements of a good one, as he found them occasionally displayed in the course of polite conversation. accordingly, to the purest elegance of expression, (which is equally necessary to every well-bred citizen, as to an orator) he has added all the various ornaments of elocution; so that he seems to exhibit the finest painting in the most advantageous point of view. as he has such extraordinary merit even in the common run of his language, i must confess that there is no person i know of, to whom he should yield the preference. besides, his manner of speaking, both as to his voice and gesture, is splendid and noble, without the least appearance of artifice or affectation: and there is a dignity in his very presence, which bespeaks a great and elevated mind."--"indeed," said brutus, "his orations please me highly; for i have had the satisfaction to read several of them. he has likewise wrote some commentaries, or short memoirs, of his own transactions;"--"and such," said i, "as merit the highest approbation: for they are plain, correct, and graceful, and divested of all the ornaments of language, so as to appear (if i may be allowed the expression) in a kind of undress. but while he pretended only to furnish the loose materials, for such as might be inclined to compose a regular history, he may, perhaps, have gratified the vanity of a few literary _frisseurs_: but he has certainly prevented all sensible men from attempting any improvement on his plan. for in history, nothing is more pleasing than a correct and elegant brevity of expression. with your leave, however, it is high time to return to those orators who have quitted the stage of life. c. sicinius then, who was a grandson of the censor q. pompey, by one of his daughters, died after his advancement to the quaestorship. he was a speaker of some merit and reputation, which he derived from the system of hermagoras; who, though he furnished but little assistance for acquiring an ornamental style, gave many useful precepts to expedite and improve the invention of an orator. for in this system we have a collection of fixed and determinate rules for public speaking; which are delivered indeed without any shew or parade, (and, i might have added, in a trivial and homely form) but yet are so plain and methodical, that it is almost impossible to mistake the road. by keeping close to these, and always digesting his subject before he ventured to speak upon it, (to which we may add, that he had a tolerable fluency of expression) he so far succeeded, without any other assistance, as to be ranked among the pleaders of the day.--as to c. visellius varro, who was my cousin, and a cotemporary of sicinius, he was a man of great learning. he died while he was a member of the court of inquests, into which he had been admitted after the expiration of his aedileship. the public, i confess, had not the same opinion of his abilities that i have; for he never passed as a man of sterling eloquence among the people. his style was excessively quick and rapid, and consequently obscure; for, in fact, it was embarrassed and blinded by the celerity of its course: and yet, after all, you will scarcely find a man who had a better choice of words, or a richer vein of sentiment. he had besides a complete fund of polite literature, and a thorough knowledge of the principles of jurisprudence, which he learned from his father aculeo. to proceed in our account of the dead, the next that presents himself is l. torquatus, whom you will not so readily pronounce a connoisseur in the art of speaking (though he was by no means destitute of elocution) as, what is called by the greeks, _a political adept_. he had a plentiful stock of learning, not indeed of the common sort, but of a more abstruse and curious nature: he had likewise an admirable memory, and a very sensible and elegant turn of expression; all which qualities derived an additional grace from the dignity of his deportment, and the integrity of his manners. i was also highly pleased with the style of his cotemporary triarius, which expressed to perfection, the character of a worthy old gentleman, who had been thoroughly polished by the refinements of literature.--what a venerable severity was there in his look! what forcible solemnity in his language! and how thoughtful and deliberate every word he spoke!"--at the mention of torquatus and triarius, for each of whom he had the most affectionate veneration,--"it fills my heart with anguish," said brutus, "(to omit a thousand other circumstances) when i reflect, as i cannot help doing, on your mentioning the names of these worthy men, that your long-respected authority was insufficient to procure an accommodation of our differences. the republic would not otherwise have been deprived of these, and many other excellent citizens."--"not a word more," said i, on this melancholy subject, which can only aggravate our sorrow: for as the remembrance of what is already past is painful enough, the prospect of what is yet to come is still more cutting. let us, therefore, drop our unavailing complaints, and (agreeably to our plan) confine our attention to the forensic merits of our deceased friends. among those, then, who lost their lives in this unhappy war, was m. bibulus, who, though not a professed orator, was a very accurate writer, and a solid and experienced advocate: and appius claudius, your father-in-law, and my colleague and intimate acquaintance, who was not only a hard student, and a man of learning, but a practised orator, a skilful augurist and civilian, and a thorough adept in the roman history.--as to l. domitius, he was totally unacquainted with any rules of art; but he spoke his native language with purity, and had a great freedom of address. we had likewise the two lentuli, men of consular dignity; one of whom, (i mean publius) the avenger of my wrongs, and the author of my restoration, derived all his powers and accomplishments from the assistance of art, and not from the bounty of nature: but he had such a great and noble disposition, that he claimed all the honours of the most illustrious citizens, and supported them with the utmost dignity of character.--the other (l. lentulus) was an animated speaker, for it would be saying too much, perhaps, to call him an orator-- but, unhappily, he had an utter aversion to the trouble of thinking. his voice was sonorous; and his language, though not absolutely harsh and forbidding, was warm and rigorous, and carried in it a kind of terror. in a judicial trial, you would probably have wished for a more agreeable and a keener advocate: but in a debate on matters of government, you would have thought his abilities sufficient.--even titus postumius had such powers of utterance, as were not to be despised: but in political matters, he spoke with the same unbridled ardour he fought with: in short, he was much too warm; though it must be owned he possessed an extensive knowledge of the laws and constitution of his country."--"upon my word," cried atticus, "if the persons you have mentioned were still living, i should be apt to imagine, that you was endeavouring to solicit their favour. for you introduce every body who had the courage to stand up and speak his mind: so that i almost begin to wonder how m. servilius has escaped your notice."--"i am, indeed, very sensible," replied i, "that there have been many who never spoke in public, that were much better qualified for the talk, than those orators i have taken the pains to enumerate: [footnote: this was probably intended as an indirect compliment to atticus.] but i have, at least, answered one purpose by it, which is to shew you, that in this populous city, we have not had very many who had the resolution to speak at all; and that even among these, there have been few who were entitled to our applause. i cannot, therefore, neglect to take some notice of those worthy knights, and my intimate friends, very lately deceased, p. comminius spoletinus, against whom i pleaded in defence of c. cornelius, and who was a methodical, a spirited, and a ready speaker; and t. accius, of pisaurum, to whom i replied in behalf of a. cluentius, and who was an accurate, and a tolerably copious advocate: he was also well instructed in the precepts of hermagoras, which, though of little service to embellish and enrich our elocution, furnish a variety of arguments, which, like the weapons of the light infantry, may be readily managed, and are adapted to every subject of debate. i must add, that i never knew a man of greater industry and application. as to c. piso, my son-in-law, it is scarcely possible to mention any one who was blessed with a finer capacity. he was constantly employed either in public speaking, and private declamatory exercises, or, at least, in writing and thinking: and, consequently, he made such a rapid progress, that he rather seemed to fly than to run. he had an elegant choice of expression, and the structure of his periods was perfectly neat and harmonious; he had an astonishing variety and strength of argument, and a lively and agreeable turn of sentiment: and his gesture was naturally so graceful, that it appeared to have been formed (which it really was not) by the nicest rules of art. i am rather fearful, indeed, that i should be thought to have been prompted by my affection for him to have given him a greater character than he deserved: but this is so far from being the case, that i might justly have ascribed to him many qualities of a different and more valuable nature: for in continence, social piety, and every other kind of virtue, there was scarcely any of his cotemporaries who was worthy to be compared with him.--m. caelius too must not pass unnoticed, notwithstanding the unhappy change, either of his fortune or disposition, which marked the latter part of his life. as long as he was directed by my influence, he behaved himself so well as a tribune of the people, that no man supported the interests of the senate, and of all the good and virtuous, in opposition to the factious and unruly madness of a set of abandoned citizens, with more firmness than _he_ did: a part in which he was enabled to exert himself to great advantage, by the force and dignity of his language, and his lively humour, and genteel address. he spoke several harangues in a very sensible style, and three spirited invectives, which originated from our political disputes: and his defensive speeches, though not equal to the former, were yet tolerably good, and had a degree of merit which was far from being contemptible. after he had been advanced to the aedileship, by the hearty approbation of all the better sort of citizens, as he had lost my company (for i was then abroad in cilicia) he likewise lost himself; and entirely sunk his credit, by imitating the conduct of those very men, whom he had before so successfully opposed.--but m. calidius has a more particular claim to our notice for the singularity of his character; which cannot so properly be said to have entitled him to a place among our other orators, as to distinguish him from the whole fraternity; for in him we beheld the most uncommon, and the most delicate sentiments, arrayed in the softest and finest language imaginable. nothing could be so easy as the turn and compass of his periods; nothing so ductile; nothing more pliable and obsequious to his will, so that he had a greater command of it than any orator whatever. in short, the flow of his language was so pure and limpid, that nothing could be clearer; and so free, that it was never clogged or obstructed. every word was exactly in the place where it should be, and disposed (as lucilius expresses it) with as much nicety as in a curious piece of mosaic-work. we may add, that he had not a single expression which was either harsh, unnatural, abject, or far-fetched; and yet he was so far from confining himself to the plain and ordinary mode of speaking, that he abounded greatly in the metaphor,--but such metaphors as did not appear to usurp a post that belonged to another, but only to occupy their own. these delicacies were displayed not in a loose and disfluent style; but in such a one as was strictly _numerous_, without _either_ appearing to be so, or running on with a dull uniformity of sound. he was likewise master of the various ornaments of language and sentiment which the greeks call _figures_, whereby he enlivened and embellished his style as with so many forensic decorations. we may add that he readily discovered, upon all occasions, what was the real point of debate, and where the stress of the argument lay; and that his method of ranging his ideas was extremely artful, his action genteel, and his whole manner very engaging and very sensible. in short, if to speak agreeably is the chief merit of an orator, you will find no one who was better qualified than calidius. but as we have observed a little before, that it is the business of an orator to instruct, to please, and _to move the passions_; he was, indeed, perfectly master of the two first; for no one could better elucidate his subject, or charm the attention of his audience. but as to the third qualification,--the moving and alarming the passions,--which is of much greater efficacy than the two former, he was wholly destitute of it. he had no force,--no exertion;--either by his own choice, and from an opinion that those who had a loftier turn of expression, and a more warm and spirited action, were little betther than madmen; or because it was contrary to his natural temper, and habitual practice; or, lastly, because it was beyond the strength of his abilities. if, indeed, it is a useless quality, his want of it was a real excellence: but if otherwise, it was certainly a defect. i particularly remember, that when he prosecuted q. gallius for an attempt to poison him, and pretended that he had the plainest proofs of it, and could produce many letters, witnesses, informations, and other evidences to put the truth of his charge beyond a doubt, interspersing many sensible and ingenious remarks on the nature of the crime;--i remember, i say, that when it came to my turn to reply to him, after urging every argument which the case itself suggested, i insisted upon it as a material circumstance in favour of my client, that the prosecutor, while he charged him with a design against his life, and assured us that he had the most indubitable proofs of it then in his hands, related his story with as much ease, and as much calmness, and indifference, as if nothing had happened."--"would it have been possible," said i, (addressing myself to calidius) "that you should speak with this air of unconcern, unless the charge was purely an invention of your own? and, above all, that you, whose eloquence has often vindicated the wrongs of other people with so much spirit, should speak so coolly of a crime which threatened your life? where was that expression of resentment which is so natural to the injured? where that ardour, that eagerness, which extorts the most pathetic language even from men of the dullest capacities? there was no visible disorder in your mind, no emotion in your looks and gesture, no smiting of the thigh or the forehead, nor even a single stamp of the foot. you was, therefore, so far from interesting our passions in your favour, that we could scarcely keep our eyes open, while you was relating the dangers you had so narrowly escaped. thus we employed the natural defect, or if you please, the sensible calmness of an excellent orator, as an argument to invalidate his charge."--"but is it possible to doubt," cried brutus, "whether this was a sensible quality, or a defect? for as the greatest merit of an orator is to be able to inflame the passions, and give them such a biass as shall best answer his purpose; he who is destitute of this must certainly be deficient in the most capital part of his profession."--"i am of the same opinion," said i; "but let us now proceed to him (hortensius) who is the only remaining orator worth noticing; after which, as you may seem to insist upon it, i shall say something of myself. i must first, however, do justice to the memory of two promising youths, who, if they had lived to a riper age, would have acquired the highest reputation for their eloquence."--"you mean, i suppose," said brutus, "c. curio, and c. licinius calvus."--"the very same," replied i. "one of them, besides his plausible manner, had such an easy and voluble flow of expression, and such an inexhaustible variety, and sometimes accuracy of sentiment, that he was one of the most ready and ornamental speakers of his time. though he had received but little instruction from the professed masters of the art, nature had furnished him with an admirable capacity of the practice of it. i never, indeed, discovered in him any great degree of application; but he was certainly very ambitious to distinguish himself; and if he had continued to listen to my advice, as he had begun to do, he would have preferred the acquisition of real honour to that of untimely grandeur."-- "what do you mean," said brutus? "or in what manner are these two objects to be distinguished?"--"i distinguish them thus," replied i: "as honour is the reward of virtue, conferred upon a man by the choice and affection of his fellow-citizens, he who obtains it by their free votes and suffrages is to be considered, in my opinion, as an honourable member of the community. but he who acquires his power and authority by taking advantage of every unhappy incident, and without the consent of his fellow-citizens, as curio aimed to do, acquires only the name of honour, without the substance. whereas, if he had hearkened to me, he would have risen to the highest dignity, in an honourable manner, and with the hearty approbation of all men, by a gradual advancement to public offices, as his father and many other eminent citizens had done before. i often gave the same advice to p. crassus, the son of marcus, who courted my friendship in the early part of his life; and recommended it to him very warmly, to consider _that_ as the truest path to honour which had been already marked out to him by the example of his ancestors. for he had been extremely well educated, and was perfectly versed in every branch of polite literature: he had likewise a penetrating genius, and an elegant variety of expression; and appeared grave and sententious without arrogance, and modest and diffident without dejection. but like many other young men he was carried away by the tide of ambition; and after serving a short time with reputation as a volunteer, nothing could satisfy him but to try his fortune as a general,--an employment which was confined by the wisdom of our ancestors to men who had arrived at a certain age, and who, even then, were obliged to submit their pretensions to the uncertain issue of a public decision. thus, by exposing himself to a fatal catastrophe, while he was endeavouring to rival the fame of cyrus and alexander, who lived to finish their desperate career, he lost all resemblance of l. crassus, and his other worthy progenitors. "but let us return to calvus whom we have just mentioned,--an orator who had received more literary improvements than curio, and had a more accurate and delicate manner of speaking, which he conducted with great taste and elegance; but, (by being too minute and nice a critic upon himself,) while he was labouring to correct and refine his language, he suffered all the force and spirit of it to evaporate. in short, it was so exquisitely polished, as to charm the eye of every skilful observer; but it was little noticed by the common people in a crowded forum, which is the proper theatre of eloquence."--"his aim," said brutus, "was to be admired as an _attic_ orator: and to this we must attribute that accurate exility of style, which he constantly affected."--"this, indeed, was his professed character," replied i: "but he was deceived himself, and led others into the same mistake. it is true, whoever supposes that to speak in the _attic_ taste, is to avoid every awkward, every harsh, every vicious expression, has, in this sense, an undoubted right to refuse his approbation to every thing which is not strictly _attic_. for he must naturally detest whatever is insipid, disgusting, or invernacular; while he considers a correctness and propriety of language as the religion, and good-manners of an orator:--and every one who pretends to speak in public should adopt the same opinion. but if he bestows the name of atticism on a half-starved, a dry, and a niggardly turn of expression, provided it is neat, correct, and genteel, i cannot say, indeed, that he bestows it improperly; as the attic orators, however, had many qualities of a more important nature, i would advise him to be careful that he does not overlook their different kinds and degrees of merit, and their great extent and variety of character. the attic speakers, he will tell me, are the models upon which he wishes to form his eloquence. but which of them does he mean to fix upon? for they are not all of the same cast. who, for instance, could be more unlike each other than demosthenes and lysias? or than demosthenes and hyperides? or who more different from either of them, than aeschines? which of them, then, do you propose to imitate? if only _one_, this will be a tacit implication, that none of the rest were true masters of atticism: if _all_, how can you possibly succeed, when their characters are so opposite? let me further ask you, whether demetrius phalereus spoke in the attic style? in my opinion, his orations have the very smell of athens. but he is certainly more florid than either hyperides or lysias; partly from the natural turn of his genius, and partly by choice. there were likewise two others, at the time we are speaking of, whose characters were equally dissimilar; and yet both of them were truly _attic_. the first (charisius) was the author of a number of speeches, which he composed for his friends, professedly in imitation of lysias:--and the other (demochares, the nephew of demosthenes) wrote several orations, and a regular history of what was transacted in athens under his own observation; not so much, indeed, in the style of an historian, as of an orator. hegesias took the former for his model, and had so vain a conceit of his own taste for atticism, that he considered his predecessors, who were really masters of it, as mere rustics in comparison of himself. but what can be more insipid, more frivolous, or more puerile, than that very concinnity of expression which he actually acquired?"--"_but still we wish to resemble the attic speakers_."--"do so, by all means. but were not those, then, true attic speakers, we have just been mentioning?"--"_nobody denies it; and these are the men we imitate._"--"but how? when they are so very different, not only from each other, but from all the rest of their contemporaries?"--"_true; but thucydides is our leading pattern_."--"this too i can allow, if you design to compose histories, instead of pleading causes. for thucydides was both an exact, and a stately historian: but he never intended to write models for conducting a judicial process. i will even go so far as to add, that i have often commended the speeches which he has inserted into his history in great numbers; though i must frankly own, that i neither _could_ imitate them, if i _would,_ nor indeed _would,_ if i _could;_ like a man who would neither choose his wine so new as to have been turned off in the preceding vintage, nor so excessively old as to date its age from the consulship of opimius or anicius."--"_the latter_, you'll say, _bears the highest price_." "very probable; but when it has too much age, it has lost that delicious flavour which pleases the palate, and, in my opinion, is scarcely tolerable."--"_would you choose, then, when you have a mind to regale yourself, to apply to a fresh, unripened cask?_" "by no means; but still there is a certain age, when good wine arrives at its utmost perfection. in the same manner, i would recommend neither a raw, unmellowed style, which, (if i may so express myself) has been newly drawn off from the vat; nor the rough, and antiquated language of the grave and manly thucydides. for even _he_, if he had lived a few years later, would have acquired a much softer and mellower turn of expression."--"_let us, then, imitate demosthenes_."--"good gods! to what else do i direct all my endeavours, and my wishes! but it is, perhaps, my misfortune not to succeed. these _atticisers_, however, acquire with ease the paltry character they aim at; not once recollecting that it is not only recorded in history, but must have been the natural consequence of his superior fame, that when demosthenes was to speak in public, all greece flocked in crowds to hear him. but when our _attic_ gentry venture to speak, they are presently deserted not only by the little throng around them who have no interest in the dispute, (which alone is a mortifying proof of their insignificance) but even by their associates and fellow-advocates. if to speak, therefore, in a dry and lifeless manner, is the true criterion of atticism, they are heartily welcome to enjoy the credit of it: but if they wish to put their abilities to the trial, let them attend the comitia, or a judicial process of real importance. the open forum demands a fuller, and more elevated tone: and _he_ is the orator for me, who is so universally admired that when he is to plead an interesting cause, all the benches are filled beforehand, the tribunal crowded, the clerks and notaries busy in adjusting their seats, the populace thronging about the rostra, and the judge brisk, and vigilant;--_he_, who has such a commanding air, that when he rises up to speak, the whole audience is hushed into a profound silence, which is soon interrupted by their repeated plaudits, and acclamations, or by those successive bursts of laughter, or violent transports of passion, which he knows how to excite at his pleasure; so that even a distant observer, though unacquainted with the subject he is speaking upon, can easily discover that his hearers are pleased with him, and that a _roscius_ is performing his part on the stage. whoever has the happiness to be thus followed and applauded is, beyond dispute, an _attic_ speaker: for such was pericles,--such was hyperides, and aeschines,--and such, in the most eminent degree, was the great demosthenes! if indeed, these connoisseurs, who have so much dislike to every thing bold and ornamental, only mean to say that an accurate, a judicious, and a neat, and compact, but unembellished style, is really an _attic_ one, they are not mistaken. for in an art of such wonderful extent and variety as that of speaking, even this subtile and confined character may claim a place: so that the conclusion will be, that it is very possible to speak in the _attic_ taste, without deserving the name of an orator; but that all in general who are truly eloquent, are likewise _attic_ speakers.--it is time, however, to return to hortensius."--" indeed, i think so," cried brutus: "though i must acknowledge that this long digression of yours has entertained me very agreeably." "but i made some remarks," said atticus, "which i had several times a mind to mention; only i was loath to interrupt you. as your discourse, however, seems to be drawing towards an end, i think i may venture to out with them."--"by all means," replied i.--"i readily grant, then," said he, "that there is something very humourous and elegant in that continued _irony_, which socrates employs to so much advantage in the dialogues of plato, xenophon, and aeschines. for when a dispute commences on the nature of wisdom, he professes, with a great deal of humour and ingenuity, to have no pretensions to it himself; while, with a kind of concealed raillery, he ascribes the highest degree of it to those who had the arrogance to lay an open claim to it. thus, in plato, he extols protagoras, hippias, prodicus, gorgias, and several others, to the skies: but represents himself as a mere ignorant. this in _him_ was peculiarly becoming; nor can i agree with epicurus, who thinks it censurable. but in a professed history, (for such, in fact, is the account you have been giving us of the roman orators) i shall leave you to judge, whether an application of the _irony_ is not equally reprehensible, as it would be in giving a judicial evidence."--"pray, what are you driving at," said i,-- "for i cannot comprehend you."--"i mean," replied he, "in the first place, that the commendations which you have bestowed upon some of our orators, have a tendency to mislead the opinion of those who are unacquainted with their true characters. there were likewise several parts of your account, at which i could scarcely forbear laughing: as, for instance, when you compared old cato to lysias. he was, indeed, a great, and a very extraordinary man. nobody, i believe, will say to the contrary. but shall we call him an orator? shall we pronounce him the rival of lysias, who was the most finished character of the kind? if we mean to jest, this comparison of your's would form a pretty _irony_: but if we are talking in real earnest, we should pay the same scrupulous regard to truth, as if we were giving evidence upon oath. as a citizen, a senator, a general, and, in short, a man who was distinguished by his prudence, his activity, and every other virtue, your favourite cato has my highest approbation. i can likewise applaud his speeches, considering the time he lived in. they exhibit the out-lines of a great genius; but such, however, as are evidently rude and imperfect. in the same manner, when you represented his _antiquities_ as replete with all the graces of oratory, and compared cato with philistus and thucydides, did you really imagine, that you could persuade me and brutus to believe you? or would you seriously degrade those, whom none of the greeks themselves have been able to equal, into a comparison with a stiff country, gentleman, who scarcely suspected that there was any such thing in being, as a copious and ornamental style? you have likewise said much in commendation of galba;--if as the best speaker of his age, i can so far agree with you, for such was the character he bore:--but if you meant to recommend him as an _orator_, produce his orations (for they are still extant) and then tell me honestly, whether you would wish your friend brutus here to speak as _he_? lepidus too was the author of several speeches, which have received your approbation; in which i can partly join with you, if you consider them only as specimens of our ancient eloquence. the same might be said of africanus and laelius, than whose language (you tell us) nothing in the world can be sweeter: nay, you have mentioned it with a kind of veneration, and endeavoured to dazzle our judgment by the great character they bore, and the uncommon elegance of their manners. divest it of these adventitious graces, and this sweet language of theirs will appear so homely, as to be scarcely worth noticing. carbo too was mentioned as one of our capital orators; and for this only reason,--that in speaking, as in all other professions, whatever is the best of its kind, for the time being, how deficient soever in reality, is always admired and applauded. what i have said of carbo, is equally true of the gracchi: though, in some particulars, the character you have given them was no more than they deserved. but to say nothing of the rest of your orators, let us proceed to antonius and crassus, your two paragons of eloquence, whom i have heard myself, and who were certainly very able speakers. to the extraordinary commendation you have bestowed upon them, i can readily give my assent; but not, however, in such an unlimited manner as to persuade myself that you have received as much improvement from the speech in support of the servilian law, as lysippus said he had done by studying the famous [footnote: _doryphorus_. a spear- man.] statue of polycletus. what you have said on _this_ occasion i consider as an absolute _irony:_ but i shall not inform you why i think so, lest you should imagine i design to flatter you. i shall therefore pass over the many fine encomiums you have bestowed upon _these_; and what you have said of cotta and sulpicius, and but very lately of your pupil caelius. i acknowledge, however, that we may call them orators: but as to the nature and extent of their merit, let your own judgment decide. it is scarcely worth observing, that you have had the additional good-nature to crowd so many daubers into your list, that there are some, i believe, who will be ready to wish they had died long ago, that you might have had an opportunity to insert _their_ names among the rest."--"you have opened a wide field of enquiry," said i, "and started a subject which deserves a separate discussion; but we must defer it to a more convenient time. for, to settle it, a great variety of authors must be examined, and especially _cato_: which could not fail to convince you, that nothing was wanting to complete his pieces, but those rich and glowing colours which had not then been invented. as to the above oration of crassus, he himself, perhaps, could have written better, if he had been willing to take the trouble; but nobody else, i believe, could have mended it. you have no reason, therefore, to think i spoke _ironically_, when i mentioned it as the guide and _tutoress_ of my eloquence: for though you seem to have a higher opinion of my capacity, in its present state, you must remember that, in our youth, we could find nothing better to imitate among the romans. and as to my admitting so _many_ into my list of orators, i only did it (as i have already observed) to shew how few have succeeded in a profession, in which all were desirous to excel. i therefore insist upon it that you do not consider _me_ in the present case, as an _ironist_; though we are informed by c. fannius, in his history, that _africanus_ was a very excellent one."--"as you please about _that_," cried atticus: "though, by the bye, i did not imagine it would have been any disgrace to you, to be what africanus and socrates have been before you."--"we may settle _this_ another time," interrupted brutus: "but will you be so obliging," said he, (addressing himself to _me_) "as to give us a critical analysis of some of the old speeches you have mentioned?"--"very willingly," replied i; "but it must be at cuma, or tusculum, when opportunity offers: for we are near neighbours, you know, in both places. at present, let us return to _hortensius_, from whom we have digressed a second time." "hortensius, then, who began to speak in public when he was very young, was soon employed even in causes of the greatest moment: and though he first appeared in the time of cotta and sulpicius, (who were only ten years older) and when crassus and antonius, and afterwards philip and julius, were in the height of their reputation, he was thought worthy to be compared with either of them in point of eloquence. he had such an excellent memory as i never knew in any person; so that what he had composed in private, he was able to repeat, without notes, in the very same words he had made use of at first. he employed this natural advantage with so much readiness, that he not only recollected whatever he had written or premeditated himself, but remembered every thing that had been said by his opponents, without the help of a prompter. he was likewise inflamed with such a passionate fondness for the profession, that i never saw any one, who took more pains to improve himself; for he would not suffer a day to elapse, without either speaking in the forum, or composing something at home; and very often he did both in the same day. he had, besides, a turn of expression which was very far from being low and unelevated; and possessed two other accomplishments, in which no one could equal him,--an uncommon clearness and accuracy in stating the points he was to speak to; and a neat and easy manner of collecting the substance of what had been said by his antagonist, and by himself. he had likewise an elegant choice of words, an agreeable flow in his periods, and a copious elocution, which he was partly indebted for to a fine natural capacity, and partly acquired by the most laborious rhetorical exercises. in short, he had a most retentive view of his subject, and always divided and parcelled it out with the greatest exactness; and he very seldom overlooked any thing which the case could suggest, that was proper either to support his _own_ allegations, or to refute those of his opponent. lastly, he had a sweet and sonorous voice; and his gesture had rather more art in it, and was more exactly managed, than is requisite to an orator. "while _he_ was in the height of his glory, crassus died, cotta was banished, our public trials were intermitted by the marsic war, and i myself made my first appearance in the forum. hortensius joined the army, and served the first campaign as a volunteer, and the second as a military tribune: sulpicius was made a lieutenant general; and antonius was absent on a similar account. the only trial we had, was that upon the varian law; the rest, as i have just observed, having been intermitted by the war. we had scarcely any body left at the bar but l. memmius, and q. pompeius, who spoke mostly on their own affairs; and, though far from being orators of the first distinction, were yet tolerable ones, (if we may credit philippus, who was himself a man of some eloquence) and in supporting an evidence, displayed all the poignancy of a prosecutor, with a moderate freedom of elocution. the rest, who were esteemed our capital speakers, were then in the magistracy, and i had the benefit of hearing their harangues almost every day. c. curio was chosen a tribune of the people; though he left off speaking after being once deserted by his whole audience. to him i may add q. metellus celer, who, though certainly no orator, was far from being destitute of utterance: but q. varius, c. carbo, and cn. pomponius, were men of real elocution, and might almost be said to have lived upon the rostra. c. julius too, who was then a curule aedile, was daily employed in making speeches to the people, which were composed with great neatness and accuracy. but while i attended the forum with this eager curiosity, my first disappointment was the banishment of cotta: after which i continued to hear the rest with the same assiduity as before; and though i daily spent the remainder of my time in reading, writing, and private declamation, i cannot say that i much relished my confinement to these preparatory exercises. the next year q. varius was condemned, and banished, by his own law: and i, that i might acquire a competent knowledge of the principles of jurisprudence, then attached myself to q. scaevola, the son of publius, who, though he did not choose to undertake the charge of a pupil, yet by freely giving his advice to those who consulted him, he answered every purpose of instruction to such as took the trouble to apply to him. in the succeeding year, in which sylla and pompey were consuls, as sulpicius, who was elected a tribune of the people, had occasion to speak in public almost every day, i had an opportunity to acquaint myself thoroughly with his manner of speaking. at this time philo, a philosopher of the first name _in the academy_, with many of the principal athenians, having deserted their native home, and fled to rome, from the fury of mithridates, i immediately became his scholar, and was exceedingly taken with his philosophy; and, besides the, pleasure i received from the great variety and sublimity of his matter, i was still more inclined to confine, my attention to that study; because there was reason to apprehend that our laws and judicial proceedings would be wholly overturned by the continuance of the public disorders. in the same year sulpicius lost his life; and q. catulus, m. antonius, and c. julius, three orators, who were partly cotemporary with each other, were most inhumanly put to death. then also i attended the lectures of molo the rhodian, who was newly come to rome, and was both an excellent pleader, and an able teacher of the art. i have mentioned these particulars, which, perhaps, may appear foreign to our purpose, that _you_, my brutus, (for atticus is already acquainted with them) may be able to mark my progress, and observe how closely i trod upon the heels of hortensius. "the three following years the city was free from the tumult of arms; but either by the death, the voluntary retirement, or the flight of our ablest orators (for even m. crassus, and the two lentuli, who were then in the bloom of youth, had all left us) hortensius, of course, was the first speaker in the forum. antistius too was daily rising into reputation,-- piso pleaded pretty often,--pomponius not so frequently,--carbo very seldom,--and philippus only once or twice. in the mean while i pursued my studies of every kind, day and night, with unremitting application. i lodged and boarded at my own house [where he lately died] diodotus the stoic; whom i employed as my preceptor in various other parts of learning, but particularly in logic, which may be considered as a close and contracted species of eloquence; and without which, you yourself have declared it impossible to acquire that full and perfect eloquence, which they suppose to be an open and dilated kind of logic. yet with all my attention to diodotus, and the various arts he was master of, i never suffered even a single day to escape me, without some exercise of the oratorial kind. i constantly declaimed in private with m. piso, q. pompeius, or some other of my acquaintance; pretty often in latin, but much oftener in greek; because the greek furnishes a greater variety of ornaments, and an opportunity of imitating and introducing them into the latin; and because the greek masters, who were far the best, could not correct and improve us, unless we declaimed in that language. this time was distinguished by a violent struggle to restore the liberty of the republic:--the barbarous slaughter of the three orators, scaevola, carbo, and antistius;--the return of cotta, curio, crassus, pompey, and the lentuli;--the re-establishment of the laws and courts of judicature;--and the intire restoration of the commonwealth: but we lost pomponius, censorinus, and murena, from the roll of orators. "i now began, for the _first_ time, to undertake the management of causes, both private and public; not, as most did, with a view to learn my profession, but to make a trial of the abilities which i had taken so much pains to acquire. i had then a second opportunity of attending the instructions of molo; who came to rome, while sylla was dictator, to sollicit the payment of what was due to his countrymen, for their services in the mithridatic war. my defence of sext. roscius, which was the first cause i pleaded, met with such a favourable reception, that, from that moment, i was looked upon as an advocate of the first class, and equal to the greatest and most important causes: and after this i pleaded many others, which i pre-composed with all the care and accuracy i was master of. "but as you seem desirous not so much to be acquainted with any incidental marks of my character, or the first sallies of my youth, as to know me thoroughly, i shall mention some particulars, which otherwise might have seemed unnecessary. at this time my body was exceedingly weak and emaciated; my neck long, and slender; a shape and habit, which i thought to be liable to great risk of life, if engaged in any violent fatigue, or labour of the lungs. and it gave the greater alarm to those who had a regard for me, that i used to speak without any remission or variation, with the utmost stretch of my voice, and a total agitation of my body. when my friends, therefore, and physicians, advised me to meddle no more with forensic causes, i resolved to run any hazard, rather than quit the hopes of glory, which i had proposed to myself from pleading: but when i considered, that by managing my voice, and changing my way of speaking, i might both avoid all future danger of that kind, and speak with greater ease, i took a resolution of travelling into asia, merely for an opportunity to correct my manner of speaking. so that after i had been two years at the bar, and acquired some reputation in the forum, i left rome. when i came to athens, i spent six months with antiochus, the principal and most judicious philosopher of _the old academy_; and under this able master, i renewed those philosophical studies which i had laboriously cultivated and improved from my earliest youth. at the same time, however, i continued my _rhetorical exercises_ under demetrius the syrian, an experienced and reputable master of the art of speaking. "after leaving athens, i traversed every part of asia, where i was voluntarily attended by the principal orators of the country with whom i renewed my rhetorical exercises. the chief of them was menippus of stratonica, the most eloquent of all the asiatics: and if to be neither tedious nor impertinent is the characteristic of an attic orator, he may be justly ranked in that class. dionysius also of magnesia, aeschilus of cnidos, and xenocles of adramyttus, who were esteemed the first rhetoricians of asia, were continually with me. not contented with these, i went to rhodes, and applied myself again to molo, whom i had heard before at rome; and who was both an experienced pleader, and a fine writer, and particularly judicious in remarking the faults of his scholars, as well as in his method of teaching and improving them. his principal trouble with me, was to restrain the luxuriancy of a juvenile imagination, always ready to overflow its banks, within its due and proper channel. thus, after an excursion of two years, i returned to italy, not only much improved, but almost changed into a new man. the vehemence of my voice and action was considerably abated; the excessive ardour of my language was corrected; my lungs were strengthened; and my whole constitution confirmed and settled. "two orators then reigned in the forum; (i mean cotta and hortensius) whose glory fired my emulation. cotta's way of speaking was calm and easy, and distinguished by the flowing elegance and propriety of his language. the other was splendid, warm, and animated; not such as you, my brutus, have seen him when he had shed the blossom of his eloquence, but far more lively and pathetic both in his style and action. as hortensius, therefore, was nearer to me in age, and his manner more agreeable to the natural ardour of my temper, i considered him as the proper object of my competition. for i observed that when they were both engaged in the same cause, (as for instance, when they defended m. canuleius, and cn. dolabella, a man of consular dignity) though cotta was generally employed to open the defence, the most important parts of it were left to the management of hortensius. for a crowded audience, and a clamorous forum, require an orator who is lively, animated, full of action, and able to exert his voice to the highest pitch. the first year, therefore, after my return from asia, i undertook several capital causes; and in the interim i put up as a candidate for the quaestorship, cotta for the consulate, and hortensius for the aedileship. after i was chosen quaestor, i passed a year in sicily, the province assigned to me by lot: cotta went as consul into gaul: and hortensius, whose new office required his presence at rome, was left of course the undisputed sovereign of the forum. in the succeeding year, when i returned from sicily, my oratorial talents, such as they were, displayed themselves in their full perfection and maturity. "i have been saying too much, perhaps, concerning myself: but my design in it was not to make a parade of my eloquence and ability, which i have no temptation to do, but only to specify the pains and labour which i have taken to improve it. after spending the five succeeding years in pleading a variety of causes, and with the ablest advocates of the time, i was declared an aedile, and undertook the patronage of the sicilians against hortensius, who was then one of the consuls elect. but as the subject of our conversation not only requires an historical detail of orators, but such preceptive remarks as may be necessary to elucidate their characters; it will not be improper to make some observations of this kind upon that of hortensius. after his appointment to the consulship (very probably, because he saw none of consular dignity who were able to rival him, and despised the competition of others of inferior rank) he began to remit that intense application which he had hitherto persevered in from his childhood; and having settled himself in very affluent circumstances, he chose to live for the future what he thought an _easy_ life, but which, in truth, was rather an indolent one. in the three succeeding years, the beauty of his colouring was so much impaired, as to be very perceptible to a skilful connoisseur, though not to a common observer. after that, he grew every day more unlike himself than before, not only in other parts of eloquence, but by a gradual decay of the former celerity and elegant texture of his language. i, at the same time, spared no pains to improve and enlarge my talents, such as they were, by every exercise that was proper for the purpose, but particularly by that of writing. not to mention several other advantages i derived from it, i shall only observe, that about this time, and but a very few years after my aedileship, i was declared the first praetor, by the unanimous suffrages of my fellow- citizens. for, by my diligence and assiduity as a pleader, and my accurate way of speaking, which was rather superior to the ordinary style of the bar, the novelty of my eloquence had engaged the attention, and secured the good wishes of the public. but i will say nothing of myself: i will confine my discourse to our other speakers, among whom there is not one who has gained more than a common acquaintance with those parts of literature, which feed the springs of eloquence:--not one who has been thoroughly nurtured at the breast of philosophy, which is the mother of every excellence either in deed or speech:--not one who has acquired an accurate knowledge of the civil law, which is so necessary for the management even of private causes, and to direct the judgment of an orator:--not one who is a complete master of the roman history, which would enable us, on many occasions, to appeal to the venerable evidence of the dead:--not one who can entangle his opponent in such a neat and humourous manner, as to relax the severity of the judges into a smile or an open laugh:--not one who knows how to dilate and expand his subject, by reducing it from the limited considerations of time, and person, to some general and indefinite topic;--not one who knows how to enliven it by an agreeable digression: not one who can rouse the indignation of the judge, or extort from him the tear of compassion;--or who can influence and bend his soul (which is confessedly the capital perfection of an orator) in such a manner as shall best suit his purpose. "when hortensius, therefore, the once eloquent and admired hortensius, had almost vanished from the forum, my appointment to the consulship, which happened about six years after his own promotion to that office, revived his dying emulation; for he was unwilling that after i had equalled him in rank and dignity, i should become his superior in any other respect. but in the twelve succeeding years, by a mutual deference to each other's abilities, we united our efforts at the bar in the most amicable manner: and my consulship, which at first had given a short alarm to his jealousy, afterward cemented our friendship, by the generous candor with which he applauded my conduct. but our emulous efforts were exerted in the most conspicuous manner, just before the commencement of that unhappy period, when eloquence herself was confounded and terrified by the din of arms into a sudden and a total silence: for after pompey had proposed and carried a law, which allowed even the party accused but three hours to make his defence, i appeared, (though comparatively as a mere _noviciate_ by this new regulation) in a number of causes which, in fact, were become perfectly the same, or very nearly so; most of which, my brutus, you was present to hear, as having been my partner and fellow-advocate in many of them, though you pleaded several by yourself; and hortensius, though he died a short time afterwards, bore his share in these limited efforts. he began to plead about ten years before the time of your birth; and in his sixty-fourth year, but a very few days before his death, he was engaged with you in the defence of appius, your father-in-law. as to our respective talents, the orations we have published will enable posterity to form a proper judgment of them. but if we mean to inquire, why hortensius was more admired for his eloquence in the younger part of his life, than in his latter years, we shall find it owing to the following causes. the first was, that an _asiatic_ style is more allowable in a young man than in an old one. of this there are two different kinds. "the former is sententious and sprightly, and abounds in those turns of sentiment which are not so much distinguished by their weight and solidity as by their neatness and elegance; of this cast was timaeus the historian, and the two orators so much talked of in our younger days, hierocles the alabandean, and his brother menecles, but particularly the latter; both whose orations may be reckoned master-pieces of the kind. the other sort is not so remarkable for the plenty and richness of its sentiments, as for its rapid volubility of expression, which at present is the ruling taste in asia; but, besides it's uncommon fluency, it is recommended by a choice of words which are peculiarly delicate and ornamental:--of this kind were aeschylus the cnidian, and my cotemporary aeschines the milesian; for they had an admirable command of language, with very little elegance of sentiment. these showy kinds of eloquence are agreeable enough in young people; but they are entirely destitute of that gravity and composure which befits a riper age. as hortensius therefore excelled in both, he was heard with applause in the earlier part of his life. for he had all that fertility and graceful variety of sentiment which distinguished the character of menecles: but, as in menecles, so in him, there were many turns of sentiment which were more delicate and entertaining than really useful, or indeed sometimes convenient. his language also was brilliant and rapid, and yet perfectly neat and accurate; but by no means agreeable to men of riper years. i have often seen it received by philippus with the utmost derision, and, upon some occasions, with a contemptuous indignation: but the younger part of the audience admired it, and the populace were highly pleased with it. in his youth, therefore, he met the warmest approbation of the public, and maintained his post with ease as the first orator in the forum. for the style he chose to speak in, though it has little weight, or authority, appeared very suitable to his age: and as it discovered in him the most visible marks of genius and application, and was recommended by the numerous cadence of his periods, he was heard with universal applause. but when the honours he afterwards rose to, and the dignity of his years required something more serious and composed, he still continued to appear in the same character, though it no longer became him: and as he had, for some considerable time, intermitted those exercises, and relaxed that laborious attention which had once distinguished him, though his former neatness of expression, and luxuriancy of sentiment still remained, they were stripped of those brilliant ornaments they had been used to wear. for this reason, perhaps, my brutus, he appeared less pleasing to you than he would have done, if you had been old enough to hear him, when he was fired with emulation and flourished in the full bloom of his eloquence. "i am perfectly sensible," said brutus, "of the justice of your remarks; and yet i have always looked upon hortensius as a great orator, but especially when he pleaded for messala, in the time of your absence."--"i have often heard of it," replied i, "and his oration, which was afterwards published, they say, in the very same words in which he delivered it, is no way inferior to the character you give it. upon the whole, then, his reputation flourished from the time of crassus and scaevola (reckoning from the consulship of the former) to the consulship of paullus and marcellus: and i held out in the same career of glory from the dictatorship of sylla, to the period i have last, mentioned. thus the eloquence of hortensius was extinguished by his _own_ death, and mine by that of the commonwealth."--"ominate more favourably, i beg of you," cried brutus.--"as favourably as you please," said i, "and that not so much upon my own account, as your's. but _his_ death was truly fortunate, who did not live to behold the miseries, which he had long foreseen. for we often lamented, between ourselves, the misfortunes which hung over the state, when we discovered the seeds of a civil war in the insatiable ambition of a few private citizens, and saw every hope of an accommodation excluded by the rashness and precipitancy of our public counsels. but the felicity which always marked his life, seems to have exempted him, by a seasonable death, from the calamities that followed. but, as after the decease of hortensius, we seem to have been left, my brutus, as the sole guardians of an _orphan_ eloquence, let us cherish her, within our own walls at least, with a generous fidelity: let us discourage the addresses of her worthless, and impertinent suitors; let us preserve her pure and unblemished in all her virgin charms, and secure her, to the utmost of our ability, from the lawless violence of every armed ruffian. i must own, however, though i am heartily grieved that i entered so late upon the road of life, as to be overtaken by a gloomy night of public distress, before i had finished my journey; that i am not a little relieved by the tender consolation which you administered to me in your very agreeable letters;-- in which you tell me i ought to recollect my courage, since my past transactions are such as will speak for me when i am silent, and survive my death,--and such as, if the gods permit, will bear an ample testimony to the prudence and integrity of my public counsels, by the final restoration of the republic:--or, if otherwise, by burying me in the ruins of my country. but when i look upon _you_, my brutus, it fills me with anguish to reflect that, in the vigour of your youth, and when you was making the most rapid progress in the road to fame, your career was suddenly stopped by the fatal overthrow of the commonwealth. this unhappy circumstance has stung me to the heart; and not _me_ only; but my worthy friend here, who has the same affection for you, and the same esteem for your merit which i have. we have the warmest wishes for your happiness, and heartily pray that you may reap the rewards of your excellent virtues, and live to find a republic in which you will be able, not only to revive, but even to add to the fame of your illustrious ancestors. for the forum was your birth-right, your native theatre of action; and you was the only person that entered it, who had not only formed his elocution by a rigorous course of private practice, but enriched his oratory with the furniture of philosophical science, and thus united the highest virtue to the most consummate eloquence. your situation, therefore, wounds us with the double anxiety, that _you_ are deprived of the _republic_, and the republic of _you_. but still continue, my brutus, (notwithstanding the career of your genius has been checked by the rude shock of our public distresses) continue to pursue your favourite studies, and endeavour (what you have almost, or rather intirely effected already) to distinguish yourself from the promiscuous crowd of pleaders with which i have loaded the little history i have been giving you. for it would ill befit you, (richly furnished as you are with those liberal arts, which, unable to acquire at home, you imported from that celebrated city which has always been revered as the seat of learning) to pass after all as an ordinary pleader. for to what purposes have you studied under pammenes, the most eloquent man in greece; or what advantage have you derived from the discipline of _the old_ academy, and it's hereditary master aristus (my guest, and very intimate acquaintance) if you still rank yourself in the common class of orators? have we not seen that a whole age could scarcely furnish two speakers who really excelled in their profession? among a crowd of cotemporaries, galba, for instance, was the only orator of distinction: for old cato (we are informed) was obliged to yield to his superior merit, as were likewise his two juniors lepidus, and carbo. but, in a public harangue, the style of his successors the gracchi was far more easy and lively: and yet, even in their time, the roman eloquence had not reached its perfection. afterwards came antonius, and crassus; and then cotta, sulpicius, hortensius, and--but i say no more: i can only add, that if i had been so fortunate, &c, &c,"--[_caetera defunt._] the orator, by marcus tullius cicero; addressed to marcus brutus; and now first translated from the original latin. "song charms the sense, but eloquence the soul." milton. the orator. which, my brutus, would be the most difficult talk,--to decline answering a request which you have so often repeated, or to gratify it to your satisfaction,--i have long been at a loss to determine. i should be extremely sorry to deny any thing to a friend for whom i have the warmest esteem, and who, i am sensible, has an equal affection for me;-- especially, as he has only desired me to undertake a subject which may justly claim my attention. but to delineate a character, which it would be very difficult, i will not say to _acquire_, but even to _comprehend_ in its full extent, i thought was too bold an undertaking for him who reveres the censure of the wife and learned. for considering the great diversity of manner among the ablest speakers, how exceedingly difficult must it be to determine which is best, and give a finished model of eloquence? this, however, in compliance with your repeated solicitations, i shall now attempt;--not so much from any hopes of succeeding, as from a strong inclination to make the trial. for i had rather, by yielding to your wishes, give you room to complain of my insufficiency; than, by a peremptory denial, tempt you to question my friendship. you desire to know, then, (and you have often repeated your request) what kind of eloquence i most approve, and can look upon to be so highly finished, as to require no farther improvement. but should i be able to answer your expectations, and display, in his full perfection, the orator you enquire after; i am afraid i shall retard the industry of many, who, enfeebled by despair, will no longer attempt what they think themselves incapable of attaining. it is but reasonable, however, that all those who covet what is excellent, and which cannot be acquired without the greatest application, should exert their utmost. but if any one is deficient in capacity, and destitute of that admirable force of genius which nature bestows upon her favourites, or has been denied the advantages of a liberal education, _let him make the progress he is able_. for while we are driving to overtake the foremost, it is no disgrace to be found among the _second_ class, or even the _third_. thus, for instance, among the poets, we respect the merit not only of a _homer_ (that i may confine myself to the greeks) or of _archilochus, sophocles_, or _pindar_, but of many others who occupied the second, or even a lower place. in philosophy also the diffusive majesty of plato has not deterred _aristotle_ from entering the list; nor has _aristotle_ himself, with all his wonderful knowledge and fertility of thought, disheartened the endeavours of others. nay, men of an elevated genius have not only disdained to be intimidated from the pursuit of literary fame;--but the very artists and mechanics have never relinquished their profession, because they were unable to equal the beauty of that _iasylus_ which we have seen at rhodes, or of the celebrated _venus_ in the island of _coos_:--nor has the noble image of olympian _jove_, or the famous statue of the man at arms, deterred others from making trial of their abilities, and exerting their skill to the utmost. accordingly, such a large number of them has appeared, and each has performed so well in his own way, that we cannot help being pleased with their productions, notwithstanding our admiration at the nobler efforts of the great masters of the chissel. but among the orators, i mean those of greece, it is astonishing how much one of them has surpassed the rest:--and yet, though there was a _demosthenes_, there were even _then_ many other orators of considerable merit;--and such there were before he made his appearance, nor have they been wanting since. there is, therefore, no reason why those who have devoted themselves to the study of eloquence, should suffer their hopes to languish, or their industry to flag. for, in the first place, even that which is most excellent is not to be despaired of;--and, in all worthy attempts, that which is next to what is best is great and noble. but in sketching out the character of a compleat orator, it is possible i may exhibit such a one as hath never _yet_ existed. for i am not to point out the _speaker_, but to delineate the _eloquence_ than which nothing can be more perfect of the kind:--an eloquence which hath blazed forth through a whole harangue but seldom, and, it may be, never; but only here and there like a transient gleam, though in some orators more frequently, and in others, perhaps, more sparingly. my opinion, then, is,--that there is no human production of any kind, so compleatly beautiful, than which there is not a _something_ still more beautiful, from which the other is copied like a portrait from real life, and which can be discerned neither by our eyes nor ears, nor any of our bodily senses, but is visible only to thought and imagination. though the statues, therefore, of phidias, and the other images above-mentioned, are all so wonderfully charming, that nothing can be found which is more excellent of the kind; we may still, however, _suppose_ a something which is more exquisite, and more compleat. for it must not be thought that the ingenious artist, when he was sketching out the form of a jupiter, or a minerva, borrowed the likeness from any particular object;--but a certain admirable semblance of beauty was present to his mind, which he viewed and dwelt upon, and by which his skill and his hand were guided. as, therefore, in mere bodily shape and figure there is a kind of perfection, to whose ideal appearance every production which falls under the notice of the eye is referred by imitation; so the semblance of what is perfect in oratory may become visible to the mind, and the ear may labour to catch a likeness. these primary forms of thing are by plato (the father of science and good language) called _ideas_; and he tells us they have neither beginning nor end, but are co-eval with reason and intelligence; while every thing besides has a derived, and a transitory existence, and passes away and decays, so as to cease in a short time to be the thing it was. whatever, therefore, may be discussed by reason and method, should be constantly reduced to the primary form or semblance of it's respective genus. i am sensible that this introduction, as being derived not from the principles of eloquence, but from the deepest recesses of philosophy, will excite the censure, or at least the wonder of many, who will think it both unfashionable and intricate. for they will either be at a loss to discover it's connection with my subject, (though they will soon be convinced by what follows, that, if it appears to be far-fetched, it is not so without reason;)--or they will blame me, perhaps, for deserting the beaten track, and striking out into a new one. but i am satisfied that i often appear to advance novelties, when i offer sentiments which are, indeed, of a much earlier date, but happen to be generally unknown: and i frankly acknowledge that i came forth an orator, (if indeed i am one, or whatever else i may be deemed) not from the school of the rhetoricians, but from the spacious walks of the academy. for these are the theatres of diversified and extensive arguments which were first impressed with the foot-steps of plato; and his dissertations, with those of other philosophers, will be found of the greatest utility to an orator, both for his exercise and improvement; because all the fertility, and, as it were, the materials of eloquence, are to be derived from thence;--but not, however, sufficiently prepared for the business of the forum, which, as themselves have frequently boasted, they abandoned to the _rustic muses_ of the vulgar! thus the eloquence of the forum, despised and rejected by the philosophers, was bereaved of her greatest advantages:--but, nevertheless, being arrayed in all the brilliance of language and sentiment, she made a figure among the populace, nor feared the censure of the judicious few. by this means, the learned became destitute of a popular eloquence, and the orators of polite learning. we may, therefore, consider it as a capital maxim, (the truth of which will be more easily understood in the sequel) that the eloquent speaker we are enquiring after, cannot be formed without the assistance of philosophy. i do not mean that this alone is sufficient; but only (for it is sometimes necessary to compare great things to small) that it will contribute to improve him in the same manner as the _palaestra_ [footnote: the _palaestra_ was a place set apart for public exercises, such as wrestling, running, fencing, &c. the frequent performance of which contributed much to a graceful carriage of the body, which is a necessary accomplishment in a good actor.] does an actor; because without philosophy, no man can speak fully and copiously upon a variety of important subjects which come under the notice of an orator. accordingly, in the _phaedrus_ of plato, it is observed by socrates that the great _pericles_ excelled all the speakers of his time, because he had been a hearer of _anaxagoras_ the naturalist, from whom he supposes that he not only borrowed many excellent and sublime ideas, but a certain richness and fertility of language, and (what in eloquence is of the utmost consequence) the various arts either of soothing or alarming each particular passion. the same might be said of _demosthenes_, whose letters will satisfy us, how assiduously he attended the lectures of plato. for without the instruction of philosophy, we can neither discover what is the _genus_ or the _species_ to which any thing belongs, nor explain the nature of it by a just definition, or an accurate analysis of its parts;-- nor can we distinguish between what is true and false, or foresee the consequences, point out the inconsistencies, and dissolve the ambiguities which may lie in the case before us. but as to natural philosophy (the knowledge of which will supply us with the richest treasures of elocution;)--and as to life, and it's various duties, and the great principles of morality,--what is it possible either to express or understand aright, without a large acquaintance with these? to such various and important accomplishments we must add the innumerable ornaments of language, which, at the time above mentioned, were the only weapons which the masters of rhetoric could furnish. this is the reason why that genuine, and perfect eloquence we are speaking of, has been yet attained by no one; because the art of _reasoning_ has been supposed to be one thing, and that of _speaking_ another; and we have had recourse to different instructors for the knowledge of things and words. antonius, [footnote: a celebrated orator, and grandfather to m. antonius the triumvir.] therefore, to whom our ancestors adjudged the palm of eloquence, and who had much natural penetration and sagacity, has observed in the only book he published, "_that he had seen many good speakers, but not a single orator_." the full and perfect semblance of eloquence had so thoroughly possessed his mind, and was so completely visible there, though no where exemplified in practice, that this consummate genius, (for such, indeed, he was) observing many defects in both himself and others, could discover no one who merited the name of _eloquent_. but if he considered neither himself, nor lucius crassus, as a genuine orator, he must have formed in his mind a sublime idea of eloquence, under which, because there was nothing wanting to compleat it, he could not comprehend those speakers who were any ways deficient. let us then, my brutus, (if we are able) trace out the orator whom antonius never saw, and who, it may be, has never yet existed; for though we have not the skill to copy his likeness in real practice, (a talk which, in the opinion of the person above- mentioned, would be almost too arduous for one of the gods,) we may be able, perhaps, to give some account of what he _ought_ to be. good speaking, then, may be divided into three characters, in each of which there are some who have made an eminent figure: but to be equally excellent in all (which is what we require) has been the happiness of few. the _lofty_ and _majestic_ speaker, who distinguishes himself by the energy of his sentiments, and the dignity of his expression, is impetuous,--diversified,--copious,--and weighty,--and abundantly qualified to alarm and sway the passions;--which some effect by a harsh, and a rough, gloomy way of speaking, without any harmony or measure; and others, by a smooth, a regular, and a well-proportioned style. on the other hand, the _simple_ and _easy_ speaker is remarkably dexterous and keen, and aiming at nothing but our information, makes every thing he discourses upon, rather clear and open than great and striking, and polishes it with the utmost neatness and accuracy. but some of this kind of speakers, who are distinguished by their peculiar artificie, are designedly unpolished, and appear rude and unskilful, that they may have the better opportunity of deceiving us:--while others, with the same poverty of style, are far more elegant and agreeable,--that is, they are pleasant and facetious, and sometimes even florid, with here and there an easy ornament. but there is likewise a _middle_ kind of oratory, between the two above- mentioned, which neither has the keenness of the latter, nor hurls the thunder of the former; but is a mixture of both, without excelling in either, though at the same time it has something of each, or (perhaps, more properly) is equally destitute of the true merit of both. this species of eloquence flows along in a uniform course, having nothing to recommend it, but it's peculiar smoothness and equability; though at the same time, it intermingles a number of decorations, like the tufts of flowers in a garland, and embellishes a discourse from beginning to end with the moderate and less striking ornaments of language and sentiment. those who have attained to any degree of perfection in either of the above characters, have been distinguished as eminent orators: but the question is whether any of them have compassed what we are seeking after, and succeeded equally in all. for there have been several who could speak nervously and pompously, and yet, upon occasion, could express themselves with the greates address, and simplicity. i wish i could refer to such an orator, or at least to one who nearly resembles him, among the romans; for it would certainly have been more to our credit to be able to refer to proper examples of our own, and not be necessitated to have recourse to the greeks. but though in another treatis of mine, which bears the name of _brutus_, [footnote: a very excellent treatise in the form of a dialogue. it contains a critical and very instructive account of all the noted orators of _greece_ and _rome_ and might be called, with great propriety, _the history of eloquence_. though it is perhaps the most entertaining of all cicero's performances, the public have never been obliged before with a translation of it into english; which, i hope, will sufficiently plead my excuse for preforming to undertake it.] i have said much in favour of the romans, partly to excite their emulation, and, in some measure, from a partial fondness for my country; yet i must always remember to give the preference to _demosthenes_, who alone has adapted his genius to that perfect species of eloquence of which i can readily form an idea, but which i have never yet seen exemplified in practice. than _him_, there has never hitherto existed a more nervous, and at the same time, a more subtle speaker, or one more cool and temperate. i must, therefore, caution those whose ignorant discourse is become so common, and who wish to pass for _attic_ speakers, or at least to express themselves in the _attic_ taste, --i must caution them to take _him_ for their pattern, than whom it is impossible that athens herself should be more completely attic: and, as to genuine atticism, that them learn what it means, and measure the force of eloquence, not by their own weakness and incapacity, but by his wonderful energy and strength. for, at present, a person bestows his commendation upon just so much as he thinks himself capable of imitating. i therefore flatter myself that it will not be foreign to my purpose, to instruct those who have a laudable emulation, but are not thoroughly settled in their judgment, wherein the merit of an attic orator consists. the taste of the audience, then, has always governed and directed the eloquence of the speaker: for all who wish to be applauded, consult the character, and the inclinations of those who hear them, and carefully form and accommodate themselves to their particular humours and dispositions. thus in caria, phrygia, and mysia, because the inhabitants have no relish for true elegance and politeness, the orators have adopted (as most agreeable to the ears of their audience) a luxuriant, and, if i may so express myself, a corpulent style; which their neighbours the rhodians, who are only parted from them by a narrow straight, have never approved, and much less the greeks; but the athenians have entirely banished it; for their taste has always been so just and accurate that they could not listen to any thing but what was perfectly correct and elegant. an orator, therefore, to compliment their delicacy, was forced to be always upon his guard against a faulty or a distasteful expression. accordingly, _he_, whom we have just mentioned as surpassing the rest, has been careful in his oration for ctesiphon, (which is the best he ever composed) to set out very cooly and modestly: when he proceeds to argue the point of law, he grows more poignant and pressing; and as he advances in his defence, he takes still greater liberties; till, at last, having warmed the passions of his judges, he exults at his pleasure through the reamining part of his discourse. but even in _him_, thus carefully weighing and poising his every word _aeschines_ [footnote: _aeschines_ was a cotemporary, and a professed rival of demosthenes. he carried his animosity so far as to commence a litigious suit against him, at a time when the reputation of the latter was at the lowest ebb. but being overpowered by the eloquence of demosthenes, he was condemned to perpetual banishment.] could find several expressions to turn into ridicule:--for giving a loose to his raillery, he calls them harsh, and detestable, and too shocking to be endured; and styling the author of them a very _monster_, he tauntingly asks him whether such expressions could be considered as _words_ or not rather as absolute _frights_ and _prodigies_. so that to aeschines not even _demosthenes_ himself was perfectly _attic_; for it is an easy matter to catch a _glowing_ expression, (if i may be allowed to call it so) and expose it to ridicule when the fire of attention is extinguished. demosthenes, therefore, when he endeavours to excuse himself, condescends to jest, and denies that the fortune of greece was in the least affected by the singularity of a particular expression, or by his moving his hand either this way or that. with what patience, then, would a mysian or a phrygian have been heard at athens, when even demosthenes himself was reproached as a nuisance? but should the former have begun his whining sing-song, after the manner of the asiatics, who would have endured it? or rather, who would not have ordered him to be instantly torn from the rostrum? those, therefore, who can accommodate themselves to the nice and critical ears of an athenian audience, are the only persons who should pretend to atticism. but though atticism may be divided into several kinds, these mimic athenians suspect but one. they imagine that to discourse plainly, and without any ornament, provided it be done correctly, and clearly, is the only genuine atticism. in confining it to this alone, they are certainly mistaken; though when they tell us that this is really attic, they are so far in the right. for if the only true atticism is what they suppose to be, not even _pericles_ was an attic speaker, though he was universally allowed to bear away the palm of eloquence; nor, if he had wholly attached himself to this plain and simple kind of language, would he ever have been said by the poet aristophanes _to thunder and lighten, and throw all greece into a ferment_. be it allowed, then, that lysias, that graceful and most polite of speakers, was truly attic: for who can deny it? but let it also be remembered that lysias claims the merit of atticism, not so much for his simplicity and want of ornament, as because he has nothing which is either faulty or impertinent. but to speak floridly, nervously, and copiously, this also is true atticism:--otherwise, neither aeschines nor even demosthenes himself were attic speakers. there are others who affect to be called _thucydideans_,--a strange and novel race of triflers! for those who attach themselves to lysias, have a real pleader for their pattern;--not indeed a stately, and striking pleader, but yet a dextrous and very elegant one, who might appear in the forum with reputation. thucydides, on the contrary, is a mere historian, who ('tis true) describes wars, and battles with great dignity and precision; but he can supply us with nothing which is proper for the forum. for his very speeches have so many obscure and intricate periods, that they are scarcely intelligible; which in a public discourse is the greatest fault of which an orator can be guilty. but who, when the use of corn has been discovered, would be so mad as to feed upon acorns? or could the athenians improve their diet, and bodily food, and be incapable of cultivating their language? or, lastly, which of the greek orators has copied the style of thucydides? [footnote: demosthenes indeed took the pains to transcribe the history of thucydides several times. but he did this, no so much to copy the _form_ as the energy of his language.] "true," they reply, "but thucydides was universally admired." and so, indeed, he was; but only as a sensible, an exact, and a grave historian;--not for his address in public debates, but for his excellence in describing wars and battles. accordingly, he was never mentioned as an orator; nor would his name have been known to posterity, if he had not composed his history, notwithstanding the dignity of his birth, and the honourable share he held in the government. but none of these pretenders have copied his energy; and yet when they have uttered a few mutilated and broken periods (which they might easily have done without a master to imitate) we must rever them, truly, as so many genuine _thucydideses_. i have likewise met with a few who were professed imitators of xenophon; whose language, indeed, is sweeter than honey, but totally unqualified to withstand the clamours of the forum. let us return then to the orator we are seeking after, and furnish him with those powers of elocution, which antonius could not discover in any one: an arduous task, my brutus, and full of difficulty:--yet nothing, i believe, is impossible to him whose breast is fired with the generous flame of friendship! but i affectionately admire (and have always admired) your genius, your inclinations, and your manners. nay, i am daily more inflamed and ravished, not only with a desire (which, i assure you, is a violent one) to renew our friendly intercourses, our social repasts, and your improving conversation, but by the wonderful fame of your incredible virtues, which, though different in kind, are readily united by your superior wisdom and good-sense. for what is so remote from severity of manners as gentleness and affability? and yet who more venerable than yourself, or who more agreeable? what can be more difficult than to decide a number of suits, so as to be equally esteemed and beloved by the parties on both sides? you, however, possess the admirable talent of sending away perfectly easy and contented even those against whom your are forced to give judgment: thus bringing it to bear that, while you do nothing from a partial favour to any man, whatever you do is favourably received. hence it happens, that the only country upon earth, which is not involved in the present confusion, is the province of gaul; where you are now enjoying yourself in a happy tranquillity, while you are universally respected at home, and live in the hearts of the flower and strength of your fellow- citizens. it is equally amazing, though you are always engaged in the most important offices of government, that your studies are never intermitted; and that you are constantly either composing something of your own, or finding employment for me! accordingly i began this essay, at your request, as soon as i had finished my _cato_; which last also i should never have attempted (especially at a time when the enemies of virtue were so numerous) if i had not considered it as a crime to disobey my friend, when he only urged me to revive the memory of a man whom i always loved and honoured in his life-time. but i have now ventured upon a task which you have frequently pressed upon me, and i as often refused: for, if possible, i would share the fault between us, that if i should prove unequal to the subject, you may have the blame of loading me with a burden which is beyond my strength, and i the censure of presuming to undertake it:--though after all, the single merit of gratifying such a friend as brutus, will sufficiently atone for any defects i may fall into. but in every accomplishment which may become the object of pursuit, it is excessively difficult to delineate the form (or, as the greeks call it, the _character_ [footnote: [greek: charachtaer].]) of what is _best_; because some suppose it to consist in one thing, and some in another. thus, for instance, "i am for _ennius_," says one; "because he confines himself to the style of conversation:"--"and i," says another, "give the preference to _pacuvius_, because his verses are embellished and well- wrought; whereas ennius is rather too "negligent." in the same manner we may suppose a third to be an admirer of attius; for, as among the greeks, so it happens with us, "_different men have different opinions_;"--nor is it easy to determine which is best. thus also in painting, some are pleased with a rough, a wild, and a dark and cloudy style; while others prefer that which is clear, and lively, and well covered with light. how then shall we strike out a general _rule_ or _model_, when there are several manners, and each of them has a certain perfection of its own? but this difficulty has not deterred me from the undertaking; nor have i altered my opinion that in all things there is a _something_ which comprehends the highest excellence of the kind, and which, though not generally discernible, is sufficiently conspicuous to him, who is skilled in the subject. "but as there are several kinds of eloquence which differ considerably from each other, and therefore cannot be reduced to one common form;--for this reason, as to mere laudatory orations, essays, histories, and such suasory performances as the panegyric of isocrates, and the speeches of many others who were called _sophists_;--and, in short, as to every thing which is unconnected with the forum, and the whole of that species of discourse which the greeks call the _demonstrative_ [footnote: the _demonstrative_ species of eloquence is that which was solely employed either in _praising_ or _dispraising_. besides this, there are two others, viz. the _deliberative_, and the _judicial_; the former was employed in political debates, where it's whole business was either to _persuade_ or _dissuade_; and the latter, in judicial suits and controversies, where the speaker was either to _accuse_ or _defend_. but, on many occasions, they were all three intermingled in the same discourse.];--the form, or leading character of these i shall pass over; though i am far from considering it as a mere trifle, or a subject of no consequence; on the contrary, we may regard it as the nurse and tutoress of the orator we are now delineating. for _here_, a fluency of expression is confessedly nourished and cultivated; and the easy construction, and harmonious cadence of our language is more openly attended to. _here_, likewise, we both allow and recommend a studious elegance of diction, and a continued flow of melodious and well-turned periods;--and _here_, we may labour visibly, and without concealing our art, to contrast word to word, and to compare similar, and oppose contrary circumstances, and make several sentences (or parts of a sentence) conclude alike, and terminate with the same cadence; --ornaments, which in real pleadings, are to be used more sparingly, and with less appearance of art. isocrates, therefore, confesses in his _panathenaicus_, that these were beauties which he industriously pursued; for he composed it not for victory in a suit at law (where such a confession must have greatly injured his cause) but merely to gratify the ear. "it is recorded that the first persons who practised this species of composition [footnote: the _composition_ here mentioned consisted of three parts, the _first_ regarded the structure; that is, the _connection_ of our words, and required that the last syllable of every preceding, and the first of every succeeding word should be so aptly united as to produce an agreeable sound; which was effected by avoiding a collision of vowels or of inamicable consonants. it likewise required that those words should be constantly made choice of, whose separate sounds were most harmonious and most agreeable to the sense. the _second_ part consisted in the use of particular forms of expression, such as contrasts and antithesises, which have an appearance of order and regularity in their very texture. the _third_ and last regarded that species of harmony which results not so much from the sound, as from the time and quantity of the several syllables in a sentence. this was called _number_, and sometimes _rhyme_; and was in fact a kind of _prosaic metre_, which was carefully attended to by the ancients in every part of a sentence, but more particularly at the beginning and end of it. in this part they usually included the _period_, or the rules for determining the length of their sentences. i thought it necessary to give this short account of their composition, because our author very frequently alludes to it, before he proceeds to explain it at large.] were _thrasymachus_ the chalcedonian, and _gorgias_ the leontine; and that these were followed by _theodorus_ the byzantine, and a number of others, whom socrates, in the phaedrus of plato, calls [greek: logodaidalos] _speech-wrights_; many of whole discourses are sufficiently neat and entertaining; but, being the first attempts of the kind, were too minute and puerile, and had too poetical an air, and too much colouring. on this account, the merit of _herodotus_, and _thucydides_ is the more conspicuous: for though they lived at the time we are speaking of, they carefully avoided those studied decorations, or rather futilities. the former rolls along like a deep, still river without any rocks or shoals to interrupt it's course; and the other describes wars and battles, as if he was founding a charge on the trumpet; so that history (to use the words of _theophrastus_) caught the first alarm from these, and began to express herself with greater dignity and spirit. "after these came _socrates_, whom i have always recommended as the most accomplished writer we have in the way i am speaking of; though sometimes, my brutus, you have objected to it with a great deal of pleasantry and erudition. but when you are better informed for what it is i recommend him, you will then think of him perhaps as favourably as i do. thrasymachus and gorgias (who are said to have been the first who cultivated the art of prosaic harmony) appeared to him to be too minutely exact; and thucydides, he thought, was as much too loose and rugged, and not sufficiently smooth, and full-mouthed; and from hence he took the hint to give a scope to his sentences by a more copious and unconfined flow of language, and to fill up their breaks and intervals with the softer and more agreeable numbers. by teaching this to the most celebrated speakers, and composers of the age, his house came at last to be honoured as the _school of eloquence_. wherefore as i bore the censure of others with indifference, when i had the good fortune to be applauded by cato; thus isocrates, with the approbation of plato, may slight the judgment of inferior critics. for in the last page of the phaedrus, we find _socrates_ thus expressing himself;--'now, indeed, my dear phaedrus,' said he, 'isocrates is but a youth: but i will discover to you what i think of him.'--'and what is that?' replied the other.--'he appears to me,' said the philosopher, 'to have too elevated a genius to be placed on a level with the arid speeches of lysias. besides, he has a stronger turn for virtue; so that i shall not wonder, as he advances in years, if in the species of eloquence to which he now applies himself, he should exceed all, who have hitherto pursued it, like so many infants. or, if this should not content him, i shall not be astonished to behold him with a godlike ardour pursuing higher and more important studies; for i plainly see that he has a natural bent to philosophy!'" thus socrates presaged of him when he was but a youth. but plato recorded this eulogium when he was older; and he recorded it, though he was one of his equals and cotemporaries, and a professed enemy to the whole tribe of rhetoricians! _him_ he admires, and _him_ alone! so that such who despise isocrates, must suffer me to err with socrates and plato. the manner of speaking, then, which is observed in the _demonstrative_ or ornamental species of eloquence, and which i have before remarked, was peculiar to the sophists, is sweet, harmonious, and flowing, full of pointed sentiments, and arrayed in all the brilliance of language. but it is much fitter for the parade than the field; and being, therefore, consigned to the palaestra, and the schools, has been long banished from the forum. as eloquence, however, after she had been fed and nourished with this, acquires a fresher complexion, and a firmer constitution; it would not be amiss, i thought, to trace our orator from his very _cradle_. but these things are only for shew and amusement: whereas it is our business to take the field in earnest, and prepare for action. as there are three particulars, then, to be attended to by an orator,--viz. _what_ he is to say, in _what order_, and _how_; we shall consider what is most excellent in each; but after a different manner from what is followed in delivering a system of the art. for we are not to furnish a set of precepts (this not being the province we have undertaken) but to exhibit a portrait of eloquence in her full perfection: neither is it our business to explain the methods by which we may acquire it, but only to shew what opinion we ought to form of it. the two first articles are to be lightly touched over; for they have not so much a remarkable as a necessary share in forming the character of a compleat orator, and are likewise common to _his_ with many other professions;--and though, to invent, and judge with accuracy, what is proper to be said, are important accomplishments, and the same as the soul is to the body, yet they rather belong to _prudence_ than to eloquence. in what cause, however, can _prudence_ be idle? our orator, therefore, who is to be all perfection, should be thoroughly acquainted with the sources of argument and proof. for as every thing which can become the subject of debate, must rest upon one or another of these particulars, viz.--whether a fact has been really committed, or what name it ought to bear in law, or whether it is agreeable or contrary to justice; and as the reality of a fact must be determined by force of evidence, the true name of it by it's definition, and the quality of it by the received notions of right and wrong;--an orator (not an ordinary one, but the finished speaker we are describing) will always turn off the controversy, as much as possible, from particular persons and times, (for we may argue more at liberty concerning general topics than about circumstances) in such a manner that what is proved to be true _universally_, may necessarily appear to be so in all _subordinate_ cases. the point in debate being thus abstracted from particular persons and times, and brought to rest upon general principles, is called a _thesis_. in _this_ the famous aristotle carefully practised his scholars;--not to argue with the formal precision of philosophers, but to canvass a point handsomely and readily on both sides, and with all the copiousness so much admired in the rhetoricians: and for this purpose he delivered a set of _common places_ (for so he calls them) which were to serve as so many marks or characters for the discovery of arguments, and from which a discourse might be aptly framed on either side of a question. our orator then, (for i am not speaking of a mere school-declaimer, or a noisy ranter in the forum, but of a well-accomplished and a finished speaker)--our orator, as there is such a copious variety of common-places, will examine them all, and employ those which suit his purpose in as general and indefinite a manner as his cause will permit, and carefully trace and investigate them to their inmost sources. but he will use the plenty before him with discretion, and weighing every thing with the utmost accuracy, select what is best: for the stress of an argument does not always, and in every cause, depend upon similar topics. he will, therefore, exercise his judgment; and not only discover what _may_ be said, but thoroughly examine the _force_ of it. for nothing is more fertile than the powers of genius, and especially those which have been blessed with the cultivation of science. but as a rich and fruitful soil not only produces corn in abundance, but also weeds to choak and smother it; so from the common-places we are speaking of, many arguments will arise, which are either trivial, or foreign to our purpose, or entirely useless. an orator, therefore, should carefully examine each, that he may be able to select with propriety. otherwise, how can he enlarge upon those which are most pertinent, and dwell upon such as more particularly affect his cause? or how can he soften a harsh circumstance, or conceal, and (if possible) entirely suppress what would be deemed unanswerable, or steal off the attention of the hearer to a different topic? or how alledge another argument in reply, which shall be still more plausible than that of his antagonist? but after he has thus _invented_ what is proper to be said, with what accuracy must he _methodize_ it? for this is the second of the three articles above-mentioned. accordingly, he will give the portal of his harangue a graceful appearance, and make the entrance to his cause as neat and splendid as the importance of it will permit. when he has thus made himself master of the hearer's good wishes at the first onset, he will endeavour to invalidate what makes against him; and having, by this means, cleared his way, his strongest arguments will appear some of them in the front, and others at the close of his discourse; and as to those of more trifling consequence, he will occasionally introduce [footnote: in the original it is _inculcabit_, he will _tread them in_, (like the sand or loose dust in a new pavement) to support and strengthen the whole.] them here and there, where he judges them likely to be most serviceable. thus, then, we have given a cursory view of what he ought to be, in the two first departments of oratory. but, as we before observed, these, though very important in their consequences, require less art and application. after he has thus invented what is proper to be said, and in what order, the greatest difficulty is still behind;--namely to consider _how_ he is to say it, and _in what manner_. for the observation of our favourite _carneades_ is well-known,--"that _clitomachus_ had a perpetual sameness of sentiment, and charmidas a tiresome uniformity of expression." but if it is a circumstance of so much moment in philosophy, _in what manner_ we express ourselves, where the matter, and not the language, is principally regarded; what must we think of public debates, which are wholly ruled and swayed by the powers of elocution? accordingly, my brutus, i am sensible from your letters, that you mean to inquire what are my notions of a finished speaker, not so much with respect to his invention and disposition, as to his talents of _elocution_:--a severe task! and the most difficult you could have fixed upon! for as language is ever soft and yielding, and so amazingly pliable that you may bend and form it at your pleasure; so different natures and dispositions have given rise to different kinds of elocution. some, for instance, who place the chief merit of it in it's rapidity, are mightily pleased with a torrent of words, and a volubility of expression. others again are better pleased with regular, and measured intervals, and frequent stops, and pauses. what can be more opposite? and yet both have their proper excellence. some also confine their attention to the smoothness and equability of their periods, and aim at a style which is perfectly neat and clear: while others affect a harshness, and severity of diction, and to give a gloomy cast to their language:--and as we have already observed that some endeavour to be nervous and majestic, others neat and simple, and some to be smooth and florid, it necessarily follows that there must be as many different kinds of orators, as there are of eloquence. but as i have already enlarged the talk you have imposed upon me;--(for though your enquiries related only to elocution, i have ventured a few hints on the arts of invention and disposition;)--i shall now treat not only of _elocution_, but of _action_. by this means, every part of oratory will be attended to: for as to _memory_, which is common to this with many other arts, it is entirely out of the question. the art of speaking then, so far as it regards only the _manner_ in which our thoughts should be expressed, consists in _action_ and _elocution_; for action is the eloquence of the body, and implies the proper management of our _voice_ and _gesture_. as to the inflexions of the voice, they are as numerous as the various passions it is capable of exciting. the finished orator, therefore, who is the subject of this essay, in whatever manner he would appear to be affected himself, and touch the heart of his hearer, will employ a suitable and corresponding tone of voice:--a topic which i could willingly enlarge upon, if delivering precepts was any part of my present design, or of your request. i should likewise have treated concerning _gesture_, of which the management of the countenance is a material part: for it is scarcely credible of what great importance it is to an orator to recommend himself by these external accomplishments. for even those who were far from being masters of good language, have many times, by the sole dignity of their action, reaped the fruits of eloquence; while others who had the finest powers of elocution, have too often, by the mere awkwardness of their delivery, led people to imagine that they were scarcely able to express themselves:--so that demosthenes, with sufficient reason, assigned the first place, and likewise the second and third to _pronunciation_. for if eloquence without this is nothing, but this, even without eloquence, has such a wonderful efficacy, it must be allowed to bear the principal sway in the practice of speaking. if an orator, then, who is ambitious to win the palm of eloquence, has any thing to deliver which is warm and cutting, let his voice be strong and quick;--if what is calm and gentle, let it be mild and easy;--if what is grave and sedate, let it be cool and settled;--and if what is mournful and affecting, let his accents be plaintive and flexible. for the voice may be raised or depressed, and extended or contracted to an astonishing degree; thus in music (for instance) it's three tones, the _mean_, the _acute_, and the _grave_, may be so managed by art, as to produce a pleasing and an infinite variety of sounds. nay, even in speaking, there may be a concealed kind of music:--not like the whining epilogue of a phrygian or a carian declaimer, but such as was intended by _aeschines_, and _demosthenes_, when the one upbraids and reproaches the other with the artificial modulations of his voice. _demosthenes_, however, says most upon this head, and often speaks of his accuser as having a sweet and clear pronunciation. there is another circumstance, which may farther enforce our attention to the agreeable management of the voice; for nature herself, as if she meant to harmonize the speech of man, has placed an accent on every word, and one accent only, which never lies farther than the third syllable from the last. why, therefore, should we hesitate to follow her example, and to do our best to gratify the ear? a good voice, indeed, though a desirable accomplishment, is not in our power to acquire:--but to exercise, and improve it, is certainly in the power of every person. the orator, then, who means to be the prince of his profession, will change and vary his voice with the most delicate propriety; and by sometimes raising, and sometimes depressing it, pursue it gradually through all it's different tones, and modulations. he will likewise regulate his _gesture_, so as to avoid even a single motion which is either superfluous or impertinent. his posture will be erect and manly:-- he will move from his ground but seldom, and not even then too precipitately; and his advances will be few and moderate. he will practise no languishing, no effeminate airs of the head, no finical playing of the fingers, no measured movement of the joints. the chief part of his gesture will consist in the firm and graceful sway of his body, and in extending his arm when his arguments are pressing, and drawing it again when his vehemence abates. but as to the _countenance_, which next to the voice has the greatest efficacy, what dignity and gracefulness is it not capable of supporting! and when you have been careful that it may neither be unmeaning, nor ostentatious, there is still much to be left to the expression of the _eyes_. for if the countenance is the _image_ of the mind, the eyes are it's _interpreters_, whose degree of pleasantry or sadness must be proportioned to the importance of our subject. but we are to exhibit the portrait of a finished orator, whose chief excellence must be supposed, from his very name, to consist in his _elocution_; while his other qualifications (though equally complete) are less conspicuous. for a mere inventor, a mere digester, or a mere actor, are titles never made use of to comprize the whole character; but an orator derives his name, both in greek and latin, from the single talent of elocution. as to his other qualifications, every man of sense may claim a share of them: but the full powers of language are exerted by himself alone. some of the philosophers, indeed, have expressed themselves in a very handsome manner: for _theophrastus_ derived his name from the divinity of his style; _aristotle_ rivalled the glory of _isocrates_; and the muses themselves are said to have spoken from the lips of _xenophon_; and, to say no more, the great _plato_ is acknowledged in majesty and sweetness to have far exceeded all who ever wrote or spoke. but their language has neither the nerves nor the sting which is required in the orator's, when he harangues the crowded forum. they speak only to the learned, whose passions they rather choose to compose than disturb; and they discourse about matters of calm and untumultuous speculation, merely as teachers, and not like eager antagonists: though even _here_, when they endeavour to amuse and delight us, they are thought by some to exceed the limits of their province. it will be easy, therefore, to distinguish this species of elocution from the eloquence we are attempting to delineate. for the language of philosophy is gentle and composed, and entirely calculated for the shady walks of the academy;--not armed with those forcible sentiments, and rapid turns of expression, which are suited to move the populace, nor measured by exact numbers and regular periods, but easy, free, and unconfined. it has nothing resentful belonging to it, nothing invidious, nothing fierce and flaming, nothing exaggerated, nothing marvellous, nothing artful and designing; but resembles a chaste, a bashful, and an unpolluted virgin. we may, therefore, consider it as a kind of polite conversation, rather than a species of oratory. as to the _sophists_, whom i have already mentioned, the resemblance ought to be more accurately distinguished: for they industriously pursue the same flowers which are used by an orator in the forum. but they differ in this,--that, as their principal aim is not to disturb the passions, but rather to allay them, and not so much to persuade as to please,--they attempt the latter more openly, and more frequently than we do. they seek for agreeable sentiments, rather than probable ones; they use more frequent digressions, intermingle tales and fables, employ more shewy metaphors, and work them into their discourses with as much fancy and variety as a painter does his colours; and they abound in contrasts and antitheses, and in similar and corresponding cadences. nearly allied to these is _history_, which conducts her narratives with elegance and ease, and now and then sketches out a country, or a battle. she likewise diversifies her story with short speeches, and florid harangues: but in these, only neatness and fluency is to be expected, and not the vehemence and poignant severity of an orator [footnote: in the original it is,--_sed in his tracta quaedam et fluens expetitur, nan haec contorta, et acris oratorio_; upon which dr. ward has made the following remark:--"sentences, with respect to their form or composition, are distinguished into two sorts, called by cicero _tracta_, strait or direct, and _contorta_, bent or winding. by the former are meant such, whose members follow each other in a direct order, without any inflexion; and by the latter, those which strictly speaking are called periods."]. there is much the same difference between eloquence and _poetry_; for the poets likewise have started the question, what it is which distinguishes them from the orators? it was formerly supposed to be their _number_ and _metre_: but numbers are now as familiar to the orator, as to the poet; for whatever falls under the regulation of the ear, though it bears no resemblance to verse (which in oratory would be a capital fault) is called _number_, and by the greeks _rhyme_. [footnote: [greek: ruthmos]] in the opinion of some, therefore, the style of _plato_ and _democritus_, on account of it's majestic flow, and the splendor of it's ornaments, though it is far from being verse, has a nearer resemblance to poetry than the style of the comedians, who, excepting their metre, have nothing different from the style of conversation. metre, however, is far from being the principal merit of the poets; though it is certainly no small recommendation, that, while they pursue all the beauties of eloquence, the harmony of their numbers is far more regular and exact. but, though the language of poetry is equally grand and ornamental with that of an orator, she undoubtedly takes greater liberties both in making and compounding word; and frequently administers to the pleasure of her hearers, more by the pomp and lustre of her expressions, than by the weight and dignity of her sentiments. though judgment, therefore, and a proper choice of words, is alike common to both, yet their difference in other respects is sufficiently discernible: but if it affords any matter of doubt (as to some, perhaps, it may) the discussion of it is no way necessary to our present purpose. we are, therefore, to delineate the orator who differs equally from the eloquence of the philosopher, the sophist, the historian, and the poet. he, then, is truly eloquent, (for after _him_ we must search, by the direction of antonius) who in the forum, and in public debates, can so speak, as to _prove_, _delight_, and _force the passions_. to _prove_, is a matter of necessity:--to _delight_, is indispensably requisite to engage the attention:--and to _force the passions_, is the surest means of victory; for this contributes more effectually than both the others to get a cause decided to our wishes. but as the duties of an orator, so the kinds of elocution are three. the neat and accurate is used in _proving;_ the moderately florid in _delighting_ apd the vehement and impetuous in _forcing_ _the passions,_ in which alone all the power of eloquence consists. great, therefore, must be the judgment, and wonderful the talents of the man, who can properly conduct, and, as it were, temper this threefold variety: for he will at once determine what is suitable to every case; and be always able to express himself as the nature of his subject may require. discretion, therefore, is the basis of eloquence, as well as of every other accomplishment. for, as in the conduct of life, so in the practice of speaking, nothing is more difficult than to maintain a propriety of character. this is called by the greeks [greek: to prepon], _the becoming,_ but we shall call it _decorum;_--a subject which has been excellently and very copiously canvassed, and richly merits our attention. an unacquaintance with this has been the source of innumerable errors, not only in the business of life, but in poetry and eloquence. an orator, therefore, should examine what is becoming, as well in the turn of his language, as in that of his sentiments. for not every condition, not every rank, not every character, nor every age, or place, or time, nor every hearer is to be treated with the same invariable train either of sentiment or expression:--but we should always consider in every part of a public oration, as well as of life, what will be most becoming,--a circumstance which naturally depends on the nature of the subject, and the respective characters of the speaker and hearer. philosophers, therefore, have carefully discussed this extensive and important topic in the doctrine of ethics, (though not, indeed, when they treat of right and wrong, because those are invariably the fame:)--nor is it less attended to by the critics in their poetical essays, or by men of eloquence in every species and every part of their public debates. for what would be more out of character, than to use a lofty style, and ransack every topic of argument, when we are speaking only of a petty trespass in some inferior court? or, on the other hand, to descend to any puerile subtilties, and speak with the indifference and simplicity of a frivolous narrative, when we are lashing treason and rebellion? _here_, the indecorum would arise from the very nature and quality of the subject: but others are equally guilty of it, by not adapting their discourse either to their own characters, or to that of their hearers, and, in some cafes, to that of their antagonists; and they extend the fault not only to their sentiments, but to the turn of their expression. it is true, indeed, that the force of language is a mere nothing, when it is not supported by a proper solidity of sentiment: but it is also equally true that the same thing will be either approved or rejected, according as it is this or that way expressed. in all cases, therefore, we cannot be too careful in examining the _how far_? for though every thing has it's proper mean, yet an _excess_ is always more offensive and disgusting than a proportionable _defect_. _apelles_, therefore, justly censures some of his cotemporary artists, because they never knew when they had performed enough. this, my brutus, as your long acquaintance with it must necessarily inform you, is a copious subject, and would require an extensive volume to discuss. but it is sufficient to our present purpose to observe, that in all our words and actions, as well the smallest as the greatest, there is a something which will appear either becoming or unbecoming, and that almost every one is sensible of it's confluence. but what is becoming, and what _ought to be_, are very different considerations, and belong to a different topic:--for the _ought to be_ points out the perfection of duty, which should be attended to upon all occasions, and by all persons: but the _becoming_ denotes that which is merely _proper_, and suited to time and character, which is of great importance not only in our actions and language, but in our very looks, our gesture, and our walk; and that which is contrary to it will always be _unbecoming_, and disagreeable. if the poet, therefore, carefully guards against any impropriety of the kind, and is always condemned as guilty of a fault, when he puts the language of a worthy man into the mouth of a ruffian, or that of a wife man into the mouth of a fool:--if, moreover, the artist who painted the sacrifice of _iphigenia_, [footnote: agamemnon, one of the grecian chiefs, having by accident slain a deer belonging to diana, the goddess was so enraged at this profanation of her honours, that she kept him wind-bound at aulis with the whole fleet. under this heavy disaster, having recourse to the oracle, (their usual refuge in such cases) they were informed that the only atonement which the angry goddess would accept, was the sacrifice of one of the offender's children. ulysses having, by a stratagem, withdrawn _iphigenia_ from her mother for that purpose, the unhappy virgin was brought to the altar. but, as the story goes, the goddess relenting at her hard fate, substituted a deer in her stead, and conveyed her away to serve her as a priestess. it must be farther remarked that _menelaus_ was the virgin's uncle, and calchas the priest who was to officiate at this horrid sacrifice.] could see that _chalcas_ should appear greatly concerned, _ulysses_ still more so, and _menelaus_ bathed in tears, but that the head of agamemnon (the virgin's father) should be covered with his robe, to intimate a degree of anguish which no pencil could express: lastly, if a mere actor on the stage is ever cautious to keep up the character he appears in, what must be done by the orator? but as this is a matter of such importance, let him consider at his leisure, what is proper to be done in particular causes, and in their several parts and divisions:--for it is sufficiently evident, not only that the different parts of an oration, but that entire causes ought to be managed, some in one manner, and some in another. we must now proceed to delineate the form and character of each of the three species of eloquence above-mentioned; a great and an arduous talk, as i have already observed more than once; but we should have considered the difficulty of the voyage before we embarked: for now we have ventured to set sail, we must run boldly before the wind, whether we reach our port or not. the first character, then, to be described, is the orator who, according to some, is the only one that has any just pretensions to _atticism_. he is distinguished by his modest simplicity; and as he imitates the language of conversation, he differs from those who are strangers to eloquence, rather in reality than in appearance. for this reason, those who hear him, though totally unskilled in the art of speaking, are apt to persuade themselves that they can readily discourse in the same manner [footnote: there is a pretty remark to the same purpose in the fifteenth number of _the guardian_, which, as it may serve to illustrate the observation of cicero, i shall beg leave to insert. "from what i have advanced, it appears how difficult it is to write _easily_. but when easy writings fall into the hands of an ordinary reader, they appear to him so natural and unlaboured, that he immediately resolves to write, and fancies that all he has to do is to take no pains. thus he thinks indeed simply, but the thoughts not being chosen with judgment, are not beautiful. he, it is true, expresses himself plainly, but flatly withal. again, if a man of vivacity takes it into his head to write this way, what self-denial must he undergo, when bright points of wit occur to his fancy? how difficult will he find it to reject florid phrases, and pretty embellishments of style? so true it is, that simplicity of all things is the hardest to be copied, and case to be acquired with the greatest labour."];--and the unaffected simplicity of his language appears very imitable to an ignorant observer; though nothing will be found less so by him who makes the trial. for, if i may so express myself, though his veins are not over-stocked with blood, his juices must be found and good; and though he is not possessed of any extraordinary strength, he must have a healthy constitution. for this purpose, we must first release him from the shackles of _number_; for there is (you know) a kind of _number_ to be observed by an orator, which we shall treat of in the sequel:--but this is to be used in a different species of eloquence, and to be relinquished in the present. his language, therefore, must be free and unconfined, but not loose and irregular, that he may appear to walk at ease, without reeling or tottering. he will not be at the pains to cement word to word with a scrupulous exactness: for those breaks which are made by a collision of vowels, have now and then an agreeable effect, and betray the not unpleasing negligence of a man who is more felicitous about things than words. but though he is not to labour at a measured flow, and a masterly arrangement of his words, he must be careful in other respects. for even these limited and unaspiring talents are not to be employed carelessly, but with a kind of industrious negligence: for as some females are most becoming in a dishabille, so this artless kind of eloquence has her charms, though she appears in an undress. there is something in both which renders them agreeable, without striking the eye. here, therefore, all the glitter of ornament, like that of jewels and diamonds, must be laid aside; nor must we apply even the crisping-iron to adjust the hair. there must be no colouring, no artful washes to heighten the complexion: but elegance and neatness must be our only aim. our style muft be pure, and correct;--we must speak with clearness and perspicuity; --and be always attentive to appear in character. there is one thing, however, which must never be omitted, and which is reckoned by theophrastus to be one of the chief beauties of composition;--i mean that sweet and flowing ornament, a plentiful intermixture of lively sentiments, which seem to result from a natural fund of good sense, and are peculiarly graceful in the orator we are now describing. but he will be very moderate in using the _furniture_ of eloquence: for (if i may be allowed such an expression) there is a species of furniture belonging to us, which consists in the various ornaments of sentiment and language. the ornaments of language are two-fold; the one sort relates to words as they stand singly, and the other as they are connected together. a _single_ word (i speak of those which are _proper_, and in common use) is then said to be well chosen, when it founds agreeably, and is the best which could have been taken to express our meaning. among borrowed and _translatitious_ [footnote: words which are transferred from their primitive meaning to a metaphorical one.] words, (or those which are not used in their proper sense) we may reckon the metaphor, the metonymy, and the rest of the tropes; as also compounded and new-made words, and such as are obsolete and out of date; but obsolete words should rather be considered as proper ones, with this only difference, that we seldom make use of them. as to words in connection, these also may be considered as ornamental, when they have a certain gracefulness which would be destroyed by changing their order, though the meaning would still remain the same. for as to the ornaments of sentiment, which lose nothing of their beauty, by varying the position of the words,--these, indeed, are very numerous, though only a few of them are remarkably striking. the orator, then, who is distinguished by the simplicity of his manner, provided he is correct and elegant, will be sparing in the use of new words; easy and modest in his metaphors; and very cautious in the use of words which are antiquated;--and as to the other ornaments of language and sentiment, here also he will be equally plain and reserved. but in the use of metaphors, he will, perhaps, take greater liberties; because these are frequently introduced in conversation, not only by gentlemen, but even by rustics, and peasants: for we often hear them say that the vine _shoots out_ it's buds, that the fields are _thirsty_, the corn _lively_, and the grain _rich_ and flourishing. such expressions, indeed, are rather bold: but the resemblance between the metaphor and the object is either remarkably obvious; or else, when the latter has no proper name to express it, the metaphor is so far from appearing to be laboured, that we seem to use it merely to explain our meaning. this, therefore, is an ornament in which our artless orator may indulge himself more freely; but not so openly as in the more diffusive and lofty species of eloquence. for that _indecorum_, which is best understood by comparing it with its opposite quality, will even here be viable when a metaphor is too conspicuous;--or when this simple and dispassionate sort of language is interrupted by a bold ornament, which would have been proper enough in a different kind of elocution. as to that sort of ornament which regards the position of words, and embellishes it with those studied graces, which are considered by the greeks as so many _attitudes_ of language, and are therefore called _figures_, (a name which is likewise extended to the flowers of sentiment;)--the orator before us, who may justly be regarded as an _attic_ speaker, provided the title is not confined to him, will make use even of _this_, though with great caution and moderation. he will conduct himself as if he was setting out an entertainment, and while he carefully avoids a splendid magnificence, he will not only be plain and frugal, but neat and elegant, and make his choice accordingly. for there is a kind of genteel parsimony, by which his character is distinguished from that of others. he will, therefore, avoid the more conspicuous ornaments above- mentioned, such as the contracting word to word,--the concluding the several members of a sentence with the same cadence, or confining them to the same measure,--and all the studied prettiness which are formed by the change of a letter, or an artful play of found;--that, if possible, there may not be the slightest appearance, or even suspicion, of a design to please. as to those repetitions which require an earnest and forcible exertion of the voice, these also would be equally out of character in this lower species of eloquence; but he may use the other ornaments of elocution at his pleasure, provided he checks and interrupts the flow of his language, and softens it off by using familiar expressions, and such metaphors as are plain and obvious. nay, even as to the figures of sentiment, he may sometimes indulge himself in those which are not remarkably bold and striking. thus, for instance, we must not allow him to introduce the republic as speaking, nor to fetch up the dead from their graves, nor to crowd a multitude of ideas into the same period. these efforts demand a firmer constitution, and should be neither required nor expected from the simple orator before us; for as in his voice, so likewise in his language, he should be ever easy and composed. but there are many of the nobler ornaments which may be admitted even here, though always in a plainer and more artless habit than in any other species of eloquence; for such is the character we have assigned him. his gesture also will be neither pompous, nor theatrical, but consist in a moderate and easy sway of the body, and derive much of it's efficacy from the countenance,--not a stiff and affected countenance, but such a one as handsomely corresponds with his sentiments. this kind of oratory will likewise be frequently enlivened by those turns of wit and pleasantry, which in speaking have a much greater effect than is imagined. there are two sorts of them; the one consisting in smart sayings and quick repartees, and the other in what is called _humour_. our orator will make use of both;--of the latter in his narratives, to make them lively and entertaining;--and of the other, either in giving or retorting a stroke of ridicule, of which there are several kinds; but at present it is not our business to specify them. it will not be amiss, however, to observe by way of caution, that the powers of _ridicule_ are not to be employed too often, lest we sink into scurrility;--nor in loose and indecent language, lest we degenerate into wantonness and buffoonery; --nor with the least degree of petulance and abuse, lest we appear audacious and ill-bred;--nor levelled against the unfortunate, lest we incur the censure of inhumanity;--nor against atrocious crimes, lest we raise a laugh where we ought to excite abhorrence;--nor, in the last place, should they be used unseasonably, or when the characters either of the speaker, or the hearer, and the circumstances of time and place forbid it;--otherwise we should grossly fail in that decorum of which we have already said so much. we should likewise avoid all affected witticisms, which appear not to be thrown out occasionally, but to be dragged from the closet; for such are generally cold and insipid. it is also improper to jest upon our friends, or upon persons of quality, or to give any strokes of wit which may appear ill-natured, or malicious. we should aim only at our enemies; and even at these, not upon every occasion, or without any distinction of character, or with the same invariable turn of ridicule. under these restrictions our artless orator will play off his wit and humour, as i have never seen it done by any of the modern pretenders to atticism, though they cannot deny that this is entirely in the attic taste. such, then, is the idea which i have formed of a _simple and an easy speaker_, who is likewise a very masterly one, and a genuine athenian; for whatever is smart and pertinent is unquestionably _attic_, though some of the attic speakers were not remarkable for their wit. _lysias_, indeed, and _hyperides_ were sufficiently so; and _demades_, it is said, was more so than all the others. demosthenes, however, is thought by many to have but little merit of the kind; but to me nothing can be more genteel than he is; though, perhaps, he was rather smart than humourous. the one requires a quicker genius, but the other more art and address. but there is a second character, which is more diffusive, and somewhat stronger than the simple and artless, one we have been describing,--though considerably inferior to that copious and all-commanding eloquence we shall notice in the sequel. in this, though there is but a moderate exertion of the nerves and sinews of oratory, there is abundance of melody and sweetness. it is much fuller and richer than the close and accurate style above-mentioned; but less elevated than the pompous and diffusive. in _this_ all the ornaments of language may be employed without reserve; and _here_ the flow of our numbers is ever soft and harmonious. many of the greeks have pursued it with success: but, in my opinion, they must all yield the palm to _demetrius phalereus_, whose eloquence is ever mild and placid, and bespangled with a most elegant variety of metaphors and other tropes, like so many _stars_. by _metaphors_, as i have frequently observed, i mean expressions which, either for the sake of ornament, or through the natural poverty of our language, are removed and as it were _transplanted_ from their proper objects to others, by way of similitude. as to _tropes_ in general, they are particular forms of expression, in which the proper name of a thing is supplied by another, which conveys the same meaning, but is borrowed from its adjuncts or effects: for, though, in this case, there is a kind of metaphor, (because the word is shifted from its primary object) yet the remove is performed by _ennius_ in a different manner, when he says metaphorically,--"_you bereave the citadel and the city of their offspring_,"--from what it would have been, if he had put the citadel alone for the whole state: and thus again, when he tells us that,--"_rugged africa was shaken by a dreadful tumult_,"--he puts africa for the inhabitants. the rhetoricians call this an _hypallage_, because one word is substituted for another: but the grammarians call it a _metonymy_, because the words are shifted and interchanged. aristotle, however, subjoins it to the metaphor, as he likewise does the _abuse_ or _catachresis_; by which, for instance, we say a _narrow, contracted soul_, instead of a _mean_ one, and thus steal an expression which has a kindred meaning with the proper one, either for the sake of ornament or decency. when several metaphors are connected together in a regular chain, the form of speaking is varied. the greeks call this an _allegory_, which indeed is proper enough if we only attend to the etymology; but if we mean to refer it to its particular _genus_ or kind, he has done better who comprehends the whole under the general name of metaphors. these, however, are frequently used by _phalereus_, and have a soft and pleasing effect: but though he abounds in the metaphor, he also makes use of the other tropes with as much freedom as any writer whatever. this species of eloquence (i mean the _middling_, or temperate) is likewise embellished with all the brilliant figures of language, and many of the figures of sentiment. by this, moreover, the most extensive and refined topics of science are handsomely unfolded, and all the weapons of argument are employed without violence. but what need have i to say more? such speakers are the common offspring of philosophy; and were the nervous, and more striking orator to keep out of sight, these alone would fully answer our wishes. for they are masters of a brilliant, a florid, a picturesque, and a well-wrought elocution, which is interwoven with all the beautiful embroidery both of language and sentiment. this character first streamed from the limpid fountains of the _sophists_ into the forum; but being afterwards despised by the more simple and refined kind of speakers, and disdainfully rejected by the nervous and weighty; it was compelled to subside into the peaceful and unaspiring mediocrity we are speaking of. the _third character_ is the extensive,--the copious,--the nervous,--the majestic orator, who possesses the powers of elocution in their full extent. _this_ is the man whose enchanting and diffusive language is so much admired by listening nations, that they have tamely suffered eloquence to rule the world;--but an eloquence whose course is rapid and sonorous!--an eloquence which every one gazes at, and admires, and despairs to equal! this is the eloquence that bends and sways the passions!--_this_ the eloquence that alarms or sooths them at her pleasure! this is the eloquence that sometimes tears up all before it like a whirlwind; and, at other times, steals imperceptibly upon the senses, and probes to the bottom of the heart!--the eloquence which ingrafts opinions that are new, and eradicates the old; but yet is widely different from the two characters of speaking before-mentioned. he who exerts himself in the simple and accurate character, and speaks neatly and smartly without aiming any higher!--_he_, by this alone, if carried to perfection, becomes a great, if not the greatest of orators; nor does he walk upon slippery ground, so that if he has but learned to tread firm, he is in no danger of falling. also the middle kind of orator, who is distinguished by his equability, provided he only draws up his forces to advantage, fears not the perilous and doubtful hazards of a public harangue; and, though sometimes he may not succeed to his wishes, yet he is never exposed to an absolute defeat; for as he never soars, his fall must be inconsiderable. but the orator, whom we regard as the prince of his profession,--the nervous,--the fierce,--the flaming orator, if he is born for this alone, and only practices and applies himself to this, without tempering his copiousness with the two inferior characters of eloquence, is of all others the most contemptible. for the plain and simple orator, as speaking acutely and expertly, has an appearance of wisdom and good-sense; and the middle kind of orator is sufficiently recommended by his sweetness:--but the copious and diffusive speaker, if he has no other qualification, will scarcely appear to be in his senses. for he who can say nothing calmly,--nothing gently--nothing methodically, --nothing clearly, distinctly, or humourously, (though a number of causes should be so managed throughout, and others in one or more of their parts:)--he, moreover, who proceeds to amplify and exaggerate without preparing the attention of his audience, will appear to rave before men of understanding, and to vapour like a person intoxicated before the sober and sedate. thus then, my brutus, we have at last discovered the finished orator we are seeking for: but we have caught him in imagination only;--for if i could have seized him with my hands, not all his eloquence should persuade me to release him. we have at length, however, discovered the eloquent speaker, whom antonius never saw.--but who, then, is he?--i will comprize his character in a few words, and afterwards unfold it more at large.--he, then, is an orator indeed! who can speak upon trivial subjects with simplicity and art, upon weighty ones with energy and pathos, and upon those of middling import with calmness and moderation. you will tell me, perhaps, that such a speaker has never existed. be it so:--for i am now discoursing not upon what i _have_ seen, but upon what i could _wish_ to see; and must therefore recur to that primary semblance or ideal form of plato which i have mentioned before, and which, though it cannot be seen with our bodily eyes, may be comprehended by the powers of imagination. for i am not seeking after a living orator, or after any thing which is mortal and perishing, but after that which confers a right to the title of _eloquent_; in other words, i am seeking after eloquence herself, who can be discerned only by the eye of the mind. he then is truly an _orator_, (i again repeat it,) who can speak upon trivial subjects with simplicity, upon indifferent ones with moderation, and upon weighty subjects with energy and pathos. [footnote: our author is now going to indulge himself in the _egotism_,--a figure, which, upon many occasions, he uses as freely as any of the figures of rhetoric. how the reader will relish it, i know not; but it is evident from what follows, and from another passage of the same kind further on, that cicero had as great a veneration for his own talents as any man living. his merit, however, was so uncommon both as a statesman, a philosopher, and an orator, and he has obliged posterity with so many useful and amazing productions of genius, that we ought in gratitude to forgive the vanity of the _man_. although he has ornamented the socket in which he has _set_ his character, with an extravagant (and i had almost said ridiculous) profusion of self-applause, it must be remembered that the diamond it contains is a gem of inestimable value.] the cause i pleaded for caecina related entirely to the bare letter of the interdict: here, therefore, i explained what was intricate by a definition,--spoke in praise of the civil law,--and dissolved the ambiguities which embarrassed the meaning of the statute.--in recommending the manilian law, i was to blazon the character of _pompey_, and therefore indulged myself in all that variety of ornament which is peculiar to the second species of eloquence. in the cause of rabirius, as the honour of the republic was at stake, i blazed forth in every species of amplification. but these characters are sometimes to be intermingled and diversified. which of them, therefore, is not to be met with in my seven invectives against _verres_? or in the cause of _habitus_? or in that of _cornelius_? or indeed in most of my defences? i would have specified the particular examples, did i not believe them to be sufficiently known; or, at least, very easy to be discovered by those who will take the trouble to seek for them. for there is nothing which can recommend an orator in the different characters of speaking, but what has been exemplified in my orations,--if not to perfection, yet at least it has been attempted, and faintly delineated. i have not, indeed, the vanity to think i have arrived at the summit; but i can easily discern what eloquence ought to be. for i am not to speak of myself, but to attend to my subject; and so far am i from admiring my own productions, that, on the contrary, i am so nice and difficult, as not to be entirely satisfied with demosthenes himself, who, though he rises with superior eminence in every species of eloquence, does not always fill my ear;--so eager is it, and so insatiable, as to be ever coveting what is boundless and immense. but as, by the assistance of _pammenes_, who is very fond of that orator, you made yourself thoroughly acquainted with him when you was at _athens_, and to this day scarcely ever part with him from your hands, and yet frequently condescend to peruse what has been written by _me_; you must certainly have taken notice that he hath _done_ much, and that i have _attempted_ much,--that he has been _happy_ enough, and i _willing_ enough to speak, upon every occasion, as the nature of the subject required. but he, beyond dispute, was a consummate orator; for he not only succeeded several eminent speakers, but had many such for his cotemporaries:--and i also, if i could have reached the perfection i aimed at, should have made no despicable figure in a city, where (according to antonius) the voice of genuine eloquence was never heard. but if to antonius neither crassus, nor even himself, appeared to be _eloquent_, we may presume that neither cotta, sulpicius, nor hortensius would have succeeded any better. for _cotta_ had no expansion, _sulpicius_ no temper, and _hortensius_ too little dignity. but the two former (i mean crassus and antonius) had a capacity which was better adapted to every species of oratory. i had, therefore, to address myself to the ears of a city which had never been filled by that multifarious and extensive eloquence we are discoursing of; and i first allured them (let me have been what you please, or what ever were my talents) to an incredible desire of hearing the finished speaker who is the subject of the present essay. for with what acclamations did i deliver that passage in my youth concerning the punishment of parricides [footnote: those unnatural and infamous wretches, among the romans, were sown into a leathern sack, and thus thrown into the sea; to intimate that they were unworthy of having the lead communication with the common elements of water, earth, and air.], though i was afterwards sensible it was too warm and extravagant? --"what is so common, said i, as air to the living, earth to the dead, the sea to floating corpses, and the shore to those who are caft upon it by the waves! but these wretches, as long as life remains, so live as not to breathe the air of heaven;--they so perish, that their limbs are not suffered to touch the earth;--they are so tossed to and fro' by the waves, as never to be warned by them;--and when they are cast on the shore, their dead, carcases cannot rest upon the surface of the rocks!" all this, as coming from a youth, was much applauded, not for it's ripeness and solidity, but for the hopes it gave the public of my future improvement. from the same capacity came those riper expressions,--"she was the spouse of her son-in-law, the step-mother of her own offspring? and the mistress of her daughter's husband [footnote: this passage occurs in the peroration of his defence of cluentius]." but i did not always indulge myself in this excessive ardour of expression, or speak every thing in the same manner: for even that youthful redundance which was so visible in the defence of _roscius_, had many passages which were plain and simple, and some which were, tolerably humourous. but the orations in defence of _habitus_, and _cornelius_, and indeed many others; (for no single orator, even among the peaceful and speculative athenians, has composed such a number as i have;)--these, i say, have all that variety which i so much approve. for have _homer_ and _ennius_, and the rest of the poets, but especially the tragic writers, not expressed themselves at all times with the same elevation, but frequently varied their manner, and sometimes lowered it to the style of conversation; and shall i oblige myself never to descend from that highest energy of language? bit why do i mention the poets whose talents are divine! the very actors on the stage, who have most excelled in their profession, have not only succeeded in very different characters, though still in the same province; but a comedian has often acted tragedies, and a tragedian comedies so as to give us universal satisfaction. wherefore, then, should not _i_ also exert my efforts? but when i say _myself_, my worthy brutus i mean _you_: for as to _me_, i have already done all, i was capable of doing. would _you_, then, plead every cause in the same manner? or is there any sort of causes which your genius would decline? or even in the same cause, would you always express yourself in the same strain, and without any variety? your favourite _demosthenes_, whose brazen statue i lately beheld among your own, and your family images, when i had the pleasure to visit you at tusculanum,--demosthenes, i say, was nothing inferior to _lysias_ in simplicity; to _hyperides_ in smartness and poignancy, or to _aeschines_ in the smoothness and splendor of his language. there are many of his orations which are entirely of the close and simple character, as that against _lepsines_; many which are all nervous, and striking, as those against _philip_; and many which are of a mixed character, as that against _aeschines_, concerning the false embassy, and another against the same person in defence of _ctesiphon_. at other times he strikes into the _mean_ at his pleasure, and quitting the nervous character, descends to this with all the ease imaginable. but he raises the acclamations of his audience, and his oratory is then most weighty and powerful, when he applies himself to the _nervous_. but as our enquiries relate to the art, and not to the artist, let us leave _him_ for the present, and consider the nature and the properties of the object before us,--that is, of _eloquence_. we must keep in mind, however, what i have already hinted,--that we are not required to deliver a system of precepts, but to write as judges and critics, rather than teachers. but i have expatiated so largely upon the subject, because i foresee that you (who are, indeed, much better versed in it, than i who pretend to inform you) will not be my only reader; but that my little essay, though not much perhaps to my credit, will be made public, and with your name prefixed to it. i am of opinion, therefore, that a finished orator should not only possess the talent (which, indeed, is peculiar, to himself) of speaking copiously and diffusively: but that he should also borrow the assistance of it's nearest neighbour, the art of logic. for though public speaking is one thing, and disputing another; and though there is a visible difference between a private controversy, and a public harangue; yet both the one and the other come under the notion of reasoning. but mere discourse and argument belongs to the logician, and the art of speaking gracefully and ornamentally is the prerogative of the orator. _zeno_, the father of the _stoics_, used to illustrate the difference between the two by holding up his hand;--for when he clenched his fingers, and presented a close fist,-- "_that_," he said, "was an emblem of logic:"--but when he spread them out again, and displayed his open hand,--"this," said he, "resembles eloquence." but aristotle observed before him, in the introduction to his rhetoric, that it is an art which has a near resemblance to that of logic;--and that the only difference between them is, that the method of reasoning in the former is more diffusive, and in the latter more close and contracted. i, therefore, advise that our finished orator make himself master of every thing in the art of logic, which is applicable to his profession:--an art (as your thorough knowledge of it has already informed you) which is taught after two methods. for aristotle himself has delivered a variety of precepts concerning the art of reasoning:--and besides these, the _dialecticians_ (as they are called) have produced many intricate and thorny speculations of their own. i am, therefore, of opinion, that he who is ambitious to be applauded for his eloquence, should not be wholly unacquainted with this branch of erudition; but that he ought (at least) to be properly instructed either in the old method, or in that of _chrysippus_. in the first place, he should understand the force, the extension, and the different species of words as they stand singly, or connected into sentences. he should likewise be acquainted with the various modes and forms in which any conception of the mind may be expressed--the methods of distinguishing a true proposition from a false one;--the different conclusions which result from different premises;--the true consequences and opposites to any given proposition;--and, if an argument is embarrassed by ambiguities, how to unravel each of them by an accurate distinction. these particulars, i say, should be well understood by an orator, because they are such as frequently occur: but as they are naturally rugged and unpleasing, they should be relieved in practice by an easy brilliance of expression. but as in every topic which is discussed by reason and method, we should first settle what it is we are to discourse upon,--(for unless the parties in a dispute are agreed about the subject of it, they can neither reason with propriety, nor bring the argument to an issue;)--it will frequently be necessary to explain our notions of it, and, when the matter is intricate, to lay it open by a _definition_;--for a _definition_ is only a sentence, or explanation, which specifies, in as few words as possible, the nature of the object we propose to consider. after the _genus_, or kind, has been sufficiently determined, we must then proceed (you know) to examine into it's different species, or subordinate parts, that our whole discourse may be properly distributed among them. our orator, then, should be qualified to make a just definition;--though not in such a close and contracted form, as in the critical debates of the academy, but more explicitly and copiously, and as will be best adapted to the common way of thinking, and the capacity of the vulgar. he is likewise, as often as occasion requires, to divide the genus into it's proper species, so as to be neither defective, nor redundant. but _how_ and _when_ this should be done, is not our present business to consider: because, as i observed before, i am not to assume the part of a teacher, but only of a critic and a judge. but he ought to acquaint himself not only with the art of logic, but with all the common and most useful branches of morality. for without a competent knowledge of these, nothing can be advanced and unfolded with any spirit and energy, or with becoming dignity and freedom, either concerning religion,--death,--filial piety,--the love of our country,-- things good or evil,--the several virtues and vices,--the nature of moral obligation,--grief or pleasure, and the other emotions of the mind,--or the various errors and frailties of humanity,--and a variety of important topics which are often closely connected with forensic causes; though _here_(it is true) they must be touched upon more slightly and superficially. i am now speaking of the _materials_ of eloquence, and not of the _art_ itself:--for an orator should always be furnished with a plentiful stock of sentiments,--(i mean such as may claim the attention of the learned, as well as of the vulgar)--before he concerns himself about the language and the manner in which he ought to express himself. that he may make a still more respectable and elevated figure (as we have already observed of _pericles_) he should not be unacquainted with the principles of natural philosophy. for when he descends, as it were, from the starry heavens, to the little concerns of humanity, he will both think and speak with greater dignity and splendor. but after acquainting himself with those divine and nobler objects of contemplation, i would have him attend to human concerns. in particular, let him make himself master of the _civil law_, which is of daily, and indeed necessary use in every kind of causes. for what can be more scandalous, than to undertake the management of judicial suits and controversies, without a proper knowledge of the laws, and of the principles of equity and jurisprudence? he should also be well versed in history and the venerable records of antiquity, but particularly those of his own country: not neglecting, however, to peruse the annals of other powerful nations, and illustrious monarchs;--a toil which has been considerably shortened by our friend _atticus_, who (though he has carefully specified the time of every event, and omitted no transaction of consequence) has comprized the history of seven hundred years in a single volume. to be unacquainted with what has passed in the world, before we came into it ourselves, is to be always children. for what is the age of a single mortal, unless it is connected, by the aid of history, with the times of our ancestors? besides, the relation of past occurrences, and the producing pertinent and striking examples, is not only very entertaining, but adds a great deal of dignity and weight to what we say. thus furnished and equipped our orator may undertake the management of causes. but, in the first place, he should be well acquainted with their different kinds. he should know, for instance, that every judicial controversy must turn either upon a matter of _fact_, or upon the meaning of some particular expression. as to the former, this must always relate either to the _reality_ of a fast, the _equity_ of it, or the _name_ it bears in law. as to forms of expression, these may become the subject of controversy, when they are either _ambiguous_, or _contradictory_. for when the _spirit_ of a law appears to be at variance with the _letter_ of it, this must cause an ambiguity which commonly arises from some of the preceding terms; so that in this case (for such is the nature of an ambiguity) the law will appear to have a double meaning. as the kinds of causes are so few, the rules for the invention of arguments must be few also. the topics, or common places from which those arguments are derived, are twofold,--the one _inherent_ in the subject, and the other _assumptive_. a skilful management of the former contributes most to, give weight to a discourse, and strike the attention of the hearer: because they are easy, and familiar to the understanding. what farther remains (within the province of the art) but that we should begin our discourses so as to conciliate the hearer's good-will, or raise his expectation, or prepare him to receive what follows?--to state the case before us so concisely, and yet so plausibly and clearly, as that the substance of it may be easily comprehended?--to support our own proofs, and refute those of our antagonist, not in a confused and disorderly manner, but so that every inference may be fairly deducible from the premises?--and, in the last place, to conclude the whole with a peroration either to inflame or allay the passions of the audience? how each of these parts should be conducted is a subject too intricate and extensive for our present consideration: for they are not always to be managed in the same manner. but as i am not seeking a pupil to instruct, but an orator who is to be the model of his profession, _he_ must have the preference who can always discern what is proper and becoming. for eloquence should, above all, things, have that kind of discretion which makes her a _perfect mistress of time and character_: because we are not to speak upon every occasion, or before every audience, or against every opponent, or in defence of every client, and to every judge, in the same invariable manner. he, therefore, is the man of genuine eloquence, who can adapt his language to what is most suitable to each. by doing this, he will be sure to say every thing as it ought to be said. he will neither speak drily upon copious subjects, nor without dignity and spirit upon things of importance; but his language will always be proportioned, and equal to his subject. his introduction will be modest,--not flaming with all the glare of expression, but composed of quick and lively turns of sentiment, either to wound the cause of his antagonist, or recommend his own. his narratives will be clear and plausible,--not delivered with the grave formality of an historian, but in the style of polite conversation. if his cause be slight, the thread of his argument, both in proving and refuting, will be so likewise, and he will so conduct it in every part, that his language may rise and expand itself, as the dignity of his subject encreases. but when his cause will admit a full exertion of the powers of eloquence, he will then display himself more openly;--he will then rule, and bend the passions, and direct them, at his pleasure,--that is, as the nature of his cause and the circumstances of the time shall require. but his powers of ornament will be chiefly exerted upon two occasions; i mean that striking kind of ornament, from which eloquence derives her greatest glory. for though every part of an oration should have so much merit, as not to contain a single word but what is either weighty or elegant; there are two very interesting parts which are susceptible of the greatest variety of ornament. the one is the discussion of an indefinite question, or general truth, which by the greeks (as i have before observed) is called a _thesis_: and the other is employed in amplifying and exaggerating, which they call an _auxesis_. though the latter, indeed, should diffuse itself more or less through the whole body of a discourse, it's powers will be more conspicuous in the use and improvement of the _common places_:--which are so called, as being alike _common_ to a number of causes, though (in the application of them) they are constantly appropriated to a single one. but as to the other part, which regards universal truths, or indefinite questions, this frequently extends through a whole cause:--for the leading point in debate, or that which the controversy hinges upon, is always most conveniently discussed when it can be reduced to a general question, and considered as an universal proposition:--unless, indeed, when the mere truth of a matter of fact: is the object: of disquisition: for then the case must be wholly conjectural. we are not, however, to argue like the _peripatetics_ (who have a neat method of controversy which they derive from _aristotle_) but more nervously and pressingly; and general sentiments must be so applied to particular cases, as to leave us room to say many extenuating things in behalf of the defendant, and many severe ones against the plaintiff. but in heightening or softening a circumstance, the powers of language are unlimited, and may be properly exerted, even in the middle of an argument, as often as any thing presents itself which may be either exaggerated, or extenuated; but, in, controul. there are two parts, however, which must not be omitted;--for when these are judiciously conducted, the sorce of eloquence will be amazing. the one is a certain _propriety of manner_ (called the _ethic_ by the greeks) which readily adapts itself to different dispositions and humours, and to every station of life:--and the other is the pathetic, which rouses and alarms the passions, and may be considered as the _scepter_ of eloquence. the former is mild and insinuating, and entirely calculated to conciliate the good-will of the hearer: but the latter is all energy and fire, and snatches a cause by open violence;--and when it's course is rapid and unrestrained, the shock is irresistible. i [footnote: here follows the second passage above-referred to, in which there is a long string of _egotisms_. but as they furnish some very instructive hints, the reader will peruse them with more pleasure than pain] myself have possessed a tolerable share of this, or, it may be, a trifling one:--but as i always spoke with uncommon warmth and impetuosity, i have frequently forced my antagonist to relinquish the field. _hortensius_, an eminent speaker, once declined to answer me, though in defence of an intimate friend. _cataline_, a most audacious traitor, being publicly accused by me in the senate-house, was struck dumb with shame: and _curio_, the father, when he attempted to reply to me in a weighty and important cause which concerned the honour of his family, sat suddenly down, and complained that i had _bewitched_ him out of his memory. as to moving the pity of my audience, it will be unnecessary to mention this. i have frequently attempted it with good success, and when several of us have pleaded on the same side, this part of the defence was always resigned to me; in which my supposed excellence was not owing to the superiority of my genius, but to the real concern i felt for the distresses of my client. but what in this respect have been my talents (for i have had no reason to complain of them) may be easily discovered in my orations:--though a book, indeed, must lose much of the spirit which makes a speech delivered in public appear to greater advantage than when it is perused in the closet. but we are to raise not only the pity of our judges, (which i have endeavoured so passionately, that i once took up an infant in my arms while i was speaking;--and, at another time, calling up the nobleman in whose defence i spoke, and holding up a little child of his before the whole assembly, i filled the forum with my cries and lamentations:)--but it is also necessary to rouse the judge's indignation, to appease it, to excite his jealousy, his benevolence, his contempt, his wonder, his abhorrence, his love, his desire, his aversion, his hope, his fear, his joy, and his grief:--in all which variety, you may find examples, in many accusatory speeches, of rousing the harsher passions; and my defences will furnish instances enough of the methods of working upon the gentler. for there is no method either of alarming or soothing the passions, but what has been attempted by _me_. i would say i have carried it to perfection, if i either thought so, or was not afraid that (in this case) even truth itself might incur the charge of arrogance. but (as i have before observed) i have been so much transported, not by the force of my genius, but by the real fervor of my heart, that i was unable to restrain myself: --and, indeed, no language will inflame the mind of the hearer, unless the speaker himself first catches the ardor, and glows with the importance of his subject. i would refer to examples of my own, unless you had seen them already; and to those of other speakers among the romans, if i could produce any, or among the greeks, if i judged it proper. but _crassus_ will only furnish us with a few, and those not of the forensic kind:-- _antonius, cotta_, and _sulpicius_ with none:--and as to _hortensius_, he spoke much better than he wrote. we may, therefore, easily judge how amazing must be the force of a talent, of which we have so few examples:-- but if we are resolved to seek for them, we must have recourse to _demosthenes_, in whom we find almost a continued succession of them, in that part of his oration for _ctesiphon_, where he enlarges on his own actions, his measures, and his good services to the state, for that oration, i must own, approaches so near to the primary form or semblance of eloquence which exists in my mind, that a more complete and exalted pattern is scarcely desirable. but still, there will remain a general model or character, the true nature and excellence of which may be easily collected from the hints i have already offered. we have slightly touched upon the ornaments of language, both in single words, and in words as they stand connected with each other;--in which our orator will so indulge himself, that not a single expression may escape him, but what is either elegant or weighty. but he will most abound in the _metaphor_; which, by an aptness of similitude, conveys and transports the mind from object to object, and hurries it backwards and forwards through a pleasing variety of images;--a motion which, in its own nature, (as being full of life and action) can never fail to be highly delightful. as to the other ornaments of language which regard words as they are connected with each other, an oration will derive much of its lustre from these. they are like the decorations in the theatre, or the forum, which not only embellish, but surprize. [footnote: in the following abstract of the figures of _language_ and _sentiment_, i have often paraphrased upon my author, to make him intelligible to the english reader;--a liberty which i have likewise taken in several other places, where i judged it necessary.] for such also is the effect of the various _figures_ or decorations of language;--such as the doubling or repetition of the same word;--the repeating it with a slight variation; --the beginning or concluding several sentences in the same manner, or both at once;--the making a word, which concludes a preceding sentence, to begin the following;--the concluding a sentence with the same expression which began it;--the repeating the same word with a different meaning; --the using several corresponding words in the same case, or with the same termination;--the contrasting opposite expressions;--the using words whose meaning rises in gradation;--the leaving out the conjunctive particles to shew our earnestness;--the passing by, or suddenly dropping a circumstance we were going to mention, and assigning a reason for so doing; --[footnote: we have an instance of this, considered as a figure of language, in the following line of virgil; quos ego--, sed praestat motos componere fluctus. aeneid. i. whom i--, but let me still the raging waves. this may likewise serve as an example of the figure which is next mentioned.] the pretending to correct or reprove ourselves, that we may seem to speak without artifice or partiality;--the breaking out into a sudden exclamation, to express our wonder, our abhorrence, or our grief;-- and the using the same noun in different cases. but the figures of _sentiment_ are more weighty and powerful; and there are some who place the highest merit of _demosthenes_ in the frequent use he makes of them. for be his subject what it will, almost all his sentences have a figurative air: and, indeed, a plentiful intermixture of this sort of figures is the very life and soul of a popular eloquence. but as you are thoroughly acquainted with these, my brutus, what occasion is there to explain and exemplify them? the bare mention of them will be sufficient.--our orator, then, will sometimes exhibit an idea in different points of view, and when he has started a good argument, he will dwell upon it with an honest exultation;--he will extenuate what is unfavourable, and have frequent recourse to raillery;--he will sometimes deviate from his plan, and seem to alter his first purpose:--he will inform his audience beforehand, what are the principal points upon which he intends to rest his cause;--he will collect and point out the force of the arguments he has already discussed; he will check an ardent expression, or boldly reiterate what he has said;--he will close a lively paragraph with some weighty and convincing sentiment;--he will press upon his adversary by repeated interrogations;--he will reason with himself, and answer questions of his own proposing;--he will throw out expressions which he designs to be otherwise understood than they seem to mean;--he will pretend to doubt what is most proper to be said, and in what order;-- he will divide an action, &c. into its several parts and circumstances, to render it more striking;--he will pretend to pass over and relinquish a circumstance which might have been urged to advantage;--he will secure himself against the known prejudices of his audience;--he will turn the very circumstance which is alledged against him to the prejudice of his antagonist;--he will frequently appeal to his hearers, and sometimes to his opponent;--he will represent the very language and manners of the persons he is speaking of;--he will introduce irrational and even inanimate beings, as addressing themselves to his audience;--he will (to serve some necessary purpose) steal off their attention from the point in debate;--he will frequently move them to mirth and laughter;--he will answer every thing which he foresees will be objected;--he will compare similar incidents,--refer to past examples,--and by way of amplification assign their distinguishing qualities to opposite characters and circumstances;--he will check an impertinent plea which may interrupt his argument;--he will pretend not to mention what he might have urged to good purpose;--he will caution his hearers against the various artifices and subterfuges which may be employed to deceive them;--he will sometimes appear to speak with an honest, but unguarded freedom;--he will avow his resentment;--he will entreat;--he will earnestly supplicate;--he will apologize;--he will seem for a moment to forget himself;--he will express his hearty good wishes for the deserving, and vent his execrations against notorious villainy;--and now and then he will descend imperceptibly to the most tender and insinuating familiarities. there are likewise other beauties of composition which he will not fail to pursue;--such as brevity where the subject requires it;--a lively and pathetic description of important occurrences;--a passionate exaggeration of remarkable circumstances;--an earnestness of expression which implies more than is said;--a well-timed variety of humour;--and a happy imitation of different characters and dispositions. assisted and adorned by such figures as these, which are very numerous, the force of eloquence will appear in its brightest lustre. but even these, unless they are properly formed and regulated, by a skilful disposition of their constituent words, will never attain the merit we require;--a subject which i shall be obliged to treat of in the sequel, though i am restrained partly by the circumstances already mentioned, but much more so by the following. for i am sensible not only that there are some invidious people, to whom every improvement appears vain and superfluous; but that even those, who are well-wishers to my reputation, may think it beneath the dignity of a man whose public services have been so honourably distinguished by the senate, and the whole body of the roman people, to employ my pen so largely upon the art of speaking. [footnote: the long apology which our author is now going to make for bestowing his time in composing a treatise of oratory, is in fact a very artful as well as an elegant digression; to relieve the dryness and intricacy of the abstract he has just given us of the figures of rhetoric, and of the subsequent account of the rules of prosaic harmony. he has also enlivened that account (which is a very long one) in the same manner, by interspersing it, at convenient distances, with fine examples, agreeable companions, and short historical digressions to elucidate the subject.] if, however, i was to return no other answer to the latter, but that i was unwilling to deny any thing to the request of brutus, the apology must be unexceptionable; because i am only aiming at the satisfaction of an intimate friend, and a worthy man, who desires nothing of me but what is just and honourable. but was i even to profess (what i wish i was capable of) that i mean to give the necessary precepts, and point out the road to eloquence to those who are desirous to qualify themselves for the forum, what man of sense could blame me for it? for who ever doubted that in the decision of political matters, and in time of peace, eloquence has always borne the sway in the roman state, while jurisprudence has possessed only the second post of honour? for whereas the former is a constant source of authority and reputation, and enables us to defend ourselves and our friends in the most effectual manner;--the other only furnishes us with formal rules for indictments, pleas, protests, &c. in conducting which she is frequently obliged to sue for the assistance of eloquence;--but if the latter condescends to oppose her, she is scarcely able to maintain her ground, and defend her own territories. if therefore to teach the civil law has always been reckoned a very honourable employment, and the houses of the most eminent men of that profession, have been crowded with disciples; who can be reasonably censured for exciting our youth to the study of eloquence, and furnishing them with all the assistance in his power? if it is a fault to speak gracefully, let eloquence be for ever banished from the state. but if, on the contrary, it reflects an honour, not only upon the man who possesses it, but upon the country which gave him birth, how can it be a disgrace to _learn_, what it is so glorious to _know_? or why should it not be a credit to _teach_ what it is the highest honour to have _learned_? but, in one case, they will tell me, the practice has been sanctified by custom, and in the other it has not. this i grant: but we may easily account for both. as to the gentlemen of the law, it was sufficient to hear them, when they decided upon such cases as were laid before them in the course of business;--so that when they taught, they did not set apart any particular time for that purpose, but the same answers satisfied their clients and their pupils. on the other hand, as our speakers of eminence spent their time, while at home, in examining and digesting their causes, and while in the forum in pleading them, and the remainder of it in a seasonable relaxation, what opportunity had they for teaching and instructing others? i might venture to add that most of our orators have been more distinguishied by their _genius_, than by their _learning_; and for that reason were much better qualified to be _speakers_ than _teachers_; which it is possible may be the reverse of my case.--"true," say they; "but teaching is an employment which is far from being recommended by its dignity." and so indeed it is, if we teach like mere pedagogues. but if we only direct, encourage, examine, and inform our pupils; and sometimes accompany them in reading or hearing the performances of the most eminent speakers;--if by these means we are able to contribute to their improvement, what should hinder us from communicating a few instructions, as opportunity offers? shall we deem it an honourable employment, as indeed with us it is, to teach the form of a legal process, or an excommunication from the rites and privileges of our religion; and shall it not be equally honourable to teach the methods by which those privileges may be defended and secured?--"perhaps it may," they will reply; "but even those who know scarcely any thing of the law are ambitious to be thought masters of it; whereas those who are well furnished with the powers of eloquence pretend to be wholly unacquainted with them; because they are sensible that useful knowledge is a valuable recommendation, whereas an artful tongue is suspected by every one." but is it possible, then, to exert the powers of eloquence without discovering them? or is an orator really thought to be no orator, because he disclaims the title? or is it likely that, in a great and noble art, the world will judge it a scandal to _teach_ what it is the greatest honour to _learn_? others, indeed, may have been more reserved; but, for my part, i have always owned my profession. for how could i do otherwise, when, in my youth, i left my native land, and crossed the sea, with no other view but to improve myself in this kind of knowledge; and, when afterwards my house was crowded with the ablest professors, and my very style betrayed some traces of a liberal education? nay, when my own writings were in every body's hands, with what face could i pretend that i had not studied? or what excuse could i have for submitting my abilities to the judgment of the public, if i had been apprehensive that they would think i had studied to no purpose? [footnote: this sentence in the original runs thus;--_quid erat cur probarem_ (i.e. scripta nostra), _nisi quod parum fortasse profeceram_?--"wherefore did i approve of them," (that is, of my writings, so far as to make them public) "but because i had," (in my own opinion) "made a progress, though perhaps a small one, in useful literature?" this, at least, is the only meaning i am able to affix to it; and i flatter myself, that the translation i have given of it, will be found to correspond with the general sense of my author.] but the points we have already discussed are susceptible of greater dignity and elevation, than those which remain to be considered. for we are next to treat of the arrangement of our words; and, indeed, i might have said, of the art of numbering and measuring our very syllables; which, though it may, in reality, be a matter of as much consequence as i judge it to be, cannot however be supposed to have such a striking appearance in precept as in practice. this, indeed, might be said of every other branch of useful knowledge; but it is more remarkably true with respect to this. for the actual growth and improving height of all the sublimer arts, like that of trees, affords a pleasing prospect; whereas the roots and stems are scarcely beheld with indifference: and yet the former cannot subsist without the latter. but whether i am restrained from dissembling the pleasure i take in the subject, by the honest advice of the poet, who says, "blush not to own the art you love to practise." or whether this treatise has been extorted from me by the importunity of my friend, it was proper to obviate the censures to which it will probably expose me. and yet, even supposing that i am mistaken in my sentiments, who would shew himself so much of a savage, as to refuse me his indulgence (now all my forensic employments and public business are at an end) for not resigning myself to that stupid inactivity which is contrary to my nature, or to that unavailing sorrow which i do my best to overcome, rather than devote myself to my favourite studies? these first conducted me into the forum and the senate-house, and they are now the chief comforts of my retirement. i have, however, applied myself not only to such speculations as form the subject of the present essay, but to others more sublime and interesting; and if i am able to discuss them in a proper manner, my private studies will be no disparagement to my forensic employments. but it is time to return to our subject.--our words, then, should be so disposed that every following one may be aptly connected with the preceding, so as to make an agreeable sound;--or that the mere form and _concinnity_ of our language may give our sentences their proper measure and dimensions;--or, lastly, that our periods may have a numerous and measured cadence. the first thing, then, to be attended to, is the _structure_ of our language, or the agreeable connection of one word with another; which, though it certainly requires care, ought not to be practised with a laborious nicety. for this would be an endless and puerile attempt, and is justly ridiculed by _lucilius_, when he introduces _scaevola_ thus reflecting upon _albucius_: "as in the checquer'd pavement ev'ry square is nicely fitted by the mason's care: so all thy words are plac'd with curious art, and ev'ry syllable performs its part." but though we are not to be minutely exact in the _structure_ of our language, a moderate share of practice will habituate us to every thing of this nature which is necessary. for as the eye in _reading_, so the mind in _speaking_, will readily discern what ought to follow,--that, in connecting our words, there may neither be a chasm, nor a disagreeable harshness. the most lively and interesting sentiments, if they are harshly expressed, will offend the ear, that delicate and fastidious judge of rhetorical harmony. this circumstance, therefore, is so carefully attended to in the roman language, that there is scarcely a rustic among us who is not averse to a collision of vowels,--a defect which, in the opinion of some, was too scrupulously avoided by _theopompus_, though his master _isocrates_ was equally cautious. but _thucydides_ was not so exact; nor was plato, (though a much better writer)--not only in his _dialogues_, in which it was necessary to maintain an easy negligence, to resemble the style of conversation, but in the famous _panegyric_, in which (according to the custom of the athenians) he celebrated the praises of those who fell in battle, and which was so greatly esteemed, that it is publicly repeated every year. in that oration a collision of vowels occurs very frequently; though _demosthenes_ generally avoids it as a fault. but let the greeks determine for themselves: we romans are not allowed to interrupt the connection of our words. even the rude and unpolished orations of _cato_ are a proof of this; as are likewise all our poets, except in particular instances, in which they were obliged to admit a few breaks, to preserve their metre. thus we find in _naevius_, "_vos_ qui accolitis _histrum_ fluvium atque algidum." and in another place, "_quam nunquam vobis_ graii atque _barbari_." but _ennius_ admits it only once, when he says, "_scipio invicte_;" and likewise i myself in "_hoc motu radiantis_ etesiae in _vada ponti_." this, however, would seldom be suffered among us, though the greeks often commend it as a beauty. but why do i speak of a collision of vowels? for, omitting this, we have frequently _contracted_ our words for the sake of brevity; as in _multi' modis, vas' argenteis, palm' et crinibus, tecti' fractis_, &c. we have sometimes also contracted our proper _names_, to give them a smoother sound: for as we have changed _duellum_ into _bellum_, and _duis_ into _bis_, so _duellius_, who defeated the carthagenians at sea, was called _bellius_, though all his ancestors were named _duellii_. we likewise abbreviate our words, not only for convenience, but to please and gratify the ear. for how otherwise came _axilla_ to be changed into _ala_, but by the omission of an unweildy consonant, which the elegant pronunciation of our language has likewise banished from the words _maxillae, taxillae, vexillum_, and _paxillum_? upon the same principle, two or more words have been contracted into one, as _sodes_ for _si audes_, _sis_ for _si vis_, _capsis_ for _cape si vis_, _ain'_ for _aisne_, _nequire_ for _non quire_, _malle_ for _magis velle_, and _nolle_ for _non velle_; and we often say _dein'_ and _exin'_ for _deinde_ and _exinde_. it is equally evident why we never say _cum nobis_, but _nobiscum_; though we do not scruple to say _cum illis_;--_viz._ because, in the former case, the union of the consonants _m_ and _n_ would produce a jarring sound: and we also say _mecum_ and _tecum_, and not _cum me_ and _cum te_, to correspond with _nobiscum_ and _vobiscum_. but some, who would correct antiquity rather too late, object to these contractions: for, instead of _prob_ deÃ�m _atque hominum fidem_, they say _deorum_. they are not aware, i suppose, that custom has sanctified the licence. the same poet, therefore, who, almost without a precedent, has said _patris mei meÃ�m factÃ�m pudet_, instead of _meorum factorum_,--and _textitur exitiûm examen rapit_ for _exitiorum_, does not choose to say _liberum_, as we generally do in the expressions _cupidos liberûm_, and _in liberûm loco_, but, as the literary virtuosos above-mentioned would have it, _neque tuum unquam in gremium extollas_ liberorum _ex te genus_, and, _namque aesculapî_ liberorum. but the author before quoted says in his chryses, not only _cives, antiqui amici majorum_ meÃ�m, which was common enough--, but more harshly still, consiliÃ�m, auguriÃ�m, _atque_ extÃ�m _interpretes_; and in another place, _postquam_ prodigiÃ�m horriferÃ�m portentÃ�m _pavos_. a licence which is not customary in all neuters indifferently: for i should not be so willing to say armûm _judicium_, as _armorum_; though in the same writer we meet with _nihilne ad te de judicio_ armûm _accidit_? and yet (as we find it in the public registers) i would venture to say _fabrûm_, and _procûm_, and not _fabrorum_ and _procorum_. but i would never say duorum virorum _judicium_, or _trium_ virorum _capitalium_, or _decem_ virorum _litibus judicandis_. in accius, however, we meet with _video sepulchra duo_ duorum _corporum_; though in another place he says, _mulier una_ duum virum. i know, indeed, which is most conformable to the rules of grammar: but yet i sometimes express myself as the freedom of our language allows me, as when i say at pleasure, either _prob deum_, or _prob deorum_;--and, at other times, as i am obliged by custom, as when i say _trium_ virum for _virorum_, or sestertium nummum for _nummorum_: because in the latter case the mode of expression is invariable. but what shall we say when these humourists forbid us to say _nosse_ and _judicasse_ for _novisse_ and _judicavisse_; as if we did not know, as well as themselves, that, in these instances, the verb at full length is most agreeable to the laws of grammar, though custom has given the preference to the contracted verb? terence, therefore, has made use of both, as when he says, _eho tu cognatum tuum non norâs_? and afterwards, _stilphonem, inquam, noveras_? thus also, _fiet_ is a perfect verb, and _fit_ a contracted one; and accordingly we find in the same comedian, _quam cara_ sintque _post carendo intelligunt_, and _quamque attinendi magni dominatus_ sient. in the same manner i have no objection to _scripsere alii rem_, though i am sensible that _scripserunt_ is more grammatical; because i submit with pleasure to the indulgent laws of custom which delights to gratify the ear. _idem campus habet_, says ennius; and in another place, _in templis îsdem_; _eisdem_, indeed, would have been more grammatical, but not sufficiently harmonious; and _iisdem_ would have sounded still worse. but we are allowed by custom even to dispense with the rules of etymology to improve the sweetness of our language; and i would therefore rather say, _pomeridianas quadrigas_, than _postmeridianas_; and _mehercule_, than _mehercules_. for the same reason _non scire_ would now be deemed a barbarism, becaule _nescire_ has a smoother sound; and we have likewise substituted _meridiem_ for _medidiem_, because the latter was offensive to the ear. even the preposition _ab_, which so frequently occurs in our compound verbs is preserved entire only in the formality of a journal, and, indeed, not always there: in every other sort of language it is frequently altered. thus we say _amovit_, _abegit_, and _abstulit_; so that you can scarcely determine whether the primitive preposition should be _ab_ or _abs_. we have likewise rejected even _abfugit_, and _abfer_, and introduced _aufugit_ and _aufer_ in their stead;--thus forming a new preposition, which is to be found in no other verb but these. _noti_, _navi_, and _nari_, have all been words in common use: but when they were afterwards to be compounded with the preposition _in_, it was thought more harmonious to say _ignoti_, _ignavi_, and _ignari_, than to adhere strictly to the rules of etymology. we likewise say _ex usu_, and _e republicâ_; because, in the former case, the preposition is followed by a vowel, and, in the latter, it would have sounded harshly without omitting the consonant; as may also be observed in _exegit, edixit, refecit, retulit_, and _reddidit_. sometimes the preposition alters or otherwise affects the first letter of the verb with which it happens to be compounded; as in _subegit, summutavit_, and _sustutit_. at other times it changes one of the subsequent letters; as when we say _insipientem_ for _insapientem_, _iniquum_ for inaequum_, _tricipitem_ for _tricapitem_, and _concisum_ for _concaesum_: and from hence some have ventured to say _pertisum_ for _pertaesum_, which custom has never warranted. but what can be more delicate than our changing even the natural quantity of our syllables to humour the ear? thus in the adjectives _inclytus_, and _inhumanus_, the first syllable after the preposition is short, whereas _insanus_ and _infelix_ have it long; and, in general, those words whose first letters are the same as in _sapiens_ and _felix_, have their first syllable long in composition, but all others have the same syllable short, as _composuit, consuevit, concrepuit, confecit_. examine these liberties by the strict rules of etymology, and they must certainly be condemned; but refer them to the decision of the ear, and they will be instantly approved.--what is the reason? your ear will inform you they have an easier sound; and every language must submit to gratify the ear. i myself, because our ancestors never admitted the aspirate, unless where a syllable began with a vowel, used to say _pulcros, cetegos, triumpos_, and _cartaginem_: but some time afterwards, though not very soon, when this grammatical accuracy was wrested from me by the censure of the ear, i resigned the mode of language to the vulgar, and reserved the theory to myself. but we still say, without any hesitation, _orcivios, matones, otones, coepiones, sepulcra, coronas_, and _lacrymas_, because the ear allows it. _ennius_ always uses _burrum_, and never _pyrrhum_; and the ancient copies of the same author have _vi patefecerunt bruges_, not _phryges_; because the greek vowel had not then been adopted, though we now admit both that and the aspirate:--and, in fact, when we had afterwards occasion to say _phrygum_ and _phrygibus_, it was rather absurd to adopt the greek letter without adopting their cases, [footnote: this passage, as it stands in the original, appears to me unintelligible: i have therefore taken the liberty to give it a slight alteration.] or at least not to confine it to the nominative; and yet (in the accusative) we say _phryges_, and _pyrrhum_, to please the ear. formerly it was esteemed an elegancy, though it would now be considered as a rusticism, to omit the _s_ in all words which terminate in _us_, except when they were followed by a vowel; and the same elision which is so carefully avoided by the modern poets, was very far from being reckoned a fault among the ancient: for they made no scruple to say, _qui est omnibu' princeps_, not, as we do, omnibus princeps; and, _vitâ illâ dignu' locoque_, not _dignus_. but if untaught custom has been so ingenious in the formation of agreeable sounds, what may we not expect from the improvements of art and erudition? i have, however, been much shorter upon this subject, than i should have been if i had written upon it professedly: for a comparison of the natural and customary laws of language would have opened a wide field for speculation: but i have already enlarged upon it sufficiently, and more, perhaps, than the nature of my design required. to proceed then;--as the choice of proper matter, and of suitable words to express it, depends upon the judgment of the speaker, but that of agreeable sounds, and harmonious numbers, upon the decision of the ear; and because the former is intended for information, and the latter for pleasure; it is evident that reason must determine the rules of art in one case, and mere sensation in the other. for we must either neglect the gratification of those by whom we wish to be approved, or apply ourselves to invent the most likely methods to promote it. there are two things which contribute to gratify the ear,--agreeable _sounds_, and harmonious _numbers_. we shall treat of numbers in the sequel, and at present confine ourselves to _sound_.--those words, then, as we have already observed, are to have the preference which sound agreeably;--not such as are exquisitely melodious, like those of the poets, but such as can be found to our purpose in common language.--_quà pontus helles_ is rather beyond the mark:--but in _auratos aries colchorum_, the verse glitters with a moderate harmony of expression; whereas the next, as ending with a letter which is remarkably flat, is unmusical, _frugifera et ferta arva alfiae tenet_, let us, therefore, rather content ourselves with the agreeable mediocrity of our own language, than emulate the splendor of the greeks; unless we are so bigotted to the latter as to hesitate to say with the poet, _quà tempestate paris helenam, &c_. we might even imitate what follows, and avoid, as far as possible, the smallest asperity of sound, _habeo istam ego perterricrepam_; or say, with the same author, in another passage, _versutiloquas malitias_. but our words must have a proper _compass_, as well as be connected together in an agreeable manner; for this, we have observed, is another circumstance which falls under the notice of the ear. they are confined to a proper compass, either by certain rules of composition, as by a kind of natural pause, or by the use of particular forms of expression, which have a peculiar _concinnity_ in their very texture; such as a succession of several words which have the same termination, or the comparing similar, and contrasting opposite circumstances, which will always terminate in a measured cadence, though no immediate pains should be taken for that purpose. gorgias, it is said, was the first orator who practised this species of _concinnity_. the following passage in my defence of _milo_ is an example. "est enim, judices, haec non _scripta_, fed _nata_ lex; quam non _didicimus, accepimus, legimus_, verum ex naturâ ipsâ _arripuimus, hausimus, expressimus_; ad quam non _docti_, sed _facti_; non _instituti_, sed _imbuti_ simus." "for this, my lords, is a law not written upon tables, but impressed upon our hearts;--a law which we have not learned, or heard, or read, but eagerly caught and imbibed from the hand of nature;--a law to which we have not been train'd, but originally form'd; and with the principles of which we have not been furnished by education, but tinctured and impregnated from the moment of our birth." in these forms of expression every circumstance is so aptly referred to some other circumstance, that the regular turn of them does not appear to have been studied, but to result entirely from the sense. the same effect is produced by contrasting opposite circumstances; as in the following lines, where it not only forms a measured sentence, but a verse: _eam, quam nihil accusas, damnas,_ her, whom you ne'er accus'd, you now condemn; (in prose we should say _condemnas_) and again, _bene quam meritam esse autumas, dicis male mereri_, her merit, once confess'd, you now deny; and, _id quod scis, prodest nihil; id quod nescis, obest_, from what you've learnt no real good accrues, but ev'ry ill your ignorance pursues. here you see the mere opposition of the terms produces a verse; but in prosaic composition, the proper form of the last line would be, _quod scis nihil prodest; quod nescis multum obest_. this contrasting of opposite circumstances, which the greeks call an antithesis, will necessarily produce what is styled _rhetorical metre_, even without our intending it. the ancient orators, a considerable time before it was practised and recommended by _isocrates_, were fond of using it; and particularly _gorgias_, whose measured cadences are generally owing to the mere _concinnity_ of his language. i have frequently practised it myself; as, for instance, in the following passage of my fourth invective against _verres_: "conferte _hanc pacem_ cum _illo bello_;--_hujus_ praetoris _adventum_, cum _illius_ imperatoris _victoriâ_;--hujas _cohortem impuram_, cum illius _exercitu invicto_;--hujus _libidines_, cum illius _continentiâ_;--ab illo qui cepit _conditas_; ab hoc, qui constitutas accepit, _captas_ dicetis syracusas." "compare this detestable _peace_ with that glorious _war_,--the _arrival_ of this governor with the _victory_ of that commander,--his _ruffian guards_, with the _invincible forces_ of the other;--the brutal luxury of the former, with the modest temperance of the latter;--and you will say, that syracuse was really _founded_ by him who _stormed_ it, and _stormed_ by him who received it already _founded_ to his hands."--so much, then, for that kind of measure which results from particular forms of expression, and which ought to be known by every orator. we must now proceed to the third thing proposed,--that _numerous_ and well-adjusted style; of the beauty of which, if any are so insensible as not to feel it, i cannot imagine what kind of ears they have, or what resemblance of a human being! for my part, my ears are always fond of a complete and full-measured flow of words, and perceive in an instant what is either defective or redundant. but wherefore do i say _mine_? i have frequently seen a whole assembly burst into raptures of applause at a happy period: for the ear naturally expects that our sentences should be properly tuned and measured. this, however, is an accomplishment which is not to be met with among the ancients. but to compensate the want of it, they had almost every other perfection: for they had a happy choice of words, and abounded in pithy and agreeable sentiments, though they had not the art of harmonizing and completing their periods. this, say some, is the very thing we admire. but what if they should take it into their heads to prefer the ancient _peinture_, with all its poverty of colouring, to the rich and finished style of the moderns? the former, i suppose, must be again adopted, to compliment their delicacy, and the latter rejected. but these pretended connoisseurs regard nothing but the mere _name_ of antiquity. it must, indeed, be owned that antiquity has an equal claim to authority in matters of imitation, as grey hairs in the precedence of age. i myself have as great a veneration for it as any man: nor do i so much upbraid antiquity with her defects, as admire the beauties she was mistress of:--especially as i judge the latter to be of far greater consequence than the former. for there is certainly more real merit in a masterly choice of words and sentiments, in which the ancients are allowed to excell, than in those measured periods with which they were totally unacquainted. this species of composition was not known among the romans till lately: but the ancients, i believe, would readily have adopted it, if it had then been discovered: and we accordingly find, that it is now made use of by all orators of reputation. "but when _number_, or (as the greeks call it) prosaic _metre_, is professedly introduced into judicial and forensic discourses, the very name, say they, has a suspicious sound: for people will conclude that there is too much artifice employed to sooth and captivate their ears, when the speaker is so over-exact as to attend to the harmony of his periods." relying upon the force of this objection, these pretenders are perpetually grating our ears with their broken and mutilated sentences; and censure those, without mercy, who have the presumption to utter an agreeable and a well-turned period. if, indeed, it was our design to spread a varnish over empty words and trifling sentiments, the censure would be just: but when the matter is good, and the words are proper and expressive, what reason can be assigned why we should prefer a limping and imperfect period to one which terminates and keeps pace with the sense? for this invidious and persecuted _metre_ aims at nothing more than to adapt the compass of our words to that of our thoughts; which is sometimes done even by the ancients,--though generally, i believe, by mere accident, and often by the natural delicacy of the ear; and the very passages which are now most admired in them, commonly derive their merit from the agreeable and measured flow of the language. this is an art which was in common use among the greek orators, about four hundred years ago, though it has been but lately introduced among the romans. ennius, therefore, when he ridicules the inharmonious numbers of his predecessors, might be allowed to say, "_such verses as the rustic bards and satyrs sung_:" but i must not take the same liberty; especially as i cannot say with him, _before this bold adventurer_, &c. (meaning himself:) nor, as he afterwards exults to the same purpose, _i first have dar'd t'unfold_, &c. for i have both read and heard several who were almost complete masters of the numerous and measured style i am speaking of: but many, who are still absolute strangers to it, are not content to be exempted from the ridicule they deserve, but claim a right to our warmest applause. i must own, indeed, that i admire the venerable patterns, of which those persons pretend to be the faithful imitators, notwithstanding the defects i observe in them: but i can by no means commend the folly of those who copy nothing but their blemishes, and have no pretensions even to the most distant resemblance in what is truly excellent. but if their own ears are so indelicate and devoid of taste, will they pay no deference to the judgment of others, who are universally celebrated for their learning? i will not mention _isocrates_, and his two scholars, _ephorus_ and _naucrates_; though they may claim the honour of giving the richest precepts of composition, and were themselves very eminent orators. but who was possessed of a more ample fund of erudition?--who more subtle and acute?--or who furnished with quicker powers of invention, and a greater strength of understanding, than _aristotle_? i may add, who made a warmer opposition to the rising fame of _isocrates_? and yet _he_, though he forbids us to versify in prose, recommends the use of _numbers_. his hearer _theodectes_ (whom he often mentions as a polished writer, and an excellent artist) both approves and advises the same thing: and _theophrastus_ is still more copious and explicit. who, then, can have patience with those dull and conceited humourists, who dare to oppose themselves to such venerable names as these? the only excuse that can be made for them is, that they have never perused their writings, and are therefore ignorant that they actually recommend the prosaic _metre_ we are speaking of. if this is the case with them (and i cannot think otherwise) will they reject the evidence of their own sensations? is there nothing which their ears will inform them is defective?--nothing which is harsh and unpolished?--nothing imperfect?--nothing lame and mutilated?--nothing redundant? in dramatic performances, a whole theatre will exclaim against a verse which has only a syllable either too short or too long: and yet the bulk of an audience are unacquainted with _feet_ and _numbers_, and are totally ignorant what the fault is, and where it lies: but nature herself has taught the ear to measure the quantity of sound, and determine the propriety of its various accents, whether grave, or acute. do you desire, then, my brutus, that we should discuss the subject more fully than those writers who have already elucidated this, and the other parts of rhetoric? or shall we content ourselves with the instructions which _they_ have provided for us? but wherefore do i offer such a question, when your elegant letters have informed me, that this is the chief object of your request? we shall proceed, therefore, to give an account of the commencement, the origin, and the nature and use of _prosaic numbers_. the admirers of isocrates place the first invention of numbers among those other improvements which do honour to his memory. for observing, say they, that the orators were heard with a kind of sullen attention, while the poets were listened to with pleasure, he applied himself to introduce a species of metre into prose, which might have a pleasing effect upon the ear, and prevent that satiety which will always arise from a continued uniformity of sound. this, however, is partly true, and partly otherwise; for though it must be owned that no person was better skilled in the subject than _isocrates_; yet the first honour of the invention belongs to _thrasymachus_, whose style (in all his writings which are extant) is _numerous_ even to a fault. but _gorgias_, as i have already remarked, was the original inventor of those measured forms of expression which have a kind of spontaneous harmony,--such as a regular succession of words with the same termination, and the comparing similar, or contracting opposite circumstances: though it is also notoriously true that he used them to excess. this, however, is one of the three branches of composition above- mentioned. but each of these authors was prior to _isocrates_: so that the preference can be due to _him_ only for his _moderate use_, and not for the _invention_ of the art: for as he is certainly much easier in the turn of his metaphors, and the choice of his words, so his numbers are more composed and sedate. but _gorgias_, he observed, was too eager, and indulged himself in this measured play of words to a ridiculous excess. he, therefore, endeavoured to moderate and correct it; but not till he had first studied in his youth under the same _gorgias_, who was then in thessaly, and in the last decline of life. nay, as he advanced in years (for he lived almost a hundred) he corrected _himself_, and gradually relaxed the over-strict regularity of his numbers; as he particularly informs us in the treatise which he dedicated to philip of macedon, in the latter part of his life; for he there says, that he had thrown off that servile attention to his numbers, to which he was before accustomed:--so that he discovered and corrected his _own_ faults, as well as those of his predecessors. having thus specified the several authors and inventors, and the first commencement of prosaic harmony, we must next enquire what was the natural source and origin of it. but this lies so open to observation, that i am astonished the ancients did not notice it: especially as they often, by mere accident, threw out harmonious and measured sentences, which, when they had struck the ears and the passions with so much force, as to make it obvious that there was something particularly agreeable in what chance alone had uttered, one would imagine that such a singular species of ornament would have been immediately attended to, and that they would have taken the pains to imitate what they found so pleasing in themselves. for the ear, or at least the mind by the intervention of the ear, has a natural capacity to measure the harmony of language: and we accordingly feel that it instantly determines what is either too short or too long, and always expects to be gratified with that which is complete and well- proportioned. some expressions it perceives to be imperfect, and mutilated; and at these it is immediately offended, as if it was defrauded of it's natural due. in others it discovers an immoderate length, and a tedious superfluity of words; and with these it is still more disgusted than with the former; for in this, as in most other cases, an excess is always more offensive than a proportional defect. as versification, therefore, and poetic competition was invented by the regulation of the ear, and the successive observations of men of taste and judgment; so in prose (though indeed long afterwards, but still, however, by the guidance of nature) it was discovered that the career and compass of our language should be adjusted and circumscribed within proper limits. so much for the source, or natural origin of prosaic harmony. we must next proceed (for that was the third thing proposed) to enquire into the nature of it, and determine it's essential principles;--a subject which exceeds the limits of the present essay, and would be more properly discussed in a professed and accurate system of the art. for we might here inquire what is meant by prosaic _number_, wherein it consists, and from whence it arises; as likewise whether it is simple and uniform, or admits of any variety, and in what manner it is formed, for what purpose, and when and where it should be employed, and how it contributes to gratify the ear. but as in other subjects, so in this, there are two methods of disquisition;--the one more copious and diffusive, and the other more concise, and, i might also add, more easy and comprehensible. in the former, the first question which would occur is, whether there is any such thing as _prosaic number_: some are of opinion there is not; because no fixed and certain rules have been yet assigned for it, as there long have been for poetic numbers; and because the very persons, who contend for it's existence, have hitherto been unable to determine it. granting, however, that prose is susceptible of numbers, it will next be enquired of what kind they are;--whether they are to be selected from those of the poets, or from a different species;--and, if from the former, which of them may claim the preference; for some authors admit only one or two, and some more, while others object to none. we might then proceed to enquire (be the number of them to be admitted, more or less) whether they are equally common to every kind of style; for the narrative, the persuasive, and the didactic have each a manner peculiar to itself; or whether the different species of oratory should be accommodated with their different numbers. if the same numbers are equally common to all subjects, we must next enquire what those numbers are; and if they are to be differently applied, we must examine wherein they differ, and for what reason they are not to be used so openly in prose as in verse. it might likewise be a matter of enquiry, whether a _numerous_ style is formed entirely by the use of numbers, or not also in some measure by the harmonious juncture of our words, and the application of certain figurative forms of expression; --and, in the next place, whether each of these has not its peculiar province, so that number may regard the time or _quantity_, composition the _sound_, and figurative expression the _form_ and _polish_ of our language,--and yet, in fact, composition be the source and fountain of all the rest, and give rise both to the varieties of _number_, and to those figurative and luminous dashes of expression, which by the greeks, as i have before observed, are called ([greek: _schaemaia_],) _attitudes_ or _figures_. but to me there appears to be a real distinction between what is agreeable in _sound_, exact in _measure_, and ornamental in the mode of _expression_; though the latter, it must be owned, is very closely connected with _number_, as being for the most part sufficiently numerous without any labour to make it so: but composition is apparently different from both, as attending entirely either to the _majestic_ or _agreeable_ sound of our words. such then are the enquiries which relate to the _nature_ of prosaic harmony. from what has been said it is easy to infer that prose is susceptible of _number_. our sensations tell us so: and it would be excessively unfair to reject their evidence, because we cannot account for the fact. even poetic metre was not discovered by any effort of reason, but by mere natural taste and sensation, which reason afterwards correcting, improved and methodized what had been noticed by accident; and thus an attention to nature, and an accurate observation of her various feelings and sensations gave birth to art. but in verse the use of _number_ is more obvious; though some particular species of it, without the assistance of music, have the air of harmonious prose, and especially the lyric poetry, and that even the best of the kind, which, if divested of the aid of music, would be almost as plain and naked as common language. we have several specimens of this nature in our own poets [footnote: it must here be remarked, that the romans had no lyric poet before _horace_, who did not flourish till after the times of _cicero_.]; such as the following line in the tragedy of _thyestes_, "_quemnam te esse dicam? qui in tardâ senectute_; "whom shall i call thee? who in tardy age," &c.; which, unless when accompanied by the lyre, might easily be mistaken for prose. but the iambic verses of the comic poets, to maintain a resemblance to the style of conversation, are often so low and simple that you can scarcely discover in them either number or metre; from whence it is evident that it is more difficult to adapt numbers to prose than to verse. there are two things, however, which give a relish to our language,--well- chosen words, and harmonious _numbers_. words may be considered as the _materials_ of language, and it is the business of _number_ to smooth and polish them. but as in other cases, what was invented to serve our necessities was always prior to that which was invented for pleasure; so, in the present, a rude and simple style which was merely adapted to express our thoughts, was discovered many centuries before the invention of _numbers_, which are designed to please the ear. accordingly _herodotus_, and both his and the preceding age had not the least idea of prosaic _number_, nor produced any thing of the kind, unless at random, and by mere accident:--and even the ancient masters of rhetoric (i mean those of the earliest date) have not so much as mentioned it, though they have left us a multitude of precepts upon the conduct and management of our style. for what is easiest, and most necessary to be known, is, for that reason, always first discovered. metaphors, therefore, and new-made and compounded words, were easily invented, because they were borrowed from custom and conversation: but _number_ was not selected from our domestic treasures, nor had the least intimacy or connection with common language; and, of consequence, not being noticed and understood till every other improvement had been made, it gave the finishing grace, and the last touches to the style of eloquence. as it may be remarked that one sort of language is interrupted by frequent breaks and intermissions, while another is flowing and diffusive; it is evident that the difference cannot result from the natural sounds of different letters, but from the various combinations of long and short syllables, with which our language, being differently blended and intermingled, will be either dull and motionless, or lively and fluent; so that every circumstance of this nature must be regulated by _number_. for by the assistance of _numbers_, the _period_, which i have so often mentioned before, pursues it's course with greater strength and freedom till it comes to a natural pause. it is therefore plain that the style of an orator should be measured and harmonized by _numbers_, though entirely free from verse; but whether these numbers should be the same as those of the poets, or of a different species, is the next thing to be considered. in my opinion there can be no sort of numbers but those of the poets; because they have already specified all their different kinds with the utmost precision; for every number may be comprized in the three following varieties:--_viz_. a _foot_ (which is the measure we apply to numbers) must be so divided, that one part of it will be either equal to the other, or twice as long, or equal to three halves of it. thus, in a _dactyl_ (breve-macron-macron) (long-short-short) the first syllable, which is the former part of the foot, is equal to the two others, in the _iambic_ (macron-breve)(short-long) the last is double the first, and in the _paeon_ (macron-macron-macron-breve, or breve-macron-macron-macron)(short- short-short-long, or long-short-short-short) one of its parts, which is the long syllable, is equal to two-thirds of the other. these are feet which are unavoidably incident to language; and a proper arrangement of them will produce a _numerous_ style. but it will here be enquired, what numbers should have the preference? to which i answer, they must all occur promiscuously; as is evident from our sometimes speaking verse without knowing it, which in prose is reckoned a capital fault; but in the hurry of discourse we cannot always watch and criticise ourselves. as to _senarian_ and _hipponactic_ [footnote: verses chiefly composed of iambics] verses, it is scarcely possible to avoid them; for a considerable part, even of our common language, is composed of _iambics_. to these, however, the hearer is easily reconciled; because custom has made them familiar to his ear. but through inattention we are often betrayed into verses which are not so familiar;--a fault which may easily be avoided by a course of habitual circumspection. _hieronymus_, an eminent peripatetic, has collected out of the numerous writings of isocrates about thirty verses, most of them senarian, and some of them anapest, which in prose have a more disagreeable effect than any others. but he quotes them with a malicious partiality: for he cuts off the first syllable of the first word in a sentence, and annexes to the last word the first syllable of the following sentence; and thus he forms what is called an _aristophanean_ anapest, which it is neither possible nor necessary to avoid entirely. but, this redoubtable critic, as i discovered upon a closer inspection, has himself been betrayed into a senarian or iambic verse in the very paragraph in which he censures the composition of _isocrates_. upon the whole, it is sufficiently plain that prose is susceptible of _numbers_, and that the numbers of an orator must be the same as those of a poet. the next thing to be considered is, what are the numbers which are most suitable to his character, and, for that reason, should occur more frequently than the rest? some prefer the _iambic_ (macron-breve)(short- long) as approaching the nearest to common language; for which reason, they say, it is generally made use of in fables and comedies, on account of it's resemblance to conversation; and because the dactyl, which is the favourite number of hexameters, is more adapted to a pompous style. _ephorus_, on the other hand, declares for the paeon and the dactyl; and rejects the spondee and the trochee (long short). for as the paeon has three short syllables, and the dactyl two, he thinks their shortness and celerity give a brisk and lively flow to our language; and that a different effect would be produced by the trochee and the spondee, the one consisting of short syllables, and the other of long ones;--so that by using the former, the current of our words would become too rapid, and too heavy by employing the latter, losing, in either case, that easy moderation which best satisfies the ear. but both parties seem to be equally mistaken: for those who exclude the paeon, are not aware that they reject the sweetest and fullest number we have. aristotle was far from thinking as they do: he was of opinion that heroic numbers are too sonorous for prose; and that, on the other hand, the iambic has too much the resemblance of vulgar talk:--and, accordingly, he recommends the style which is neither too low and common, nor too lofty and extravagant, but retains such a just proportion of dignity, as to win the attention, and excite the admiration of the hearer. he, therefore, calls the _trochee_ (which has precisely the same quantity as the _choree_) _the rhetorical jigg_ [footnote: _cordacem appellat_. the _cordax_ was a lascivious dance very full of agitation.]; because the shortness and rapidity of it's syllables are incompatible with the majesty of eloquence. for this reason he recommends the _paeon_, and says that every person makes use of it, even without being sensible when he does so. he likewise observes that it is a proper medium between the different feet above-mentioned:--the proportion between the long and short syllables, in every foot, being either sesquiplicate, duple, or equal. the authors, therefore, whom i mentioned before attended merely to the easy flow of our language, without any regard to it's dignity. for the iambic and the dactyl are chiefly used in poetry; so that to avoid versifying in prose, we must shun, as much as possible, a continued repetition of either; because the language of prose is of a different cast, and absolutely incompatible with verse. as the paeon, therefore, is of all other feet the most improper for poetry, it may, for that reason be more readily admitted into prose. but as to _ephorus_, he did not reflect that even the _spondee_, which he rejects, is equal in time to his favourite dactyl; because he supposed that feet were to be measured not by the quantity, but the number of their syllables;--a mistake of which he is equally guilty when he excludes the _trochee_, which, in time and quantity, is precisely equal to the iambic; though it is undoubtedly faulty at the end of a period, which always terminates more agreeably in a long syllable than a short one. as to what aristotle has said of the _paeon_, the same has likewise been said by _theophrastus_ and _theodectes_. but, for my part, i am rather of opinion that our language should be intermingled and diversified with all the varieties of number; for should we confine ourselves to any particular feet, it would be impossible to escape the censure of the hearer; because our style should neither be so exactly measured as that of the poets, nor entirely destitute of number, like that of the common people. the former, as being too regular and uniform, betrays an appearance of art; and the other, which is as much too loose and undetermined, has the air of ordinary talk; so that we receive no pleasure from the one, and are absolutely disgusted with the other. our style, therefore, as i have just observed, should be so blended and diversified with different numbers, as to be neither too vague and unrestrained, nor too openly numerous, but abound most in the paeon (so much recommended by the excellent author above-mentioned) though still in conjunction with many other feet which he entirely omits. but we must now consider what number like so many dashes of purple, should tincture and enrich the rest, and to what species of style they are each of them best adapted. the iambic, then, should be the leading number in those subjects which require a plain and simple style;--the paeon in such as require more compass and elevation; and the dactyl is equally applicable to both. so that in a discourse of any length and variety, it will be occasionally necessary to blend and intermingle them all. by this means, our endeavours to modulate our periods, and captivate the ear, will be most effectually concealed; especially, if we maintain a suitable dignity both of language and sentiment. for the hearer will naturally attend to these (i mean our words and sentiments) and to them alone attribute the pleasure he receives; so that while he listens to these with admiration, the harmony of our numbers will escape his notice: though it must indeed be acknowledged that the former would have their charms without the assistance of the latter. but the flow of our numbers is not to be so exact (i mean in prose, for in poetry the case is different) as that nothing may exceed the bounds of regularity; for this would be to compose a poem. on the contrary, if our language neither limps nor fluctuates, but keeps an even and a steady pace, it is sufficiently _numerous_; and it accordingly derives the title, not from its consisting entirely of numbers, but from its near approach to a numerous form. this is the reason why it is more difficult to make elegant prose, than to make verses; because there are fixed and invariable rules for the latter; whereas nothing is determined in the former, but that the current of our language should be neither immoderate nor defective, nor loose and unconfined. it cannot be supposed, therefore, to admit of regular beats and divisions, like a piece of music; but it is only necessary that the general compass and arrangement of our words should be properly restrained and limited,--a circumstance which must be left entirely to the decision of the ear. another question which occurs before us, is--whether an attention to our numbers should be extended to every part of a sentence, or only to the beginning and the end. most authors are of opinion that it is only necessary that our periods should end well, and have a numerous cadence. it is true, indeed, that this ought to be principally attended to, but not solely: for the whole compass of our periods ought likewise to be regulated, and not totally neglected. as the ear, therefore, always directs it's view to the close of a sentence, and there fixes it's attention, it is by no means proper that this should be destitute of _number_: but it must also be observed that a period, from it's first commencement, should run freely on, so as to correspond to the conclusion; and the whole advance from the beginning with such an easy flow, as to make a natural, and a kind of voluntary pause. to those who have been we'll practised in the art, and who have both written much; and often attempted to discourse _extempore_ with the same accuracy which they observe in their writings, this will be far less difficult than is imagined. for every sentence is previously formed and circumscribed in the mind of the speaker, and is then immediately attended by the proper words to express it, which the same mental faculty (than which there is nothing more lively and expeditious) instantly dismisses, and sends off each to its proper post: but, in different sentences, their particular order and arrangement will be differently terminated; though, in every sentence, the words both in the beginning and the middle of it, should have a constant reference to the end. our language, for instance, must sometimes advance with rapidity, and at other times it's pace must be moderate and easy; so that it will be necessary at the very beginning of a sentence, to resolve upon the manner in which you would have it terminate; but we must avoid the least appearance of poetry, both in our numbers, and in the other ornaments of language; though it is true, indeed, that the labours of the orator must be conducted on the same principles as those of the poet. for in each we have the same materials to work upon, and a similar art of managing them; the materials being words, and the art of managing them relating, in both cases, to the manner in which they ought to be disposed. the words also in each may be divided into three classes,--the __metaphorical_,--the new-coined,--and the antique;--for at present we have no concern with words _proper_:--and three parts may also be distinguished in the art of disposing them; which, i have already observed, are _juncture_, _concinnity_, and _number_. the poets make use both of one and the other more frequently, and with greater liberty than we do; for they employ the _tropes_ not only much oftener, but more boldly and openly; and they introduce _antique_ words with a higher taste, and new ones with less reserve. the same may be said in their numbers, in the use of which they are subjected to invariable rules, which they are scarcely ever allowed to transgress. the two arts, therefore, are to be considered neither as wholly distinct, nor perfectly conjoined. this is the reason why our numbers are not to be so conspicuous in prose as in verse; and that in prose, what is called a _numerous_ style, does not always become so by the use of numbers, but sometimes either by the concinnity of our language, or the smooth juncture of our words. to conclude this head; if it should be enquired, "what are the numbers to be used in prose?" i answer, "_all_; though some are certainly better, and more adapted to it's character than others."--if "_where_ is their proper seat?"--"in the different quantity of our syllables:"--if "from whence their _origin_?"--"from the sole pleasure of the ear:"--if "what the method of blending and intermingling them?"--"this shall be explained in the sequel, because it properly relates to the manner of using them, which was the fourth and last article in my division of the subject." if it be farther enquired, "for what purpose they are employed?" i answer,--"to gratify the ear:"--if "_when_?" i reply, "at all times:"--if "in what part of a sentence?" "through the whole length of it:"--and if "what is the circumstance which gives them a pleasing effect?" "the same as in poetical compositions, whose metre is regulated by art, though the ear alone, without the assistance of art, can determine it's limits by the natural powers of sensation." enough, therefore, has been said concerning the nature and properties of _number_. the next article to be considered is the manner in which our numbers should be employed,--a circumstance which requires to be accurately discussed. here it is usual to enquire, whether it is necessary to attend to our numbers through the whole compass of a period, [footnote: our author here informs us, that what the greeks called [greek: periodos], a _period_, was distinguished among the romans by the words _ambitus, circuitus, comprehensio, continuatio_, and _circumscriptio_. as i thought this remark would appear much better in the form of a note, than in the body of the work, i have introduced it accordingly.] or only at the beginning or end of it, or equally in both. in the next place, as _exact number_ seems to be one thing, and that which is merely _numerous_ another, it might be enquired wherein lies the difference. we might likewise consider whether the members of a sentence should all indifferently be of the same length, whatever be the numbers they are composed of;--or whether, on this account, they should not be sometimes longer, and sometimes shorter;--and when, and for what reasons, they should be made so, and of what numbers they should be composed;--whether of several sorts, or only of one; and whether of equal or unequal numbers;--and upon what occasions either the one or the other of these are to be used;-and what numbers accord best together, and in what order; or whether, in this respect, there is no difference between them;--and (which has still a more immediate reference to our subject) by what means our style may be rendered _numerous_. it will likewise be necessary to specify the rise and origin of a _periodical_ form of language, and what degree of compass should be allowed to it. after this, we may consider the members or divisions of a period, and enquire of how many kinds, and of what different lengths they are; and, if they vary in these respects, _where_ and _when_ each particular sort is to be employed: and, in the last place, the _use_ and application of the whole is to be fully explained;--a very extensive subject, and which is capable of being accommodated not only to one, but to many different occasions. but without adverting to particulars, we may discuss the subject at large in such a manner as to furnish a satisfactory answer in all subordinate cases. omitting, therefore, every other species of composition, we shall attend to that which is peculiar to forensic causes. for in those performances which are of a different kind, such as history, panegyric, and all discourses which are merely ornamental, every sentence should be constructed after the exact manner of _isocrates_ and _theopompus_; and with that regular compass, and measured flow of language, that our words may constantly run within the limits prescribed by art, and pursue a uniform course, till the period is completed. we may, therefore, observe that after the invention of this, _periodical_ form, no writer of any account has made a discourse which was intended as a mere display of ornament, and not for the service of the forum, without _squaring_ his language, (if i may so express myself) and confining every sentence of it to the strictest laws of _number_. for as, in this case, the hearer has no motive to alarm his suspicions against the artifice of the speaker, he will rather think himself obliged to him than otherwise, for the pains he takes to amuse and gratify his ear. but, in forensic causes, this accurate species of composition is neither to be wholly adopted, nor entirely rejected. for if we pursue it too closely, it will create a satiety, and our attention to it will be discovered by the most illiterate observer. we may add, it will check the pathos and force of action, restrain the sensibility of the speaker, and destroy all appearance of truth and open dealing. but as it will sometimes be necessary to adopt it, we must consider _when_, and _how long_, this ought to be done, and how many ways it may be changed and varied. a _numerous_ style, then, may be properly employed, either when any thing is to be commended in a free and ornamental manner, (as in my second invective against _verres_, where i spoke in praise of _sicily_, and in my speech before the senate, in which i vindicated the honour of my consulship;)--or; in the next place, when a narrative is to be delivered which requires more dignity than pathos, (as in my fourth invective, where i described the ceres of the ennensians, the diana of the segestani, and the situation of syracuse.) it is likewise often allowable to speak in a numerous and flowing style, when a material circumstance is to be amplified. if i myself have not succeeded in this so well as might be wished, i have at least attempted it very frequently; and it is still visible in many of my perorations, that i have exerted all the talents i was master of for that purpose. but this will always have most efficacy, when the speaker has previously possessed himself of the hearer's attention, and got the better of his judgment. for then he is no longer apprehensive of any artifice to mislead him; but hears every thing with a favourable ear, wishes the orator to proceed, and, admiring the force of his eloquence, has no inclination to censure it. but this measured and numerous flow of language is never to be continued too long, i will not say in the peroration, (of which the hearer himself will always be a capable judge) but in any other part of a discourse: for, except in the cases above-mentioned, in which i have shewn it is allowable, our style must be wholly confined to those clauses or divisions which we erroneously call _incisa_ and _membra_; but the greeks, with more propriety, the _comma_ and _colon_ [footnote: the ancients apply these terms to the sense, and not to any points of distinction. a very short member, whether simple or compound, with them is a _comma_; and a longer, a _colon_; for they have no such term as a _semicolon_. besides, they call a very short sentence, whether simple or compound, a _comma_; and one of somewhat a greater length, a _colon_. and therefore, if a person expressed himself either of these ways, in any considerable number of sentences together, he was said to speak by _commas_, or _colons_. but a sentence containing more words than will consist with either of these terms, they call a simple _period_; the least compound period with them requiring the length of two colons. ward's rhetoric, volume st, page .]. for it is impossible that the names of things should be rightly applied, when the things themselves are not sufficiently understood: and as we often make use of metaphorical terms, either for the sake of ornament, or to supply the place of proper ones, so in other arts, when we have occasion to mention any thing which (through our unacquaintance with it) has not yet received a name, we are obliged either to invent a new one, or to borrow it from something similar. we shall soon consider what it is to speak in _commas_ and _colons_, and the proper method of doing it: but we must first attend to the various numbers by which the cadence of our periods should be diversified. our numbers will advance more rapidly by the use of short feet, and more coolly and sedately by the use of long ones. the former are best adapted to a warm and spirited style, and the latter to sober narratives and explanations. but there are several numbers for concluding a period, one of which (called the _dichoree_, or double _choree_, and consisting of a long and a short syllable repeated alternately) is much in vogue with the asiatics; though among different people the same feet are distinguished by different names. the _dichoree_, indeed, is not essentially bad for the close of a sentence: but in prosaic numbers nothing can be more faulty than a continued or frequent repetition of the same cadence: as the _dichoree_, therefore, is a very sonorous number, we should be the more sparing in the use of it, to prevent a satiety. _c. carbo_, the son of _caius_, and a tribune of the people, once said in a public trial in which i was personally engaged,--"_o marce druse, patrem appello_;" where you may observe two _commas_, each consisting of two feet. he then made use of the two following _colons_, each consisting of three feet,--"_tu dicere solebas, sacram esse rempublicam:"--and afterwards of the period,-- "_quicunque eam violavissent, ab omnibus esse ei poenas persolutas_" which ends with a _dichoree_; for it is immaterial whether the last syllable is long or short. he added, "_patris dictum sapiens, temeritas filii comprobavit_" concluding here also with a _dichoree_; which was received with such a general burst of applause, as perfectly astonished me. but was not this the effect of _number_?--only change the order of the words, and say,--"_comprobavit filii temeritas_" and the spirit of them will be lost, though the word _temeritas_ consists of three short syllables and a long one, which is the favourite number of aristotle, from whom, however, i here beg leave to dissent. the words and sentiments are indeed the fame in both cases; and yet, in the latter, though the understanding is satisfied, the ear is not. but these harmonious cadences are not to be repeated too often: for, in the first place, our _numbers_ will be soon discovered,--in the next, they will excite the hearer's disgust,--and, at last, be heartily despised on account of the apparent facility with which they are formed. but there are several other cadences which will have a numerous and pleasing effect: for even the _cretic_, which consists of a long, a short, and a long syllable, and it's companion the _paeon_, which is equal to it in quantity, though it exceeds it in the number of syllables, is reckoned a proper and a very useful ingredient in harmonious prose: especially as the latter admits of two varieties, as consisting either of one long and three short syllables, which will be lively enough at the beginning of a sentence, but extremely flat at the end;--or of three short syllables and a long one, which was highly approved of by the ancients at the _close_ of a sentence, and which i would not wholly reject, though i give the preference to others. even the sober _spondee_ is not to be entirely discarded; for though it consists of two long syllables, and for that reason may seem rather dull and heavy, it has yet a firm and steady step, which gives it an air of dignity, and especially in the _comma_ and the _colon_; so that it sufficiently compensates for the slowness of it's motion, by it's peculiar weight and solemnity. when i speak of feet at the close of a period, i do not mean precisely the last. i would be understood, at least, to include the foot which immediately precedes it; and, in many cases, even the foot before _that_. the _iambic_, therefore, which consists of a long syllable and a short one, and is equal in time, though not in the number of it's syllables, to a _choree_, which has three short ones; or even the _dactyl_, which consists of one long and two short syllables, will unite agreeably enough with the last foot of a sentence, when that foot is either a _choree_ or a _spondee_; for it is immaterial which of them is employed. but the three feet i am mentioning, are neither of them very proper for closing a period, (that is, to form the last foot of it) unless when a _dactyl_ is substituted for a _cretic_, for you may use either of them at pleasure; because, even in verse, it is of no consequence whether the last syllable is long or short. he, therefore, who recommended the _paeon_, as having the long syllable last, was certainly guilty of an oversight; because the quantity of the last syllable is never regarded. the _paeon_, however, as consisting of four syllables, is reckoned by some to be only a _number_, and not a _foot_. but call it which you please, it is in general, what all the ancients have represented it, (such as _aristotle, theophrastus, theodectes_, and _euphorus_) the fittest of all others both for the beginning and the middle of a period. they are likewise of opinion, that it is equally proper at the end; where, in my opinion, the _cretic_ deserves the preference. the _dochimus_, which consists of five syllables, (i.e. a short and two long ones, and a short, and a long one, as in _amicos tenes_) may be used indifferently in any part of a sentence, provided it occurs but once: for if it is continued or repeated, our attention to our numbers will be discovered, and alarm the suspicion of the hearer. on the other hand, if we properly blend and intermingle the several varieties above-mentioned, our design will not be so readily noticed; and we shall also prevent that satiety which would arise from an elaborate uniformity of cadence. but the harmony of language does not result entirely from the use of _numbers_, but from the _juncture_ and _composition_ of our words; and from that neatness and _concinnity_ of expression which i have already mentioned. by _composition_, i here mean when our words are so judiciously connected as to produce an agreeable sound (independent of _numbers_) which rather appears to be the effect of nature than of art; as in the following passage from crassus, _nam ubi lubido dominatur, innocentiae leve praesidium est_ [footnote: in the sentence which is here quoted from crassus, every word which ends with a consonant is immediately succeeded by another which begins with a vowel; and, _vice versa_, if the preceding word ends with a vowel, the next begins with a consonant.]: for here the mere order in which the words are connected, produces a harmony of sound, without any visible attention of the speaker. when the ancients, therefore, (i mean _herodotus_, and _thucydides_, and all who flourished in the same age) composed a numerous and a musical period, it must rather be attributed to the casual order of their words, than to the labour and artifice of the writer. but there are likewise certain forms of expression, which have such a natural concinnity, as will necessarily have a similar effect to that of regular numbers. for when parallel circumstances are compared, or opposite ones contrasted, or words of the same termination are placed in a regular succesion, they seldom fail to produce a numerous cadence. but i have already treated of these, and subjoined a few examples; so that we are hereby furnished with an additional and a copious variety of means to avoid the uniformity of cadence above-mentioned; especially as these measured forms of expression may be occasionally relaxed and dilated. there is, however, a material difference between a style which is merely _numerous_, (or, in other words, which has a moderate resemblance to _metre_) and that which is entirely composed of _numbers_: the latter is an insufferable fault; but our language, without the former, would be absolutely vague, unpolished, and dissipated. but as a numerous style (strictly so called) is not frequently, and indeed but seldom admissible in forensic causes,--it seems necessary to enquire, in the next place, what are those _commas_ and _colons_ before-mentioned, and which, in real causes, should occupy the major part of an oration. the _period_, or complete sentence, is usually composed of four divisions, which are called _members_, (or _colons_) that it may properly fill the ear, and be neither longer nor shorter than is requisite for that purpose. but it sometimes, or rather frequently happens, that a sentence either falls short of, or exceeds the limits of a regular period, to prevent it from fatiguing the ear on the one hand, or disappointing it on the other. what i mean is to recommend an agreeable mediocrity: for we are not treating of verse, but of rhetorical prose, which is confessedly more free and unconfined. a full period, then, is generally composed of four parts, which may be compared to as many hexameter verses, each of which have their proper points, or particles of continuation, by which they are connected so as to form a perfect period. but when we speak by _colons_, we interupt their union, and, as often as occasion requires (which indeed will frequently be the case) break off with ease from this laboured and suspicious flow of language; but yet nothing should be so numerous in reality as that which appears to be least so, and yet has a forcible effect. such is the following passage in crassus:--"_missos faciant patronos; ipsi prodeant_." "let them dismiss their patrons: let them answer for themselves." unless "_ipsi prodeant_" was pronounced after a pause, the hearer must have discovered a complete iambic verse. it would have had a better cadence in prose if he had said "_prodeant ipsi_." but i am only to consider the species, and not the cadence of the sentence. he goes on, "_cur clandestinis consiliis nos oppugnant? cur de perfugis nostris copias comparant contra nos_?" "why do they attack us by clandestine measures? why do they collect forces against us from our own deserters?" in the former passage there are two _commas_: in the latter he first makes use of the _colon_, and afterwards of the _period_: but the period is not a long one, as only consisting of two _colons_, and the whole terminates in _spondees_. in this manner crassus generally expressed himself; and i much approve his method. but when we speak either in _commas_, or _colons_, we should be very attentive to the harmony of their cadence: as in the following instance.--"_domus tibi deerat? at habebas. pecunia superabat? at egebas_." "was you without a habitation? you had a house of your own. was your pocket well provided? you was not master of a farthing." these are four _commas_; but the two following members are both _colons_;--"_incurristi omens in columnas, in alienos insanus insanisti_." "you rushed like a madman upon your best supporters; you vented your fury on your enemies withput mercy." the whole is afterwards supported by a full period, as by a solid basis;--"depressam, caecam, jacentem domum, pluris quam te, et fortunas tuas aestimâsti." "you have shewn more regard to an unprosperous, an obscure, and a fallen family, than to your own safety and reputation." this sentence ends with a _dichoree_, but the preceeding one in a _double spondee_. for in those sentences which are to be used like daggers for close-fighting, their very shortness makes our numbers less exceptionable. they frequently consist of a single number;-- generally of _two_, with the addition perhaps of half a foot to each: and very seldom of more than three. to speak in _commas_ or _colons_ has a very good effect in real causes; and especially in those parts of an oration where it is your business either to prove or refute: as in my second defence of cornelius, where i exclaimed, "o callidos homines! o rem excogitatam! o ingenia metuenda!" "what admirable schemers! what a curious contrivance! what formidable talents!" thus far i spoke in _colons_; and afterwards by _commas_; and then returned to the colon, in "_testes dare volumus_," "we are willing to produce our witnesses." this was succeeded by the following _period_, consisting of two _colons_, which is the shortest that can be formed,--"_quem, quaeso, nostrûm sesellit ita vos esse facturos?_" "which of us, think you, had not the sense to foresee that you would proceed in this manner?" there is no method of expressing ourselves which, if properly timed, is more agreeable or forcible, than these rapid turns, which are completed in two or three words, and sometimes in a single one; especially, when they are properly diversified, and intermingled here and there with a _numerous_ period; which _egesias_ avoids with such a ridiculous nicety, that while he affects to imitate _lysias_ (who was almost a second _demosthenes_) he seems to be continually cutting capers, and clipping sentence after sentence. he is as frivolous in his sentiments as in his language: so that no person who is acquainted with his writings, need to seek any farther for a coxcomb. but i have selected several examples from crassus, and a few of my own, that any person, who is so inclined, may have an opportunity of judging with his own ears, what is really _numerous_, as well in the shortest as in any other kind of sentences. having, therefore, treated of a _numerous_ style more copiously than any author before me, i shall now proceed to say something of it's _utility_. for to speak handsomely, and like an orator (as no one, my brutus, knows better than yourself) is nothing more than to express the choicest sentiments in the finest language. the noblest thoughts will be of little service to an orator, unless he is able to communicate them in a correct and agreeable style: nor will the splendor of our expressions appear to a proper advantage, unless they are carefully and judiciously ranged. permit me to add, that the beauty of both will be considerably heightened by the harmony of our numbers:--such numbers (for i cannot repeat it too often) as are not only not cemented together, like those of the poets, but which avoid all appearance of metre, and have as little resemblance to it as possible; though it is certainly true that the numbers themselves are the same, not only of the poets and orators, but of all in general who exercise the faculty of speech, and, indeed, of every instrument which produces a sound whose time can be measured by the ear. it is owing entirely to the different arrangement of our feet that a sentence assumes either the easy air of prose, or the uniformity of verse. call it, therefore, by what name you please (_composition, perfection_, or _number_) it is a necessary restraint upon our language; not only (as _aristotle_ and _theophrastus_ have observed) to prevent our sentences (which should be limited neither by the breath of the speaker, nor the pointing of a transcriber, but by the sole restraint of _number_) from running on without intermission like a babbling current of water; but chiefly, because our language, when properly measured, has a much greater effect than when it is loose and unconfined. for as wrestlers and gladiators, whether they parry or make an assault, have a certain grace in their motions, so that every effort which contributes to the defence or the victory of the combatants, presents an agreeable attitude to the eye: so the powers of language can neither give nor evade an important blow, unless they are gracefully exerted. that style, therefore, which is not regulated by _numbers_, is to me as unbecoming as the motions of a gladiator who has not been properly trained and exercised: and so far is our language from being _enervated_ by a skilful arrangement of our words (as is pretended by those who, for want either of proper instructors, capacity, or diligence, have not been able to attain it) that, on the contrary, without this, it is impossible it should have any force or efficacy. but it requires a long and attentive course of practice to avoid the blemishes of those who were unacquainted with this numerous species of composition, so as not to transpose our words too openly to assist the cadence and harmony of our periods; which _l. caelius antipater_, in the introduction to his punic war, declares he would never attempt, unless when compelled by necessity. "_o virum simplicem_," (says he, speaking of himself) "_qui nos nihil celat; sapientem, qui serviendum necessitati putet_." "o simple man, who has not the skill his art to conceal; and yet to the rigid laws of necessity he has the wisdom to submit." but he was totally unskilled in composition. by us, however, both in writing and speaking, necessity is never admitted as a valid plea; for, in fact, there is no such thing as an absolute constraint upon the order and arrangement of our words; and, if there was, it is certainly unnecessary to own it. but _antipater_, though he requests the indulgence of laelius, to whom he dedicates his work, and attempts to excuse himself, frequently transposes his words without contributing in the least either to the harmony, or agreeable cadence of his periods. there are others, and particularly the _asiatics_, who are such slaves to _number_, as to insert words which have no use nor meaning to fill up the vacuities in a sentence. there are likewise some who, in imitation of _hegesias_ (a notorious trifler as well in this as in every other respect) curtail and mince their numbers, and are thus betrayed into the low and paltry style of the sicilians. another fault in composition is that which occurs in the speeches of _hierocles_ and _menecles_, two brothers, who may be considered as the princes of asiatic eloquence, and, in my opinion, are by no means contemptible: for though they deviate from the style of nature, and the strict laws of atticism, yet they abundantly compensate the defect by the richness and fertility of their language. but they have no variety of cadence, and their sentences are almost always terminated in the same manner. he therefore, who carefully avoids these blemishes, and who neither transposes his words too openly,--nor inserts any thing superfluous or unmeaning to fill up the chasms of a period,--nor curtails and clips his language, so as to interrupt and enervate the force of it,-- nor confines himself to a dull uniformity of cadence,--_he_ may justly be said to avoid the principal and most striking defects of prosaic harmony. as to its positive graces, these we have already specified; and from thence the particular blemishes which are opposite to each, will readily occur to the attentive reader. of what consequence it is to regulate the structure of our language, may be easily tried by selecting a well-wrought period from some orator of reputation, and changing the arrangement of the words; [footnote: professor _ward_ has commented upon an example of this kind from the preface to the vth volume of the spectator:--"_you have acted in so much consistency with yourself, and promoted the interests of your country in so uniform a manner; that even those, who would misrepresent your generous designs for the public good, cannot but approve the steadiness and intredipity, with which you pursue them_." i think, says the doctor, this may be justly esteemed an handsome period. it begins with ease, rises gradually till the voice is inflected, then sinks again, and ends with a just cadency, and perhaps there is not a word in it, whole situation would be altered to an advantage. let us now but shift the place of one word in the last member, and we shall spoil the beauty of the whole sentence. for if, instead of saying, as it now stands, _cannot but approve the steadiness and intrepidity, with which you pursue them_; we put it thus, _cannot but approve the steadiness and intrepidity which you pursue them with_; the cadency will be flat and languid, and the harmony of the period entirely lost. let us try it again by altering the place of the two last members, which at present stand in this order, _that even those who would misrepresent your generous designs for the public good, cannot but approve the steadiness and intrepidity, with which you pursue them_. now if the former member be thrown last, they will run thus, _that even those cannot but approve the steadiness and intrepidity, with which you pursue them, who would misrepresent your generous designs for the public good_. here the sense is much obscured by the inversion of the relative _them_, which ought to refer to something that went before, and not to the words _generous designs_, which in this situation of the members are placed after it. ward's rhetoric. vol. , p. , .] the beauty of it would then be mangled and destroyed. suppose, for instance, we take the following passage from my defence of _cornelius,--"neque me divitae movent, quibus omnes africanos et laelios, multi venalitii mercatoresque superarunt._" "nor am i dazzled by the splendor of wealth, in which many retailers, and private tradesmen have outvied all the _africani_ and the _lelii_" only invert the order a little, and say,--"_multi superârunt mercatores, venatitiique_," and the harmony of the period will be loft. try the experiment on the next sentence;--"_neque vestes, aut celatum aurum, & argentum, quo nostros veteres marcellos, maximosque multi eunuchi e syriâ egyptoque vicerunt_:" nor do. i pay the least regard to costly habits, or magnificent services of plate, in which many eunuchs, imported from syria and egypt, have far surpassed the illustrious _marcelli_, and the _maximi_. alter the disposition of the words into, "_vicerunt eunuchi e syria, egyptoque,_" and the whole beauty of the sentence will be destroyed. take a third passage from the same paragraph;--"_neque vero ornamenta ista villarum, quibus paulum & l. mummium, qui rebus his urbem, italiamque omnem reserserunt, ab aliquo video perfacile deliaco aut syro potuisse superari:"--"nor the splendid ornaments of a rural villa, in which i daily behold every paltry delian and syrian outvying the dignity of paulus and lucius mummius, who, by their victories, supplied the whole city, and indeed every part of italy, with a super- fluity of these glittering trifles!" only change the latter part of the sentence into,-- "_potuisse superari ab aliquo syro aut deliaco,_" and you will see, though the meaning and the words are still the same, that, by making this slight alteration in the order, and breaking the form of the period, the whole force and spirit of it will be lost. on the other hand, take one of the broken sentences of a writer unskilled in composition, and make the smallest alteration in the arrangement of the words,--and that which before was loose and disordered, will assume a just and a regular form. let us, for instance, take the following passage from the speech of gracchus to the censors;--"_abesse non potest, quin ejusdem hominis fit, probos improbare, qui improbos probet_;" "there is no possibility of doubting that the same person who is an enemy to virtue, must be a friend to vice." how much better would the period have terminated if he had said,--"_quin ejusdem hominis fit, qui improbos probet, probos improbare_!"--"that the same person who is a friend to vice, must be an enemy to virtue!" there is no one who would object to the last:--nay, it is impossible that any one who was able to speak thus, should have been willing to express himself otherwise. but those who have pretended to speak in a different manner, had not skill enough to speak as they ought; and for that reason, truly, we must applaud them for their _attic_ taste;--as if the great demosthenes could speak like an _asiatic_ [footnote: quasi vero trallianus fuerit demosthenes.] _trallianus_ signifies an inhabitant of _tralles_, a city in the lesser asia, between _caria_ and _lydia_. the asiatics, in the estimation of cicero, were not distinguished by the delicacy of their taste.,--that demosthenes, whose thunder would have lost half it's force, if it's flight had not been accelerated by the rapidity of his numbers. but if any are better pleased with a broken and dissipated style, let them follow their humour, provided they condescend to counterbalance it by the weight, and dignity of their sentiments: in the same manner, as if a person should dash to pieces the celebrated shield of _phidias_, though he would destroy the symmetry of the whole, the fragments would still retain their separate beauty;--or, as in the history of thucydides, though we discover no harmony in the structure of his periods, there are yet many beauties which excite our admiration. but these triflers, when they present us with one of their rugged and broken sentences, in which there is neither a thought, nor word, but what is low and puerile, appear to me (if i may venture on a comparison which is not indeed very elevated, but is strictly applicable to the case in hand) to have untied a besom, that we may contemplate the scattered twigs. if, however, they wish to convince us that they really despise the species of composition which i have now recommended, let them favour us with a few lines in the taste of isocrates, or such as we find in the orations of _aeschines_ and _demosthenes_. i will then believe they decline the use of it, not from a consciousness of their inability to put it in practice, but from a real conviction of it's futility; or, at least, i will engage to find a person, who, on the same condition, will undertake either to speak or write, in any language they may please to fix upon, in the very manner they propose. for it is much easier to disorder a good period, than to harmonize a bad one. but, to speak my whole meaning at once, to be scrupulously attentive to the measure and harmony of our periods, without a proper regard to our sentiments, is absolute madness:--and, on the other hand, to speak sensibly and judiciously, without attending to the arrangement of our words, and the regularity of our periods, is (at the best) to speak very awkwardly; but it is such a kind of awkwardness that those who are guilty of it, may not only escape the title of blockheads, but pass for men of good-sense and understanding;--a character which those speakers who are contented with it, are heartily welcome to enjoy! but an orator who is expected not only to merit the approbation, but to excite the wonder, the acclamations, and the plaudits of those who hear him, must excel in every part of eloquence, and be so thoroughly accomplished, that it would be a disgrace to him that any thing should be either seen or heard with greater pleasure than himself. * * * * * thus, my brutus, i have given you my opinion of a complete orator; which you are at liberty either to adopt or reject, as your better judgment shall incline you. if you see reason to think differently, i shall have no objection to it; nor so far indulge my vanity as to presume that my sentiments, which i have so freely communicated in the present essay, are more just and accurate than yours. for it is very possible not only that you and i may have different notions, but that what appears true even to myself at one time, may appear otherwise at another. nor only in the present case, which be determined by the taste of the multitude, and the capricious pleasure of the ear (which are, perhaps, the most uncertain judges we can fix upon)--but in the most important branches of science, have i yet been able to discover a surer rule to direct my judgment, than to embrace that which has the greatest appearance of probability: for _truth_ is covered with too thick a veil to be distinguished to a certainty. i request, therefore, if what i have advanced should not have the happiness to merit your approbation, that you will be so much my friend as to conclude, either that the talk i have attempted is impracticable, or that my unwillingness to disoblige you has betrayed me into the rash presumption of undertaking a subject to which my abilities are unequal. the orations of marcus tullius cicero literally translated by c.d. yonge, m.a. fellow of the royal university of ireland, etc. vol. iv. containing the fourteen orations against marcus antonius; to which are appended the treatise on rhetorical invention; the orator; topics; on rhetorical partitions, etc. [_reprinted from stereotype plates_.] contents. the fourteen orations against m. antonius, called philippics:-- the first philippic the second philippic the third philippic the fourth philippic the fifth philippic the sixth philippic the seventh philippic the eighth philippic the ninth philippic the tenth philippic the eleventh philippic the twelfth philippic the thirteenth philippic the fourteenth philippic * * * * * treatise on rhetorical invention:-- book i. book ii. the orator treatise on topics a dialogue concerning oratorical partitions treatise on the best style of orators the fourteen orations of m.t. cicero against marcus antonius, called philippics. the first philippic. the argument when julius, or, as he is usually called by cicero caius caesar was slain on the th of march, a.u.c. , b.c. marcus antonius was his colleague in the consulship, and he, being afraid that the conspirators might murder him too, (and it is said that they had debated among themselves whether they would or no) concealed himself on that day and fortified his house, till perceiving that nothing was intended against him, he ventured to appear in public the day following. lepidus was in the suburbs of rome with a regular army, ready to depart for the government of spain, which had been assigned to him with a part of gaul. in the night, after caesar's death he occupied the forum with his troops and thought of making himself master of the city, but antonius dissuaded him from that idea and won him over to his views by giving his daughter in marriage to lepidus's son, and by assisting him to seize on the office of pontifex maximus, which was vacant by caesar's death. to the conspirators he professed friendship, sent his son among them as a hostage of his sincerity, and so deluded them, that brutus supped with lepidus, and cassius with antonius. by these means he got them to consent to his passing a decree for the confirmation of all caesar's acts, without describing or naming them more precisely. at last, on the occasion of caesar's public funeral, he contrived so to inflame the populace against the conspirators, that brutus and cassius had some difficulty in defending their houses and their lives and he gradually alarmed them so much, and worked so cunningly on their fears that they all quitted rome. cicero also left rome, disapproving greatly of the vacillation and want of purpose in the conspirators. on the first of june antonius assembled the senate to deliberate on the affairs of the republic, and in the interval visited all parts of italy. in the meantime young octavius appeared on the stage; he had been left by caesar, who was his uncle, the heir to his name and estate. he returned from apollonia, in macedonia, to italy as soon as he heard of his uncle's death, and arrived at naples on the eighteenth of april, where he was introduced by hirtius and pansa to cicero, whom he promised to be guided in all respects by his directions. he was now between eighteen and nineteen years of age. he began by the representation of public spectacles and games in honour of caesar's victories. in the meantime antonius, in his progress through italy, was making great use of the decree confirming all caesar's acts, which he interpolated and forged in the most shameless manner. among other things he restored deiotarus to all his dominions, having been bribed to do so by a hundred millions of sesterces by the king's agents, but deiotarus himself, as soon as he heard of caesar's death, seized all his dominions by force. he also seized the public treasure which caesar had deposited in the temple of ops, amounting to above four millions and a half of our money, and with this he won over dolabella,[ ] who had seized the consulship on the death of caesar, and the greater part of the army. at the end of may cicero began to return towards rome, in order to arrive there in time for the meeting of the senate on the first of june, but many of his friends dissuaded him from entering the city, and at last he determined not to appear in the senate on that day, but to make a tour in greece, to assist him in which, dolabella named him one of his lieutenants. antonius also gave brutus and cassius commissions to buy corn in asia and sicily for the use of the republic, in order to keep them out of the city. meantime sextus pompeius, who was at the head of a considerable army in spain, addressed letters to the consuls proposing terms of accommodation, which after some debate, and some important modifications, were agreed to, and he quitted spain, and came as far as marseilles on his road towards rome. cicero having started for greece was forced to put back by contrary winds, and returned to velia on the seventeenth of august, where he had a long conference with brutus, who soon after left italy for his province of macedonia, which caesar had assigned him before his death, though antonius now wished to compel him to exchange it for crete. after this conference cicero returned to rome, where he was received with unexampled joy, immense multitudes thronging out to meet him, and to escort him into the city. he arrived in rome on the last day of august. the next day the senate met, to which he was particularly summoned by antonius, but he excused himself as not having recovered from the fatigue of his journey. antonius was greatly offended, and in his speech in the senate threatened openly to order his house to be pulled down, the real reason of cicero's absenting himself from the senate being, that the business of the day was to decree some new and extraordinary honours to caesar, and to order supplications to him as a divinity, which cicero was determined not to concur in, though he knew it would be useless to oppose them. the next day also the senate met, and antonius absented himself, but cicero came down and delivered the following speech, which is the first of that celebrated series of fourteen speeches made in opposition to antonius and his measures, and called philippics from the orations of demosthenes against philip, to which the romans were in the habit of comparing them.[ ] i. before, o conscript fathers, i say those things concerning the republic which i think myself bound to say at the present time, i will explain to you briefly the cause of my departure from, and of my return to the city. when i hoped that the republic was at last recalled to a proper respect for your wisdom and for your authority, i thought that it became me to remain in a sort of sentinelship, which was imposed upon me by my position as a senator and a man of consular rank. nor did i depart anywhere, nor did i ever take my eyes off from the republic, from the day on which we were summoned to meet in the temple of tellus,[ ] in which temple, i, as far as was in my power, laid the foundations of peace, and renewed the ancient precedent set by the athenians, i even used the greek word,[ ] which that city employed in those times in allaying discords, and gave my vote that all recollection of the existing dissensions ought to be effaced by everlasting oblivion. the oration then made by marcus antonius was an admirable one, his disposition, too, appeared excellent, and lastly, by his means and by his sons', peace was ratified with the most illustrious of the citizens, and everything else was consistent with this beginning. he invited the chief men of the state to those deliberations which he held at his own house concerning the state of the republic, he referred all the most important matters to this order. nothing was at that time found among the papers of caius caesar except what was already well known to everybody, and he gave answers to every question that was asked of him with the greatest consistency. were any exiles restored? he said that one was, and only one. were any immunities granted? he answered, none. he wished us even to adopt the proposition of servius sulpicius, that most illustrious man, that no tablet purporting to contain any decree or grant of caesar's should be published after the ides of march were expired. i pass over many other things, all excellent--for i am hastening to come to a very extraordinary act of virtue of marcus antonius. he utterly abolished from the constitution of the republic the dictatorship, which had by this time attained to the authority of regal power. and that measure was not even offered to us for discussion. he brought with him a decree of the senate, ready drawn up, ordering what he chose to have done: and when it had been read, we all submitted to his authority in the matter with the greatest eagerness; and, by another resolution of the senate, we returned him thanks in the most honourable and complimentary language. ii. a new light, as it were, seemed to be brought over us, now that not only the kingly power which we had endured, but all fear of such power for the future, was taken away from us; and a great pledge appeared to have been given by him to the republic that he did wish the city to be free, when he utterly abolished out of the republic the name of dictator, which had often been a legitimate title, on account of our late recollection of a perpetual dictatorship. a few days afterwards the senate was delivered from the danger of bloodshed, and a hook[ ] was fixed into that runaway slave who had usurped the name of caius marius. and all these things he did in concert with his colleague. some other things that were done were the acts of dolabella alone; but, if his colleague had not been absent, would, i believe, have been done by both of them in concert. for when enormous evil was insinuating itself into the republic, and was gaining more strength day by day; and when the same men were erecting a tomb[ ] in the forum, who had performed that irregular funeral; and when abandoned men, with slaves like themselves, were every day threatening with more and more vehemence all the houses and temples of the city; so severe was the rigour of dolabella, not only towards the audacious and wicked slaves, but also towards the profligate and unprincipled freemen, and so prompt was his overthrow of that accursed pillar, that it seems marvellous to me that the subsequent time has been so different from that one day. for behold, on the first of june, on which day they had given notice that we were all to attend the senate, everything was changed. nothing was done by the senate, but many and important measures were transacted by the agency of the people, though that people was both absent and disapproving. the consuls elect said, that they did not dare to come into the senate. the liberators of their country were absent from that city from the neck of which they had removed the yoke of slavery; though the very consuls themselves professed to praise them in their public harangues and in all their conversation. those who were called veterans, men of whose safety this order had been most particularly careful, were instigated not to the preservation of those things which they had, but to cherish hopes of new booty. and as i preferred hearing of those things to seeing them, and as i had an honorary commission as lieutenant, i went away, intending to be present on the first of january, which appeared likely to be the first day of assembling the senate. iii. i have now explained to you, o conscript fathers, my design in leaving the city. now i will briefly set before you, also, my intention in returning, which may perhaps appear more unaccountable. as i had avoided brundusium, and the ordinary route into greece, not without good reason, on the first of august i arrived at syracuse, because the passage from that city into greece was said to be a good one. and that city, with which i had so intimate a connexion, could not, though it was very eager to do so, detain me more than one night. i was afraid that my sudden arrival among my friends might cause some suspicion if i remained there at all. but after the winds had driven me, on my departure from sicily, to leucopetra, which is a promontory of the rhegian district, i went up the gulf from that point, with the view of crossing over. and i had not advanced far before i was driven back by a foul wind to the very place which i had just quitted. and as the night was stormy, and as i had lodged that night in the villa of publius valerius, my companion and intimate friend, and as i remained all the nest day at his house waiting for a fair wind, many of the citizens of the municipality of rhegium came to me. and of them there were some who had lately arrived from rome; from them i first heard of the harangue of marcus antonius, with which i was so much pleased that, after i had read it, i began for the first time to think of returning. and not long afterwards the edict of brutus and cassius is brought to me; which (perhaps because i love those men, even more for the sake of the republic than of my own friendship for them) appeared to me, indeed, to be full of equity. they added besides, (for it is a very common thing for those who are desirous of bringing good news to invent something to make the news which they bring seem more joyful,) that parties were coming to an agreement; that the senate was to meet on the first of august; that antonius having discarded all evil counsellors, and having given up the provinces of gaul, was about to return to submission to the authority of the senate. iv. but on this i was inflamed with such eagerness to return, that no oars or winds could be fast enough for me; not that i thought that i should not arrive in time, but lest i should be later than i wished in congratulating the republic; and i quickly arrived at velia, where i saw brutus; how grieved i was, i cannot express. for it seemed to be a discreditable thing for me myself, that i should venture to return into that city from which brutus was departing, and that i should be willing to live safely in a place where he could not. but he himself was not agitated in the same manner that i was; for, being elevated with the consciousness of his great and glorious exploit, he had no complaints to make of what had befallen him, though he lamented your fate exceedingly. and it was from him that i first heard what had been the language of lucius piso, in the senate of august; who, although he was but little assisted (for that i heard from brutus himself) by those who ought to have seconded him, still according to the testimony of brutus, (and what evidence can be more trustworthy?) and to the avowal of every one whom i saw afterwards, appeared to me to have gained great credit. i hastened hither, therefore, in order that as those who were present had not seconded him, i might do so; not with the hope of doing any good, for i neither hoped for that, nor did i well see how it was possible; but in order that if anything happened to me, (and many things appeared to be threatening me out of the regular course of nature, and even of destiny,) i might still leave my speech on this day as a witness to the republic of my everlasting attachment to its interests. since, then, o conscript fathers, i trust that the reason of my adopting each determination appears praiseworthy to you, before i begin to speak of the republic, i will make a brief complaint of the injury which marcus antonius did me yesterday, to whom i am friendly, and i have at all times admitted having received some services from him which make it my duty to be so. v. what reason had he then for endeavouring, with such bitter hostility, to force me into the senate yesterday? was i the only person who was absent? have you not repeatedly had thinner houses than yesterday? or was a matter of such importance under discussion, that it was desirable for even sick men to be brought down? hannibal, i suppose, was at the gates, or there was to be a debate about peace with pyrrhus, on which occasion it is related that even the great appius, old and blind as he was, was brought down to the senate-house. there was a motion being made about some supplications, a kind of measure when senators are not usually wanting, for they are under the compulsion, not of pledges, but of the influence of those men whose honour is being complimented, and the case is the same when the motion has reference to a triumph. the consuls are so free from anxiety at these times, that it is almost entirely free for a senator to absent himself if he pleases. and as the general custom of our body was well known to me, and as i was hardly recovered from the fatigue of my journey, and was vexed with myself, i sent a man to him, out of regard for my friendship to him, to tell him that i should not be there. but he, in the hearing of you all, declared that he would come with masons to my house; this was said with too much passion and very intemperately. for, for what crime is there such a heavy punishment appointed as that, that any one should venture to say in this assembly that he, with the assistance of a lot of common operatives, would pull down a house which had been built at the public expense in accordance with a vote of the senate? and who ever employed such compulsion as the threat of such an injury as to a senator? or what severer punishment has ever been he himself was unable to perform? as, in fact, he has failed to perform many promises made to many people. and a great many more of those promises have been found since his death, than the number of all the services which he conferred on and did to people during all the years that he was alive would amount to. but all those things i do not change, i do not meddle with. nay, i defend all his good acts with the greatest earnestness. would that the money remained in the temple of opis! bloodstained, indeed, it may be, but still needful at these times, since it is not restored to those to whom it really belongs.[ ] let that, however, be squandered too, if it is so written in his acts. is there anything whatever that can be called so peculiarly the act of that man who, while clad in the robe of peace, was yet invested with both civil and military command in the republic, as a law of his? ask for the acts of gracchus, the sempronian laws will be brought forward; ask for those of sylla, you will have the cornelian laws. what more? in what acts did the third consulship of cnaeus pompeius consist? why, in his laws. and if you could ask caesar himself what he had done in the city and in the garb of peace, he would reply that he had passed many excellent laws; but his memoranda he would either alter or not produce at all; or, if he did produce them, he would not class them among his acts. but, however, i allow even these things to pass for acts; at some things i am content to wink; but i think it intolerable that the acts of caesar in the most important instances, that is to say, in his laws, are to be annulled for their sake. viii. what law was ever better, more advantageous, more frequently demanded in the best ages of the republic, than the one which forbade the praetorian provinces to be retained more than a year, and the consular provinces more than two? if this law be abrogated, do you think that the acts of caesar are maintained? what? are not all the laws of caesar respecting judicial proceedings abrogated by the law which has been proposed concerning the third decury? and are you the defenders of the acts of caesar who overturn his laws? unless, indeed, anything which, for the purpose of recollecting it, he entered in a note-book, is to be counted among his acts, and defended, however unjust or useless it may be; and that which he proposed to the people in the comitia centuriata and carried, is not to be accounted one of the acts of caesar. but what is that third decury? the decury of centurions, says he. what? was not the judicature open to that order by the julian law, and even before that by the pompeian and aurelian laws? the income of the men, says he, was exactly defined. certainly, not only in the case of a centurion, but in the case, too, of a roman knight. therefore, men of the highest honour and of the greatest bravery, who have acted as centurions, are and have been judges. i am not asking about those men, says he. whoever has acted as centurion, let him be a judge. but if you were to propose a law, that whoever had served in the cavalry, which is a higher post, should be a judge, you would not be able to induce any one to approve of that; for a man's fortune and worth ought to be regarded in a judge. i am not asking about those points, says he; i am going to add as judges, common soldiers of the legion of alaudae;[ ] for our friends say, that that is the only measure by which they can be saved. oh what an insulting compliment it is to those men whom you summon to act as judges though they never expected it! for the effect of the law is, to make those men judges in the third decury who do not dare to judge with freedom. and in that how great, o ye immortal gods! is the error of those men who have desired that law. for the meaner the condition of each judge is, the greater will be the severity of judgment with which he will seek to efface the idea of his meanness; and he will strive rather to appear worthy of being classed in the honourable decuries, than to have deservedly ranked in a disreputable one. ix. another law was proposed, that men who had been condemned of violence and treason may appeal to the public if they please. is this now a law, or rather an abrogation of all laws? for who is there at this day to whom it is an object that that law should stand? no one is accused under those laws; there is no one whom we think likely to be so accused. for measures which have been carried by force of arms will certainly never be impeached in a court of justice. but the measure is a popular one. i wish, indeed, that you were willing to promote any popular measure; for, at present, all the citizens agree with one mind and one voice in their view of its bearing on the safety of the republic. what is the meaning, then, of the eagerness to pass the law which brings with it the greatest possible infamy, and no popularity at all? for what can be more discreditable than for a man who has committed treason against the roman people by acts of violence, after he has been condemned by a legal decision, to be able to return to that very course of violence, on account of which he has been condemned? but why do i argue any more about this law? as if the object aimed at were to enable any one to appeal? the object is, the inevitable consequence must be, that no one can ever be prosecuted under those laws. for what prosecutor will be found insane enough to be willing, after the defendant has been condemned, to expose himself to the fury of a hired mob? or what judge will be bold enough to venture to condemn a criminal, knowing that he will immediately be dragged before a gang of hireling operatives? it is not, therefore, a right of appeal that is given by that law, but two most salutary laws and modes of judicial investigation that are abolished. and what is this but exhorting young men to be turbulent, seditious, mischievous citizens? to what extent of mischief will it not be possible to instigate the frenzy of the tribunes now that these two rights of impeachment for violence and for treason are annulled? what more? is not this a substitution of a new law for the laws of caesar, which enact that every man who has been convicted of violence, and also every man who has been convicted of treason, shall be interdicted from fire and water? and, when those men have a right of appeal given them, are not the acts of caesar rescinded? and those acts, o conscript fathers, i, who never approved of them, have still thought it advisable to maintain for the sake of concord, so that i not only did not think that the laws which caesar had passed in his lifetime ought to be repealed, but i did not approve of meddling with those even which since the death of caesar you have seen produced and published. x. men have been recalled from banishment by a dead man; the freedom of the city has been conferred, not only on individuals, but on entire nations and provinces by a dead man; our revenues have been diminished by the granting of countless exemptions by a dead man. therefore, do we defend these measures which have been brought from his house on the authority of a single, but, i admit, a very excellent individual, and as for the laws which he, in your presence, read, and declared, and passed,--in the passing of which he gloried, and on which he believed that the safety of the republic depended, especially those concerning provinces and concerning judicial proceedings,--can we, i say, we who defend the acts of caesar, think that those laws deserve to be upset? and yet, concerning those laws which were proposed, we have, at all events, the power of complaining, but concerning those which are actually passed we have not even had that privilege. for they, without any proposal of them to the people, were passed before they were framed. men ask, what is the reason why i, or why any one of you, o conscript fathers, should be afraid of bad laws while we have virtuous tribunes of the people? we have men ready to interpose their veto, ready to defend the republic with the sanctions of religion. we ought to be strangers to fear. what do you mean by interposing the veto? says he, what are all these sanctions of religion which you are talking about? those, forsooth, on which the safety of the republic depends. we are neglecting those things, and thinking them too old-fashioned and foolish. the forum will be surrounded, every entrance of it will be blocked up, armed men will be placed in garrison, as it were, at many points. what then?--whatever is accomplished by those means will be law. and you will order, i suppose, all those regularly passed decrees to be engraved on brazen tablets "the consuls consulted the people in regular form," (is this the way of consulting the people that we have received from our ancestors?) "and the people voted it with due regularity" what people? that which was excluded from the forum? under what law did they do so? under that which has been wholly abrogated by violence and arms? but i am saying all this with reference to the future, because it is the part of a friend to point out evils which may be avoided and if they never ensue, that will be the best refutation of my speech. i am speaking of laws which have been proposed, concerning which you have still full power to decide either way. i am pointing out the defects, away with them! i am denouncing violence and arms, away with them too! xi. you and your colleague, o dolabella, ought not, indeed, to be angry with me for speaking in defence of the republic. although i do not think that you yourself will be; i know your willingness to listen to reason. they say that your colleague, in this fortune of his, which he himself thinks so good, but which would seem to me more favourable if (not to use any harsh language) he were to imitate the example set him by the consulship of his grandfathers and of his uncle,--they say that he has been exceedingly offended. and i see what a formidable thing it is to have the same man angry with me and also armed; especially at a time when men can use their swords with such impunity. but i will propose a condition which i myself think reasonable, and which i do not imagine marcus antonius will reject. if i have said anything insulting against his way of life or against his morals, i will not object to his being my bitterest enemy. but if i have maintained the same habits that i have already adopted in the republic,--that is, if i have spoken my opinions concerning the affairs of the republic with freedom,--in the first place, i beg that he will not be angry with me for that; but, in the next place, if i cannot obtain my first request, i beg at least that he will show his anger only as he legitimately may show it to a fellow-citizen. let him employ arms, if it is necessary, as he says it is, for his own defence: only let not those arms injure those men who have declared their honest sentiments in the affairs of the republic. now, what can be more reasonable than this demand? but if, as has been said to me by some of his intimate friends, every speech which is at all contrary to his inclination is violently offensive to him, even if there be no insult in it whatever; then we will bear with the natural disposition of our friend. but those men, at the same time, say to me, "you will not have the same licence granted to you who are the adversary of caesar as might be claimed by piso his father-in-law." and then they warn me of something which i must guard against; and certainly, the excuse which sickness supplies me with, for not coming to the senate, will not be a more valid one than that which is furnished by death. xii. but, in the name of the immortal gods! for while i look upon you, o dolabella, who are most dear to me, it is impossible for me to keep silence respecting the error into which you are both falling; for i believe that you, being both men of high birth, entertaining lofty views, have been eager to acquire, not money, as some too credulous people suspect, a thing which has at all times been scorned by every honourable and illustrious man, nor power procured by violence and authority such as never ought to be endured by the roman people, but the affection of your fellow-citizens, and glory. but glory is praise for deeds which have been done, and the fame earned by great services to the republic; which is approved of by the testimony borne in its favour, not only by every virtuous man, but also by the multitude. i would tell you, o dolabella, what the fruit of good actions is, if i did not see that you have already learnt it by experience beyond all other men. what day can you recollect in your whole life, as ever having beamed on you with a more joyful light than the one on which, having purified the forum, having routed the throng of wicked men, having inflicted due punishment on the ringleaders in wickedness, and having delivered the city from conflagration and from fear of massacre, you returned to your house? what order of society, what class of people, what rank of nobles even was there who did not then show their zeal in praising and congratulating you? even i, too, because men thought that you had been acting by my advice in those transactions, received the thanks and congratulations of good men in your name. remember, i pray you, o dolabella, the unanimity displayed on that day in the theatre, when every one, forgetful of the causes on account of which they had been previously offended with you, showed that in consequence of your recent service they had banished all recollection of their former indignation. could you, o dolabella, (it is with great concern that i speak,)--could you, i say, forfeit this dignity with equanimity? xiii. and you, o marcus antonius, (i address myself to you, though in your absence,) do you not prefer that day on which the senate was assembled in the temple of tellus, to all those months during which some who differ greatly in opinion from me think that you have been happy? what a noble speech was that of yours about unanimity! from what apprehensions were the veterans, and from what anxiety was the whole state relieved by you on that occasion! when, having laid aside your enmity against him, you on that day first consented that your present colleague should be your colleague, forgetting that the auspices had been announced by yourself as augur of the roman people; and when your little son was sent by you to the capitol to be a hostage for peace. on what day was the senate ever more joyful than on that day? or when was the roman people more delighted? which had never met in greater numbers in any assembly whatever. then, at last, we did appear to have been really delivered by brave men, because, as they had willed it to be, peace was following liberty on the next day, on the day after that, on the third day, and on all the following days, you went on without intermission giving every day, as it were, some fresh present to the republic, but the greatest of all presents was that, when you abolished the name of the dictatorship. this was in effect branding the name of the dead caesar with everlasting ignominy, and it was your doing,--yours, i say. for as, on account of the wickedness of one marcus manlius, by a resolution of the manlian family it is unlawful that any patrician should be called manlius, so you, on account of the hatred excited by one dictator, have utterly abolished the name of dictator. when you had done these mighty exploits for the safety of the republic, did you repent of your fortune, or of the dignity and renown and glory which you had acquired? whence then is this sudden change? i cannot be induced to suspect that you have been caught by the desire of acquiring money; every one may say what he pleases, but we are not bound to believe such a thing; for i never saw anything sordid or anything mean in you. although a man's intimate friends do sometimes corrupt his natural disposition, still i know your firmness; and i only wish that, as you avoid that fault, you had been able also to escape all suspicion of it. xiv. what i am more afraid of is lest, being ignorant of the true path to glory, you should think it glorious for you to have more power by yourself than all the rest of the people put together, and lest you should prefer being feared by your fellow-citizens to being loved by them. and if you do think so, you are ignorant of the road to glory. for a citizen to be dear to his fellow-citizens, to deserve well of the republic, to be praised, to be respected, to be loved, is glorious; but to be feared, and to be an object of hatred, is odious, detestable; and moreover, pregnant with weakness and decay. and we see that, even in the play, the very man who said, "what care i though all men should hate my name, so long as fear accompanies their hate?" found that it was a mischievous principle to act upon. i wish, o antonius, that you could recollect your grand father of whom, however, you have repeatedly heard me speak. do you think that he would have been willing to deserve even immortality, at the price of being feared in consequence of his licentious use of arms? what he considered life, what he considered prosperity, was the being equal to the rest of the citizens in freedom, and chief of them all in worth. therefore, to say no more of the prosperity of your grandfather, i should prefer that most bitter day of his death to the domination of lucius cinna, by whom he was most barbarously slain. but why should i seek to make an impression on you by my speech? for, if the end of caius caesar cannot influence you to prefer being loved to being feared, no speech of any one will do any good or have any influence with you; and those who think him happy are themselves miserable. no one is happy who lives on such terms that he may be put to death not merely with impunity, but even to the great glory of his slayer. wherefore, change your mind, i entreat you, and look back upon your ancestors, and govern the republic in such a way that your fellow-citizens may rejoice that you were born; without which no one can be happy nor illustrious. xv. and, indeed, you have both of you had many judgments delivered respecting you by the roman people, by which i am greatly concerned that you are not sufficiently influenced. for what was the meaning of the shouts of the innumerable crowd of citizens collected at the gladiatorial games? or of the verses made by the people? or of the extraordinary applause at the sight of the statue of pompeius? and at that sight of the two tribunes of the people who are opposed to you? are these things a feeble indication of the incredible unanimity of the entire roman people? what more? did the applause at the games of apollo, or, i should rather say, testimony and judgment there given by the roman people, appear to you of small importance? oh! happy are those men who, though they themselves were unable to be present on account of the violence of arms, still were present in spirit, and had a place in the breasts and hearts of the roman people. unless, perhaps, you think that it was accius who was applauded on that occasion, and who bore off the palm sixty years after his first appearance, and not brutus, who was absent from the games which he himself was exhibiting, while at that most splendid spectacle the roman people showed their zeal in his favour though he was absent, and soothed their own regret for their deliverer by uninterrupted applause and clamour. i myself, indeed, am a man who have at all times despised that applause which is bestowed by the vulgar crowd, but at the same time, when it is bestowed by those of the highest, and of the middle, and of the lowest rank, and, in short, by all ranks together, and when those men who were previously accustomed to aim at nothing but the favour of the people keep aloof, i then think that, not mere applause, but a deliberate verdict. if this appears to you unimportant, which is in reality most significant, do you also despise the fact of which you have had experience,--namely, that the life of aulus hirtius is so dear to the roman people? for it was sufficient for him to be esteemed by the roman people as he is; to be popular among his friends, in which respect he surpasses everybody; to be beloved by his own kinsmen, who do love him beyond measure; but in whose case before do we ever recollect such anxiety and such fear being manifested? certainly in no one's. what, then, are we to do? in the name of the immortal gods, can you interpret these facts, and see what is their purport? what do you think that those men think of your lives, to whom the lives of those men who they hope will consult the welfare of the republic are so dear? i have reaped, o conscript fathers, the reward of my return, since i have said enough to bear testimony of my consistency whatever event may befall me, and since i have been kindly and attentively listened to by you. and if i have such opportunities frequently without exposing both myself and you to danger, i shall avail myself of them. if not, as far as i can i shall reserve myself not for myself, but rather for the republic. i have lived long enough for the course of human life, or for my own glory. if any additional life is granted to me, it shall be bestowed not so much on myself as on you and on the republic. the second speech of m.t. cicero against marcus antonius. called also the second philippic. * * * * * the argument. this second speech was not actually spoken at all. antonius was greatly enraged at the first speech, and summoned another meeting of the senate for the nineteenth day of the month, giving cicero especial notice to be present, and he employed the interval in preparing an invective against cicero, and a reply to the first philippic. the senate met in the temple of concord, but cicero himself was persuaded not to attend by his friends, who were afraid of antonius proceeding to actual violence against him, (and indeed he brought a strong guard of armed men with him to the senate) he spoke with the greatest fury against cicero, charging him with having been the principal author and contriver of caesar's murder, hoping by this to inflame the soldiers, whom he had posted within hearing of his harangue. soon after this, cicero removed to a villa near naples for greater safety, and here he composed this second philippic, which he did not publish immediately, but contented himself at first with sending a copy to brutus and cassius, who were much pleased with it. i. to what destiny of mine, o conscript fathers, shall i say that it is owing, that none for the last twenty years has been an enemy to the republic without at the same time declaring war against me? nor is there any necessity for naming any particular person; you yourselves recollect instances in proof of my statement. they have all hitherto suffered severer punishments than i could have wished for them; but i marvel that you, o antonius, do not fear the end of those men whose conduct you are imitating. and in others i was less surprised at this. none of those men of former times was a voluntary enemy to me; all of them were attacked by me for the sake of the republic. but you, who have never been injured by me, not even by a word, in order to appear more audacious than catiline, more frantic than clodius, have of your own accord attacked me with abuse, and have considered that your alienation from me would be a recommendation of you to impious citizens. what am i to think? that i have been despised? i see nothing either in my life, or in my influence in the city, or in my exploits, or even in the moderate abilities with which i am endowed, which antonius can despise. did he think that it was easiest to disparage me in the senate? a body which has borne its testimony in favour of many most illustrious citizens that they governed the republic well, but in favour of me alone, of all men, that i preserved it. or did he wish to contend with me in a rivalry of eloquence? this, indeed, is an act of generosity; for what could be a more fertile or richer subject for me, than to have to speak in defence of myself, and against antonius? this, in fact, is the truth. he thought it impossible to prove to the satisfaction of those men who resembled himself, that he was an enemy to his country, if he was not also an enemy to me. and before i make him any reply on the other topics of his speech, i will say a few words; respecting the friendship formerly subsisting between us, which he has accused me of violating,--for that i consider a most serious charge. ii. he has complained that i pleaded once against his interest. was i not to plead against one with whom i was quite i unconnected, in behalf of an intimate acquaintance, of a dear friend? was i not to plead against interest acquired not by hopes of virtue, but by the disgrace of youth? was i not to plead against an injustice which that man procured to be done by the obsequiousness of a most iniquitous interposer of his veto, not by any law regulating the privileges of the praetor? but i imagine that this was mentioned by you, in order that you might recommend yourself to the citizens, if they all recollected that you were the son-in-law of a freedman, and that your children were the grandsons of quintus fadius a freedman. but you had entirely devoted yourself to my principles; (for this is what you said;) you had been in the habit of coming to my house. in truth, if you had done so, you would more have consulted your own character and your reputation for chastity. but you did not do so, nor, if you had wished it, would caius curio have ever suffered you to do so. you have said, that you retired in my favour from the contest for the augurship. oh the incredible audacity! oh the monstrous impudence of such an assertion! for, at the time when cnaeus pompeius and quintus hortensius named me as augur, after i had been wished for as such by the whole college, (for it was not lawful for me to be put in nomination by more than two members of the college,) you were notoriously insolvent, nor did you think it possible for your safety to be secured by any other means than by the destruction of the republic. but was it possible for you to stand for the augurship at a time when curio was not in italy? or even at the time when you were elected, could you have got the votes of one single tribe without the aid of curio? whose intimate friends even were convicted of violence for having been too zealous in your favour. iii. but i availed myself of your friendly assistance. of what assistance? although the instance which you cite i have myself at all times openly admitted. i preferred confessing that i was under obligations to you, to letting myself appear to any foolish person not sufficiently grateful. however, what was the kindness that you did me? not killing me at brundusium? would you then have slain the man whom the conqueror himself, who conferred on you, as you used to boast, the chief rank among all his robbers, had desired to be safe, and had enjoined to go to italy? grant that you could have slain him, is not this, o conscript fathers, such a kindness as is done by banditti, who are contented with being able to boast that they have granted their lives to all those men whose lives they have not taken? and if that were really a kindness, then these who slew that man by whom they themselves had been saved, and whom you yourself are in the habit of styling most illustrious men, would never have acquired such immortal glory. but what sort of kindness is it, to have abstained from committing nefarious wickedness? it is a case in which it ought not to appear so delightful to me not to have been killed by you, as miserable, that it should have been in your power to do such a thing with impunity. however, grant that it was a kindness, since no greater kindness could be received from a robber, still in what point can you call me ungrateful? ought i not to complain of the ruin of the republic, lest i should appear ungrateful towards you? but in that complaint, mournful indeed and miserable, but still unavoidable for a man of that rank in which the senate and people of rome have placed me, what did i say that was insulting? that was otherwise than moderate? that was otherwise than friendly? and what instance was it not of moderation to complain of the conduct of marcus antonius, and yet to abstain from any abusive expressions? especially when you had scattered abroad all relics of the republic; when everything was on sale at your house by the most infamous traffic; when you confessed that those laws which had never been promulgated, had been passed with reference to you, and by you; when you, being augur, had abolished the auspices; being consul, had taken away the power of interposing the veto; when you were escorted in the most shameful manner by armed guards; when, worn out with drunkenness and debauchery, you were every day performing all sorts of obscenities in that chaste house of yours. but i, as if i had to contend against marcus crassus, with whom i have had many severe struggles, and not with a most worthless gladiator, while complaining in dignified language of the state of the republic, did not say one word which could be called personal. therefore, to-day i will make him understand with what great kindness he was then treated by me. iv. but he also read letters which he said that i had sent to him, like a man devoid of humanity and ignorant of the common usages of life. for who ever, who was even but slightly acquainted with the habits of polite men, produced in an assembly and openly read letters which had been sent to him by a friend, just because some quarrel had arisen between them? is not this destroying all companionship in life, destroying the means by which absent friends converse together? how many jests are frequently put in letters, which, if they were produced in public, would appear stupid! how many serious opinions, which, for all that, ought not to be published! let this be a proof of your utter ignorance of courtesy. now mark, also, his incredible folly. what have you to oppose to me, o you eloquent man, as you seem at least to mustela tamisius, and to tiro numisius? and while these men are standing at this very time in the sight of the senate with drawn swords, i too will think you an eloquent man if you will show how you would defend them if they were charged with being assassins. however what answer would you make if i were to deny that i ever sent those letters to you? by what evidence could you convict me? by my handwriting? of handwriting indeed you have a lucrative knowledge.[ ] how can you prove it in that manner? for the letters are written by an amanuensis. by this time i envy your teacher, who for all that payment, which i shall mention presently, has taught you to know nothing. for what can be less like, i do not say an orator, but a man, than to reproach an adversary with a thing which if he denies by one single word, he who has reproached him cannot advance one step further? but i do not deny it; and in this very point i convict you not only of inhumanity but also of madness. for what expression is there in those letters which is not full of humanity and service and benevolence? and the whole of your charge amounts to this, that i do not express a bad opinion of you in those letters; that in them i wrote as to a citizen, and as to a virtuous man, not as to a wicked man and a robber. but your letters i will not produce, although i fairly might, now that i am thus challenged by you; letters in which you beg of me that you may be enabled by my consent to procure the recall of some one from exile; and you will not attempt it if i have any objection, and you prevail on me by your entreaties. for why should i put myself in the way of your audacity? when neither the authority of this body, nor the opinion of the roman people, nor any laws are able to restrain you. however, what was the object of your addressing these entreaties to me, if the man for whom you were entreating was already restored by a law of caesar's? i suppose the truth was, that he wished it to be done by me as a favour; in which matter there could not be any favour done even by himself, if a law was already passed for the purpose. v. but as, o conscript fathers, i have many things which i must say both in my own defence and against marcus antonius, one thing i ask you, that you will listen to me with kindness while i am speaking for myself; the other i will ensure myself, namely, that you shall listen to me with attention while speaking against him. at the same time also, i beg this of you; that if you have been acquainted with my moderation and modesty throughout my whole life, and especially as a speaker, you will not, when to-day i answer this man in the spirit in which he has attacked me, think that i have forgotten my usual character. i will not treat him as a consul, for he did not treat me as a man of consular rank; and although he in no respect deserves to be considered a consul, whether we regard his way of life, or his principle of governing the republic, or the manner in which he was elected, i am beyond all dispute a man of consular rank. that, therefore, you might understand what sort of a consul he professed to be himself, he reproached me with my consulship;--a consulship which, o conscript fathers, was in name, indeed, mine, but in reality yours. for what did i determine, what did i contrive, what did i do, that was not determined, contrived, or done, by the counsel and authority and in accordance with the sentiments of this order? and have you, o wise man, o man not merely eloquent, dared to find fault with these actions before the very men by whose counsel and wisdom they were performed? but who was ever found before, except publius clodius, to find fault with my consulship? and his fate indeed awaits you, as it also awaited caius curio; since that is now in your house which was fatal to each of them.[ ] marcus antonius disapproves of my consulship; but it was approved of by publius servilius--to name that man first of the men of consular rank who had died most recently. it was approved of by quintus catulus, whose authority will always carry weight in this republic; it was approved of by the two luculli, by marcus crassus, by quintus hortensius, by caius curio, by caius piso, by marcus glabrio, by marcus lepidus, by lucius volcatius, by caius figulus, by decimus silanus and lucius murena, who at that time were the consuls elect; the same consulship also which was approved of by those men of consular rank, was approved of by marcus cato; who escaped many evils by departing from this life, and especially the evil of seeing you consul. but, above all, my consulship was approved of by cnaeus pompeius, who, when he first saw me, as he was leaving syria, embracing me and congratulating me, said, that it was owing to my services that he was about to see his country again. but why should i mention individuals? it was approved of by the senate, in a very full house, so completely, that there was no one who did not thank me as if i had been his parent, who did not attribute to me the salvation of his life, of his fortunes, of his children, and of the republic. vi. but, since the republic has been now deprived of those men whom i have named, many and illustrious as they were, let us come to the living, since two of the men of consular rank are still left to us: lucius cotta, a man of the greatest genius and the most consummate prudence, proposed a supplication in my honour for those very actions with which you find fault, in the most complimentary language, and those very men of consular rank whom i have named, and the whole senate, adopted his proposal; an honour which has never been paid to any one else in the garb of peace from the foundation of the city to my time. with what eloquence, with what firm wisdom, with what a weight of authority did lucius caesar your uncle, pronounce his opinion against the husband of his own sister, your stepfather. but you, when you ought to have taken him as your adviser and tutor in all your designs, and in the whole conduct of your life, preferred being like your stepfather to resembling your uncle. i, who had no connexion with him, acted by his counsels while i was consul. did you, who were his sister's son, ever once consult him on the affairs of the republic? but who are they whom antonius does consult? o ye immortal gods, they are men whose birthdays we have still to learn. to-day antonius is not coming down. why? he is celebrating the birthday feast at his villa. in whose honour? i will name no one. suppose it is in honour of some phormio, or gnatho, or even ballio.[ ] oh the abominable profligacy of the man! oh how intolerable is his impudence, his debauchery, and his lust! can you, when you have one of the chiefs of the senate, a citizen of singular virtue, so nearly related to you, abstain from ever consulting him on the affairs of the republic, and consult men who have no property whatever of their own, and are draining yours? vii. yes, your consulship, forsooth, is a salutary one for the state, mine a mischievous one. have you so entirely lost all shame as well as all chastity, that you could venture to say this in that temple in which i was consulting that senate which formerly in the full enjoyment of its honours presided over the world? and did you place around it abandoned men armed with swords? but you have dared besides (what is there which you would not dare?) to say that the capitoline hill, when i was consul, was full of armed slaves. i was offering violence to the senate, i suppose, in order to compel the adoption of those infamous decrees of the senate. o wretched man, whether those things are not known to you, (for you know nothing that is good,) or whether they are, when you dare to speak so shamelessly before such men! for what roman knight was there, what youth of noble birth except you, what man of any rank or class who recollected that he was a citizen, who was not on the capitoline hill while the senate was assembled in this temple? who was there, who did not give in his name? although there could not be provided checks enough, nor were the books able to contain their names. in truth, when wicked men, being compelled by the revelations of the accomplices, by their own handwriting, and by what i may almost call the voices of their letters, were confessing that they had planned the parricidal destruction of their country, and that they had agreed to burn the city, to massacre the citizens, to devastate italy, to destroy the republic; who could have existed without being roused to defend the common safety? especially when the senate and people of rome had a leader then; and if they had one now like he was then, the same fate would befall you which did overtake them. he asserts that the body of his stepfather was not allowed burial by me. but this is an assertion that was never made by publius clodius, a man whom, as i was deservedly an enemy of his, i grieve now to see surpassed by you in every sort of vice. but how could it occur to you to recal to our recollection that you had been educated in the house of publius lentulus? were you afraid that we might think that you could have turned out as infamous as you are by the mere force of nature, if your natural qualities had not been strengthened by education? viii. but you are so senseless that throughout the whole of your speech you were at variance with yourself; so that you said things which had not only no coherence with each other but which were most inconsistent with and contradictory to one another; so that there was not so much opposition between you and me as there was between you and yourself. you confessed that your stepfather had been duplicated in that enormous wickedness, yet you complained that he had had punishment inflicted on him. and by doing so you praised what was peculiarly my achievement, and blamed that which was wholly the act of the senate. for the detection and arrest of the guilty parties was my work, their punishment was the work of the senate. but that eloquent man does not perceive that the man against whom he is speaking is being praised by him, and that those before whom he is speaking are being attacked by him. but now what an act, i will not say of audacity, (for he is anxious to be audacious,) but (and that is what he is not desirous of) what an act of folly, in which he surpasses all men, is it to make mention of the capitoline hill, at a time when armed men are actually between our benches--when men, armed with swords, are now stationed in this same temple of concord, o ye immortal gods, in which, while i was consul, opinions most salutary to the state were delivered, owing to which it is that we are all alive at this day. accuse the senate; accuse the equestrian body, which at that time was united with the senate; accuse every order of society, and all the citizens, as long as you confess that this assembly at this very moment is besieged by ityrean[ ] soldiers. it is not so much a proof of audacity to advance these statements so impudently, as of utter want of sense to be unable to see their contradictory nature. for what is more insane than, after you yourself have taken up arms to do mischief to the republic, to reproach another with having taken them up to secure its safety? on one occasion you attempted even to be witty. o ye good gods, how little did that attempt suit you! and yet you are a little to be blamed for your failure in that instance, too. for you might have got some wit from your wife, who was an actress. "arms to the gown must yield." well, have they not yielded? but afterwards the gown yielded to your arms. let us inquire then whether it was better for the arms of wicked men to yield to the freedom of the roman people, or that our liberty should yield to your arms. nor will i make any further reply to you about the verses. i will only say briefly that you do not understand them, nor any other literature whatever. that i have never at any time been wanting to the claims that either the republic or my friends had upon me; but nevertheless that in all the different sorts of composition on which i have employed myself, during my leisure hours, i have always endeavoured to make my labours and my writings such as to be some advantage to our youth, and some credit to the roman name. but, however, all this has nothing to do with the present occasion. let us consider more important matters. ix. you have said that publius clodius was slain by my contrivance. what would men have thought if he had been slain at the time when you pursued him in the forum with a drawn sword, in the sight of all the roman people; and when you would have settled his business if he had not thrown himself up the stairs of a bookseller's shop, and, shutting them against you, checked your attack by that means? and i confess that at that time i favoured you, but even you yourself do not say that i had advised your attempt. but as for milo, it was not possible even for me to favour his action. for he had finished the business before any one could suspect that he was going to do it. oh, but i advised it. i suppose milo was a man of such a disposition that he was not able to do a service to the republic if he had not some one to advise him to do it. but i rejoiced at it. well, suppose i did; was i to be the only sorrowful person in the city, when every one else was in such delight? although that inquiry into the death of publius clodius was not instituted with any great wisdom. for what was the reason for having a new law to inquire into the conduct of the man who had slain him, when there was a form of inquiry already established by the laws? however, an inquiry was instituted. and have you now been found, so many years afterwards, to say a thing which, at the time that the affair was under discussion, no one ventured to say against me? but as to the assertion that you have dared to make, and that at great length too, that it was by my means that pompeius was alienated from his friendship with caesar, and that on that account it was my fault that the civil war was originated; in that you have not erred so much in the main facts, as (and that is of the greatest importance) in the times. x. when marcus bibulus, a most illustrious citizen, was consul, i omitted nothing which i could possibly do or attempt to draw off pompeius from his union with caesar. in which, however, caesar was more fortunate than i, for he himself drew off pompeius from his intimacy with me. but afterwards, when pompeius joined caesar with all his heart, what could have been my object in attempting to separate them then? it would have been the part of a fool to hope to do so, and of an impudent man to advise it. however, two occasions did arise, on which i gave pompeius advice against caesar. you are at liberty to find fault with my conduct on those occasions if you can. one was when i advised him not to continue caesar's government for five years more. the other, when i advised him not to permit him to be considered as a candidate for the consulship when he was absent. and if i had been able to prevail on him in either of these particulars, we should never have fallen into our present miseries. moreover, i also, when pompeius had now devoted to the service of caesar all his own power, and all the power of the roman people, and had begun when it was too late to perceive all those things which i had foreseen long before, and when i saw that a nefarious war was about to be waged against our country, i never ceased to be the adviser of peace, and concord, and some arrangement. and that language of mine was well known to many people,--"i wish, o cnaeus pompeius, that you had either never joined in a confederacy with caius caesar, or else that you had never broken it off. the one conduct would have become your dignity, and the other would have been suited to your prudence." this, o marcus antonius, was at all times my advice both respecting pompeius and concerning the republic. and if it had prevailed, the republic would still be standing, and you would have perished through your own crimes, and indigence, and infamy. xi. but these are all old stories now. this charge, however, is quite a modern one, that caesar was slain by my contrivance. i am afraid, o conscript fathers, lest i should appear to you to have brought up a sham accuser against myself (which is a most disgraceful thing to do); a man not only to distinguish me by the praises which are my due, but to load me also with those which do not belong to me. for who ever heard my name mentioned as an accomplice in that most glorious action? and whose name has been concealed who was in the number of that gallant band? concealed, do i say? whose name was there which was not at once made public? i should sooner say that some men had boasted in order to appear to have been concerned in that conspiracy, though they had in reality known nothing of it, than that any one who had been an accomplice in it could have wished to be concealed. moreover, how likely it is, that among such a number of men, some obscure, some young men who had not the wit to conceal any one, my name could possibly have escaped notice! indeed, if leaders were wanted for the purpose of delivering the country, what need was there of my instigating the bruti, one of whom saw every day in his house the image of lucius brutus, and the other saw also the image of ahala? were these the men to seek counsel from the ancestors of others rather than from their own? and out of doors rather than at home? what? caius cassius, a man of that family which could not endure, i will not say the domination, but even the power of any individual,--he, i suppose, was in need of me to instigate him? a man who, even without the assistance of these other most illustrious men, would have accomplished this same deed in cilicia, at the mouth of the river cydnus, if caesar had brought his ships to that bank of the river which he had intended, and not to the opposite one. was cnaeus domitius spurred on to seek to recover his dignity, not by the death of his father, a most illustrious man, nor by the death of his uncle, nor by the deprivation of his own dignity, but by my advice and authority? did i persuade caius trebonius? a man whom i should not have ventured even to advise. on which account the republic owes him even a larger debt of gratitude, because he preferred the liberty of the roman people to the friendship of one man, and because he preferred overthrowing arbitrary power to sharing it. was i the instigator whom lucius tillius cimber followed? a man whom i admired for having performed that action, rather than ever expected that he would perform it; and i admired him on this account, that he was unmindful of the personal kindnesses which he had received, but mindful of his country. what shall i say of the two servilii? shall i call them cascas, or ahalas? and do you think that those men were instigated by my authority rather than by their affection for the republic? it would take a long time to go through all the rest; and it is a glorious thing for the republic that they were so numerous, and a most honourable thing also for themselves. xii. but recollect, i pray you, how that clever man convicted me of being an accomplice in the business. when caesar was slain, says he, marcus brutus immediately lifted up on high his bloody dagger, and called on cicero by name; and congratulated him on liberty being recovered. why on me above all men? because i knew of it beforehand? consider rather whether this was not his reason for calling on me, that, when he had performed an action very like those which i myself had done, he called me above all men to witness that he had been an imitator of my exploits. but you, o stupidest of all men, do not you perceive, that if it is a crime to have wished that caesar should be slain--which you accuse me of having wished--it is a crime also to have rejoiced at his death? for what is the difference between a man who has advised an action, and one who has approved of it? or what does it signify whether i wished it to be done, or rejoice that it has been done? is there any one then, except you yourself and those men who wished him to become a king, who was unwilling that that deed should be done, or who disapproved of it after it was done? all men, therefore, are guilty as far as this goes. in truth, all good men, as far as it depended on them, bore a part in the slaying of caesar. some did not know how to contrive it, some had not courage for it, some had no opportunity,--every one had the inclination. however, remark the stupidity of this fellow,--i should rather say, of this brute beast. for thus he spoke:--"marcus brutus, whom i name to do him honour, holding aloft his bloody dagger, called upon cicero, from which it must be understood that he was privy to the action." am i then called wicked by you because you suspect that i suspected something; and is he who openly displayed his reeking dagger, named by you that you may do him honour? be it so. let this stupidity exist in your language: how much greater is it in your actions and opinions! arrange matters in this way at last, o consul; pronounce the cause of the bruti, of caius cassius, of cnaeus domitius, of caius trebonius and the rest to be whatever you please to call it: sleep off that intoxication of yours, sleep it off and take breath. must one apply a torch to you to waken you while you are sleeping over such an important affair? will you never understand that you have to decide whether those men who performed that action are homicides or assertors of freedom? xiii. for just consider a little; and for a moment think of the business like a sober man. i who, as i myself confess, am an intimate friend of those men, and, as you accuse me, an accomplice of theirs, deny that there is any medium between these alternatives. i confess that they, if they be not deliverers of the roman people and saviours of the republic, are worse than assassins, worse than homicides, worse even than parricides: since it is a more atrocious thing to murder the father of one's country, than one's own father. you wise and considerate man, what do you say to this? if they are parricides, why are they always named by you, both in this assembly and before the roman people, with a view to do them honour? why has marcus brutus[ ] been, on your motion, excused from obedience to the laws, and allowed to be absent. why were the games of apollo celebrated with incredible honour to marcus brutus? why were provinces given to brutus and cassius? why were quaestors assigned to them? why was the number of their lieutenants augmented? and all these measures were owing to you. they are not homicides then. it follows that in your opinion they are deliverers of their country, since there can be no other alternative. what is the matter? am i embarrassing you? for perhaps you do not quite understand propositions which are stated disjunctively. still this is the sum total of my conclusion; that since they are acquitted by you of wickedness, they are at the same time pronounced most worthy of the very most honourable rewards. therefore, i will now proceed again with my oration. i will write to them, if any one by chance should ask whether what you have imputed to me be true, not to deny it to any one. in truth, i am afraid that it must be considered either a not very creditable thing to them, that they should have concealed the fact of my being an accomplice; or else a most discreditable one to me that i was invited to be one, and that i shirked it. for what greater exploit (i call you to witness, o august jupiter!) was ever achieved not only in this city, but in all the earth? what more glorious action was ever done? what deed was ever more deservedly recommended to the everlasting recollection of men? do you, then, shut me up with the other leaders in the partnership in this design, as in the trojan horse? i have no objection; i even thank you for doing so, with whatever intent you do it. for the deed is so great an one, that i cannot compare the unpopularity which you wish to excite against me on account of it, with its real glory. for who can be happier than those men whom you boast of having now expelled and driven from the city? what place is there either so deserted or so uncivilized, as not to seem to greet and to covet the presence of those men wherever they have arrived? what men are so clownish as not, when they have once beheld them, to think that they have reaped the greatest enjoyment that life can give? and what posterity will be ever so forgetful, what literature will ever be found so ungrateful, as not to cherish their glory with undying recollection? enrol me then, i beg, in the number of those men. xiv. but one thing i am afraid you may not approve of. for if i had really been one of their number, i should have not only got rid of the king, but of the kingly power also out of the republic; and if i had been the author of the piece, as it is said, believe me, i should not have been contented with one act, but should have finished the whole play. although, if it be a crime to have wished that caesar might be put to death, beware, i pray you, o antonius, of what must be your own case, as it is notorious that you, when at narbo, formed a plan of the same sort with caius trebonius; and it was on account of your participation in that design that, when caesar was being killed, we saw you called aside by trebonius. but i (see how far i am from any horrible inclination towards,) praise you for having once in your life had a righteous intention; i return you thanks for not having revealed the matter; and i excuse you for not having accomplished your purpose. that exploit required a man. and if any one should institute a prosecution against you, and employ that test of old cassius, "who reaped any advantage from it?" take care, i advise you, lest you suit that description. although, in truth, that action was, as you used to say, an advantage to every one who was not willing to be a slave, still it was so to you above all men, who are not merely not a slave, but are actually a king; who delivered yourself from an enormous burden of debt at the temple of ops; who, by your dealings with the account books, there squandered a countless sum of money; who have had such vast treasures brought to you from caesar's house; at whose own house there is set up a most lucrative manufactory of false memoranda and autographs, and a most iniquitous market of lands, and towns, and exemptions, and revenues. in truth, what measure except the death of caesar could possibly have been any relief to your indigent and insolvent condition? you appear to be somewhat agitated. have you any secret fear that you yourself may appear to have had some connexion with that crime? i will release you from all apprehension; no one will ever believe it; it is not like you to deserve well of the republic; the most illustrious men in the republic are the authors of that exploit; i only say that you are glad it was done; i do not accuse you of having done it. i have replied to your heaviest accusations, i must now also reply to the rest of them. xv. you have thrown in my teeth the camp of pompeius and all my conduct at that time. at which time, indeed, if, as i have said before, my counsels and my authority had prevailed, you would this day be in indigence, we should be free, and the republic would not have lost so many generals and so many armies. for i confess that, when i saw that these things certainly would happen, which now have happened, i was as greatly grieved as all the other virtuous citizens would have been if they had foreseen the same things. i did grieve, i did grieve, o conscript fathers, that the republic which had once been saved by your counsels and mine, was fated to perish in a short time. nor was i so inexperienced in and ignorant of this nature of things, as to be disheartened on account of a fondness for life, which while it endured would wear me out with anguish, and when brought to an end would release me from all trouble. but i was desirous that those most illustrious men, the lights of the republic, should live: so many men of consular rank, so many men of praetorian rank, so many most honourable senators; and besides them all the flower of our nobility and of our youth; and the armies of excellent citizens. and if they were still alive, under ever such hard conditions of peace, (for any sort of peace with our fellow-citizens appeared to me more desirable than civil war,) we should be still this day enjoying the republic. and if my opinion had prevailed, and if those men, the preservation of whose lives was my main object, elated with the hope of victory, had not been my chief opposers, to say nothing of other results, at all events you would never have continued in this order, or rather in this city. but say you, my speech alienated from me the regard of pompeius? was there any one to whom he was more attached? any one with whom he conversed or shared his counsels more frequently? it was, indeed, a great thing that we, differing as we did respecting the general interests of the republic, should continue in uninterrupted friendship. but i saw clearly what his opinions and views were, and he saw mine equally. i was for providing for the safety of the citizens in the first place, in order that we might be able to consult their dignity afterwards. he thought more of consulting their existing dignity. but because each of us had a definite object to pursue, our disagreement was the more endurable. but what that extraordinary and almost godlike man thought of me is known to those men who pursued him to paphos from the battle of pharsalia. no mention of me was ever made by him that was not the most honourable that could be, that was not full of the most friendly regret for me; while he confessed that i had had the most foresight, but that he had had more sanguine hopes. and do you dare taunt me with the name of that man whose friend you admit that i was, and whose assassin you confess yourself? xvi. however, let us say no more of that war, in which you were too fortunate. i will not reply even with those jests to which you have said that i gave utterance in the camp. that camp was in truth full of anxiety, but although men are in great difficulties, still, provided they are men, they sometimes relax their minds. but the fact that the same man finds fault with my melancholy, and also with my jokes, is a great proof that i was very moderate in each particular. you have said that no inheritances come to me. would that this accusation of yours were a true one; i should have more of my friends and connexions alive. but how could such a charge ever come into your head? for i have received more than twenty millions of sesterces in inheritances. although in this particular i admit that you have been more fortunate than i. no one has ever made me his heir except he was a friend of mine, in order that my grief of mind for his loss might be accompanied also with some gain, if it was to be considered as such. but a man whom you never even saw, lucius rubrius, of casinum, made you his heir. and see now how much he loved you, who, though he did not know whether you were white or black, passed over the son of his brother, quintus fufius, a most honourable roman knight, and most attached to him, whom he had on all occasions openly declared his heir, (he never even names him in his will,) and he makes you his heir whom he had never seen, or at all events had never spoken to. i wish you would tell me, if it is not too much trouble, what sort of countenance lucius turselius was of; what sort of height; from what municipal town he came; and of what tribe he was a member. "i know nothing," you will say, "about him, except what farms he had." therefore, he, disinheriting his brother, made you his heir. and besides these instances, this man has seized on much other property belonging to men wholly unconnected with him, to the exclusion of the legitimate heirs, as if he himself were the heir. although the thing that struck me with most astonishment of all was, that you should venture to make mention of inheritances, when you yourself had not received the inheritance of your own father. xvii. and was it in order to collect all these arguments, o you most senseless of men, that you spent so many days in practising declamation in another man's villa? although, indeed, (as your most intimate friends usually say,) you are in the habit of declaiming, not for the purpose of whetting your genius, but of working off the effects of wine. and, indeed, you employ a master to teach you jokes, a man appointed by your own vote and that of your boon companions; a rhetorician, whom you have allowed to say what ever he pleased against you, a thoroughly facetious gentleman; but there are plenty of materials for speaking against you and against your friends. but just see now what a difference there is between you and your grandfather. he used with great deliberation to bring forth arguments advantageous to the cause he was advocating; you pour forth in a hurry the sentiments which you have been taught by another. and what wages have you paid this rhetorician? listen, listen, o conscript fathers, and learn the blows which are inflicted on the republic. you have assigned, o antonius, two thousand acres[ ] which is often translated acre also, of land, in the leontine district, to sextus clodius, the rhetorician, and those, too, exempt from every kind of tax, for the sake of putting the roman people to such a vast expense that you might learn to be a fool. was this gift, too, o you most audacious of men, found among caesar's papers? but i will take another opportunity to speak about the leontine and the campanian district; where he has stolen lands from the republic to pollute them with most infamous owners. for now, since i have sufficiently replied to all his charges, i must say a little about our corrector and censor himself. and yet i will not say all i could, in order that if i have often to battle with him i may always come to the contest with fresh arms; and the multitude of his vices and atrocities will easily enable me to do so. xviii. shall we then examine your conduct from the time when you were a boy? i think so. let us begin at the beginning. do you recollect that, while you were still clad in the praetexta, you became a bankrupt? that was the fault of your father, you will say. i admit that. in truth, such a defence is full of filial affection. but it is peculiarly suited to your own audacity, that you sat among the fourteen rows of the knights, though by the roscian law there was a place appointed for bankrupts, even if any one had become so. xix. but let us say no more of your profligacy and debauchery. there are things which it is not possible for me to mention with honour; but you are all the more free for that, inasmuch as you have not scrupled to be an actor in scenes which a modest enemy cannot bring himself to mention. mark now, o conscript fathers, the rest of his life, which i will touch upon rapidly. for my inclination hastens to arrive at those things which he did in the time of the civil war, amid the greatest miseries of the republic, and at those things which he does every day. and i beg of you, though they are far better known to you than they are to me, still to listen attentively, as you are doing, to my relation of them. for in such cases as this, it is not the mere knowledge of such actions that ought to excite the mind, but the recollection of them also. although we must at once go into the middle of them, lest otherwise we should be too long in coming to the end. he was very intimate with clodius at the time of his tribuneship; he, who now enumerates the kindnesses which he did me. he was the firebrand to handle all conflagrations; and even in his house he attempted something. he himself well knows what i allude to. from thence he made a journey to alexandria, in defiance of the authority of the senate, and against the interests of the republic, and in spite of religious obstacles; but he had gabinius for his leader, with whom whatever he did was sure to be right. what were the circumstances of his return from thence? what sort of return was it? he went from egypt to the furthest extremity of gaul before he returned home. and what was his home? for at that time every man had possession of his own house; and you had no house anywhere, o antonius. house, do you say? what place was there in the whole world where you could set your foot on anything that belonged to you, except mienum, which you farmed with your partners, as if it had been sisapo?[ ] xx. you came from gaul to stand for the quaestorship. dare to say that you went to your own father before you came to me. i had already received caesar's letters, begging me to allow myself to accept of your excuses; and therefore, i did not allow you even to mention thanks. after that, i was treated with respect by you, and you received attentions from me in your canvass for the quaestorship. and it was at that time, indeed, that you endeavoured to slay publius clodius in the forum, with the approbation of the roman people; and though you made the attempt of your own accord, and not at my instigation, still you clearly alleged that you did not think, unless you slew him, that you could possibly make amends to me for all the injuries which you had done me. and this makes me wonder why you should say that milo did that deed at my instigation; when i never once exhorted you to do it, who of your own accord attempted to do me the same service. although, if you had persisted in it, i should have preferred allowing the action to be set down entirely to your own love of glory rather than to my influence. you were elected quaestor. on this, immediately, without any resolution of the senate authorizing such a step, without drawing lots, without procuring any law to be passed, you hastened to caesar. for you thought the camp the only refuge on earth for indigence, and debt, and profligacy,--for all men, in short, who were in a state of utter ruin. then, when you had recruited your resources again by his largesses and your own robberies, (if, indeed, a person can be said to recruit, who only acquires something which he may immediately squander,) you hastened, being again a beggar, to the tribuneship, in order that in that magistracy you might, if possible, behave like your friend. xxi. listen now, i beseech you, o conscript fathers, not to those things which he did indecently and profligately to his own injury and to his own disgrace as a private individual; but to the actions which he did impiously and wickedly against us and our fortunes,--that is to say, against the whole republic. for it is from his wickedness that you will find that the beginning of all these evils has arisen. for when, in the consulship of lucius lentulus and marcus marcellus, you, on the first of january, were anxious to prop up the republic, which was tottering and almost falling, and were willing to consult the interests of caius caesar himself, if he would have acted like a man in his senses, then this fellow opposed to your counsels his tribuneship, which he had sold and handed over to the purchaser, and exposed his own neck to that axe under which many have suffered for smaller crimes. it was against you, o marcus antonius, that the senate, while still in the possession of its rights, before so many of its luminaries were extinguished, passed that decree which, in accordance with the usage of our ancestors, is at times passed against an enemy who is a citizen. and have you dared, before these conscript fathers, to say anything against me, when i have been pronounced by this order to be the saviour of my country, and when you have been declared by it to be an enemy of the republic? the mention of that wickedness of yours has been interrupted, but the recollection of it has not been effaced. as long as the race of men, as long as the name of the roman people shall exist, (and that, unless it is prevented from being so by your means, will be everlasting,) so long will that most mischievous interposition of your veto be spoken of. what was there that was being done by the senate either ambitiously or rashly, when you, one single young man, forbade the whole order to pass decrees concerning the safety of the republic? and when you did so, not once only, but repeatedly? nor would you allow any one to plead with you in behalf of the authority of the senate; and yet, what did any one entreat of you, except that you would not desire the republic to be entirely overthrown and destroyed; when neither the chief men of the state by their entreaties, nor the elders by their warnings, nor the senate in a full house by pleading with you, could move you from the determination which you had already sold and as it were delivered to the purchaser? then it was, after having tried many other expedients previously, that a blow was of necessity struck at you which had been struck at only few men before you, and which none of them had ever survived. then it was that this order armed the consuls, and the rest of the magistrates who were invested with either military or civil command, against you, and you never would have escaped them, if you had not taken refuge in the camp of caesar. xxii. it was you, you, i say, o marcus antonius, who gave caius caesar, desirous as he already was to throw everything into confusion, the principal pretext for waging war against his country. for what other pretence did he allege? what cause did he give for his own most frantic resolution and action, except that the power of interposition by the veto had been disregarded, the privileges of the tribunes taken away, and antonius's rights abridged by the senate? i say nothing of how false, how trivial these pretences were; especially when there could not possibly be any reasonable cause whatever to justify any one in taking up arms against his country. but i have nothing to do with caesar. you must unquestionably allow, that the cause of that ruinous war existed in your person. o miserable man if you are aware, more miserable still if you are not aware, that this is recorded in writings, is handed down to men's recollection, that our very latest posterity in the most distant ages will never forget this fact, that the consuls were expelled from italy, and with them cnaeus pompeius, who was the glory and light of the empire of the roman people; that all the men of consular rank, whose health would allow them to share in that disaster and that flight, and the praetors, and men of praetorian rank, and the tribunes of the people, and a great part of the senate, and all the flower of the youth of the city, and, in a word, the republic itself was driven out and expelled from its abode. as, then, there is in seeds the cause which produces trees and plants, so of this most lamentable war you were the seed. do you, o conscript fathers, grieve that these armies of the roman people have been slain? it is antonius who slew them. do you regret your most illustrious citizens? it is antonius, again, who has deprived you of them. the authority of this order is overthrown; it is antonius who has overthrown it. everything, in short, which we have seen since that time, (and what misfortune is there that we have not seen?) we shall, if we argue rightly, attribute wholly to antonius. as helen was to the trojans, so has that man been to this republic,--the cause of war, the cause of mischief, the cause of ruin. the rest of his tribuneship was like the beginning. he did everything which the senate had laboured to prevent, as being impossible to be done consistently with the safety of the republic. and see, now, how gratuitously wicked he was even in accomplishing his wickedness. xxiii. he restored many men who had fallen under misfortune. among them no mention was made of his uncle. if he was severe, why was he not so to every one? if he was merciful, why was he not merciful to his own relations? but i say nothing of the rest. he restored licinius lenticula, a man who had been condemned for gambling, and who was a fellow-gamester of his own. as if he could not play with a condemned man; but in reality, in order to pay by a straining of the law in his favour, what he had lost by the dice. what reason did you allege to the roman people why it was desirable that he should be restored? i suppose you said that he was absent when the prosecution was instituted against him; that the cause was decided without his having been heard in his defence; that there was not by a law any judicial proceeding established with reference to gambling; that he had been put down by violence or by arms; or lastly, as was said in the case of your uncle, that the tribunal had been bribed with money. nothing of this sort was said. then he was a good man, and one worthy of the republic. that, indeed, would have been nothing to the purpose, but still, since being condemned does not go for much, i would forgive you if that were the truth. does not he restore to the full possession of his former privileges the most worthless man possible,--one who would not hesitate to play at dice even in the forum, and who had been convicted under the law which exists respecting gambling,--does not he declare in the most open manner his own propensities? then in this same tribuneship, when caesar while on his way into spain had given him italy to trample on, what journeys did he make in every direction! how did he visit the municipal towns! i know that i am only speaking of matters which have been discussed in every one's conversation, and that the things which i am saying and am going to say are better known to every one who was in italy at that time, than to me, who was not. still i mention the particulars of his conduct, although my speech cannot possibly come up to your own personal knowledge. when was such wickedness ever heard of as existing upon earth? or such shamelessness? or such open infamy? xxiv. the tribune of the people was borne along in a chariot, lictors crowned with laurel preceded him; among whom, on an open litter, was carried an actress; whom honourable men, citizens of the different municipalities, coming out from their towns under compulsion to meet him, saluted not by the name by which she was well known on the stage, but by that of volumnia.[ ] a car followed full of pimps; then a lot of debauched companions; and then his mother, utterly neglected, followed the mistress of her profligate son, as if she had been her daughter-in-law. o the disastrous fecundity of that miserable woman! with the marks of such wickedness as this did that fellow stamp every municipality, and prefecture, and colony, and, in short, the whole of italy. to find fault with the rest of his actions, o conscript fathers, is difficult, and somewhat unsafe. he was occupied in war; he glutted himself with the slaughter of citizens who bore no resemblance to himself. he was fortunate--if at least there can be any good fortune in wickedness. but since we wish to show a regard for the veterans, although the cause of the soldiers is very different from yours; they followed their chief; you went to seek for a leader; still, (that i may not give you any pretence for stirring up odium against me among them,) i will say nothing of the nature of the war. when victorious, you returned with the legions from thessaly to brundusium. there you did not put me to death. it was a great kindness! for i confess that you could have done it. although there was no one of those men who were with you at that time, who did not think that i ought to be spared. for so great is men's affection for their country, that i was sacred even in the eyes of your legions, because they recollected that the country had been saved by me. however, grant that you did give me what you did not take away from me; and that i have my life as a present from you, since it was not taken from me by you; was it possible for me, after all your insults, to regard that kindness of yours as i regarded it at first, especially after you saw that you must hear this reply from me? xxv. you came to brundusium, to the bosom and embraces of your actress. what is the matter? am i speaking falsely? how miserable is it not to be able to deny a fact which it is disgraceful to confess! if you had no shame before the municipal towns, had you none even before your veteran army? for what soldier was there who did not see her at brundusium? who was there who did not know that she had come so many days' journey to congratulate you? who was there who did not grieve that he was so late in finding out how worthless a man he had been following? again you made a tour through italy, with that same actress for your companion. cruel and miserable was the way in which you led your soldiers into the towns; shameful was the pillage in every city, of gold and silver, and above all, of wine. and besides all this, while caesar knew nothing about it, as he was at alexandria, antonius, by the kindness of caesar's friends, was appointed his master of the horse. then he thought that he could live with hippia[ ] by virtue of his office, and that he might give horses which were the property of the state to sergius the buffoon. at that time he had selected for himself to live in, not the house which he now dishonours, but that of marcus piso. why need i mention his decrees, his robberies, the possessions of inheritances which were given him, and those too which were seized by him? want compelled him; he did not know where to turn. that great inheritance from lucius rubrius, and that other from lucius turselius, had not yet come to him. he had not yet succeeded as an unexpected heir to the place of cnaeus pompeius, and of many others who were absent. he was forced to live like a robber, having nothing beyond what he could plunder from others. however, we will say nothing of these things, which are acts of a more hardy sort of villany. let us speak rather of his meaner descriptions of worthlessness. you, with those jaws of yours, and those sides of yours, and that strength of body suited to a gladiator, drank such quantities of wine at the marriage of hippia, that you were forced to vomit the next day in the sight of the roman people. o action disgraceful not merely to see, but even to hear of! if this had happened to you at supper amid those vast drinking cups of yours, who would not have thought it scandalous? but in an assembly of the roman people, a man holding a public office, a master of the horse, to whom it would have been disgraceful even to belch, vomiting filled his own bosom and the whole tribunal with fragments of what he had been eating reeking with wine. but he himself confesses this among his other disgraceful acts. let us proceed to his more splendid offences. xxvi. caesar came back from alexandria, fortunate, as he seemed at least to himself; but in my opinion no one can be fortunate who is unfortunate for the republic. the spear was set up in front of the temple of jupiter stator, and the property of cnaeus pompeius magnus--(miserable that i am, for even now that my tears have ceased to flow, my grief remains deeply implanted in my heart,)--the property, i say, of cnaeus pompeius the great was submitted to the pitiless, voice of the auctioneer. on that one occasion the state forgot its slavery, and groaned aloud, and though men's minds were enslaved, as everything was kept under by fear, still the groans of the roman people were free. while all men were waiting to see who would be so impious, who would be so mad, who would be so declared an enemy to gods and to men as to dare to mix himself up with that wicked auction, no one was found except antonius, even though there were plenty of men collected round that spear[ ] who would have dared anything else. one man alone was found to dare to do that which the audacity of every one else had shrunk from and shuddered at. were you, then, seized with such stupidity,--or, i should rather say, with such insanity,--as not to see that if you, being of the rank in which you were born, acted as a broker at all, and above all as a broker in the case of pompeius's property, you would be execrated and hated by the roman people, and that all gods and all men must at once become and for ever continue hostile to you? but with what violence did that glutton immediately proceed to take possession of the property of that man, to whose valour it had been owing that the roman people had been more terrible to foreign nations, while his justice had made it dearer to them. xxvii. when, therefore, this fellow had begun to wallow in the treasures of that great man, he began to exult like a buffoon in a play, who has lately been a beggar, and has become suddenly rich. but, as some poet or other says,-- "ill gotten gain comes quickly to an end." it is an incredible thing, and almost a miracle, how he in a few, not months, but days, squandered all that vast wealth. there was an immense quantity of wine, an excessive abundance of very valuable plate, much precious apparel, great quantities of splendid furniture, and other magnificent things in many places, such as one was likely to see belonging to a man who was not indeed luxurious, but who was very wealthy. of all this in a few days there was nothing left. what charybdis was ever so voracious? charybdis, do i say? charybdis, if she existed at all, was only one animal. the ocean, i swear most solemnly, appears scarcely capable of having swallowed up such numbers of things so widely scattered, and distributed in such different places, with such rapidity. nothing was shut up, nothing sealed up, no list was made of anything. whole storehouses were abandoned to the most worthless of men. actors seized on this, actresses on that, the house was crowded with gamblers, and full of drunken men, people were drinking all day, and that too in many places, there were added to all this expense (for this fellow was not invariably fortunate) heavy gambling losses. you might see in the cellars of the slaves, couches covered with the most richly embroidered counterpanes of cnaeus pompeius. wonder not, then, that all these things were so soon consumed. such profligacy as that could have devoured not only the patrimony of one individual, however ample it might have been, (as indeed his was) but whole cities and kingdoms. and then his houses and gardens! oh the cruel audacity! did you dare to enter into that house? did you dare to cross that most sacred threshold? and to show your most profligate countenance to the household gods who protect that abode? a house which for a long time no one could behold, no one could pass by without tears! are you not ashamed to dwell so long in that house? one in which, stupid and ignorant as you are, still you can see nothing which is not painful to you. xxviii. when you behold those beaks of ships in the vestibule, and those warlike trophies, do you fancy that you are entering into a house which belongs to you? it is impossible. although you are devoid of all sense and all feeling,--as in truth you are,--still you are acquainted with yourself, and with your trophies, and with your friends. nor do i believe that you either waking or sleeping, can ever act with quiet sense. it is impossible but that, were you ever so drunk and frantic,--as in truth you are,--when the recollection of the appearance of that illustrious man comes across you, you should be roused from sleep by your fears, and often stirred up to madness if awake. i pity even the walls and the roof. for what had that house ever beheld except what was modest, except what proceeded from the purest principles and from the most virtuous practice? for that man was, o conscript fathers, as you yourselves know, not only illustrious abroad, but also admirable at home; and not more praiseworthy for his exploits in foreign countries, than for his domestic arrangements. now in his house every bedchamber is a brothel, and every dining-room a cookshop. although he denies this:--do not, do not make inquiries. he is become economical. he desired that mistress of his to take possession of whatever belonged to her, according to the laws of the twelve tables. he has taken his keys from her, and turned her out of doors. what a well-tried citizen! of what proved virtue is he! the most honourable passage in whose life is the one when he divorced himself from this actress. but how constantly does he harp on the expression "the consul antonius!" this amounts to say "that most debauched consul," "that most worthless of men, the consul." for what else is antonius? for if any dignity were implied in the name, then, i imagine, your grandfather would sometimes have called himself "the consul antonius." but he never did. my colleague too, your own uncle, would have called himself so. unless you are the only antonius. but i pass over those offences which have no peculiar connexion with the part you took in harassing the republic; i return to that in which you bore so principal a share,--that is, to the civil war; and it is mainly owing to you that that was originated, and brought to a head, and carried on. xxix. though you yourself took no personal share in it, partly through timidity, partly through profligacy, you had tasted, or rather had sucked in, the blood of fellow-citizens: you had been in the battle of pharsalia as a leader; you had slain lucius domitius, a most illustrious and high-born man; you had pursued and put to death in the most barbarous manner many men who had escaped from the battle, and whom caesar would perhaps have saved, as he did some others. and after having performed these exploits, what was the reason why you did not follow caesar into africa; especially when so large a portion of the war was still remaining? and accordingly, what place did you obtain about caesar's person after his return from africa? what was your rank? he whose quaestor you had been when general, whose master of the horse when he was dictator, to whom you had been the chief cause of war, the chief instigator of cruelty, the sharer of his plunder, his son, as you yourself said, by inheritance, proceeded against you for the money which you owed for the house and gardens, and for the other property which you had bought at that sale. at first you answered fiercely enough, and that i may not appear prejudiced against you in every particular, you used a tolerably just and reasonable argument. "what, does caius caesar demand money of me? why should he do so, any more than i should claim it of him? was he victorious without my assistance? no, and he never could have been. it was i who supplied him with a pretext for civil war, it was i who proposed mischievous laws, it was i who took up arms against the consuls and generals of the roman people, against the senate and people of rome, against the gods of the country, against its altars and healths, against the country itself. has he conquered for himself alone? why should not those men whose common work the achievement is, have the booty also in common?" you were only claiming your right, but what had that to do with it? he was the more powerful of the two. therefore, stopping all your expostulations, he sent his soldiers to you, and to your sureties, when all on a sudden out came that splendid catalogue of yours. how men did laugh! that there should be so vast a catalogue, that their should be such a numerous and various list of possessions, of all of which, with the exception of a portion of misenum, there was nothing which the man who was putting them up to sale could call his own. and what a miserable sight was the auction. a little apparel of pompeius's, and that stained, a few silver vessels belonging to the same man, all battered, some slaves in wretched condition, so that we grieved that there was anything remaining to be seen of these miserable relics. this auction, however, the heirs of lucius rubrius prevented from proceeding, being armed with a decree of caesar to that effect. the spendthrift was embarrassed. he did not know which way to turn. it was at this very time that an assassin sent by him was said to have been detected with a dagger in the house of caesar. and of this caesar himself complained in the senate, inveighing openly against you. caesar departs to spain, having granted you a few days delay for making the payment, on account of your poverty. even then you do not follow him. had so good a gladiator as you retired from business so early? can any one then fear a man who was as timid as this man in upholding his party, that is, in upholding his own fortunes? xxx. after some time he at last went into spain; but, as he says, he could not arrive there in safety. how then did dolabella manage to arrive there? either, o antonius, that cause ought never to have been undertaken, or when you had undertaken it, it should have been maintained to the end. thrice did caesar fight against his fellow-citizens; in thessaly, in africa, and in spain. dolabella was present at all these battles. in the battle in spain he even received a wound. if you ask my opinion, i wish he had not been there. but still, if his design at first was blameable, his consistency and firmness were praiseworthy. but what shall we say of you? in the first place, the children of cnaeus pompeius sought to be restored to their country. well, this concerned the common interests of the whole party. besides that, they sought to recover their household gods, the gods of their country, their altars, their hearths, the tutelar gods of their family; all of which you had seized upon. and when they sought to recover those things by force of arms which belonged to them by the laws, who was it most natural--(although in unjust and unnatural proceedings what can there be that is natural?)--still, who was it most natural to expect would fight against the children of cnaeus pompeius? who? why, you who had bought their property. were you at narbo to be sick over the tables of your entertainers, while dolabella was fighting your battles in spain? and what a return was that of yours from narbo? he even asked why i had returned so suddenly from my expedition. i have just briefly explained to you, o conscript fathers, the reason of my return. i was desirous, if i could, to be of service to the republic even before the first of january. for, as to your question, how i had returned; in the first place, i returned by daylight, not in the dark; in the second place, i returned in shoes, and in my roman gown, not in any gallic slippers, or barbarian mantle. and even now you keep looking at me; and, as it seems, with great anger. surely you would be reconciled to me if you knew how ashamed i am of your worthlessness, which you yourself are not ashamed of. of all the profligate conduct of all the world, i never saw, i never heard of any more shameful than yours. you who fancied yourself a master of the horse, when you were standing for, or i should rather say begging for the consulship for the ensuing year, ran in gallic slippers and a barbarian mantle about the municipal towns and colonies of gaul from which we used to demand the consulship when the consulship was stood for and not begged for. xxxi. but mark now the trifling character of the fellow. when about the tenth hour of the day he had arrived at red rocks, he skulked into a little petty wine-shop, and, hiding there, kept on drinking till evening. and from thence getting into a gig and being driven rapidly to the city, he came to his own house with his head veiled. "who are you?" says the porter. "an express from marcus." he is at once taken to the woman for whose sake he had come; and he delivered the letter to her. and when she had read it with tears, (for it was written in a very amorous style, but the main subject of the letter was that he would have nothing to do with that actress for the future; that he had discarded all his love for her, and transferred it to his correspondent,) when she, i say, wept plentifully, this soft-hearted man could bear it no longer; he uncovered his head and threw himself on her neck. oh the worthless man! (for what else can i call him? there is no more suitable expression for me to use,) was it for this that you disturbed the city by nocturnal alarms, and italy with fears of many days' duration, in order that you might show yourself unexpectedly, and that a woman might see you before she hoped to do so? and he had at home a pretence of love; but out of doors a cause more discreditable still, namely, lest lucius plancus should sell up his sureties. but after you had been produced in the assembly by one of the tribunes of the people, and had replied that you had come on your own private business, you made even the people full of jokes against you. but, however, we have said too much about trifles. let us come to more important subjects. xxxii. you went a great distance to meet caesar on his return from spain. you went rapidly, you returned rapidly in order that we might see that, if you were not brave, you were at least active. you again became intimate with him; i am sure i do not know how. caesar had this peculiar characteristic; whoever he knew to be utterly ruined by debt, and needy, even if he knew him also to be an audacious and worthless man, he willingly admitted him to his intimacy. you then, being admirably recommended to him by these circumstances, were ordered to be appointed consul, and that too as his own colleague. i do not make any complaint against dolabella, who was at that time acting under compulsion, and was cajoled and deceived. but who is there who does not know with what great perfidy both of you treated dolabella in that business? caesar induced him to stand for the consulship. after having promised it to him, and pledged himself to aid him, he prevented his getting it, and transferred it to himself. and you endorsed his treachery with your own eagerness. the first of january arrives. we are convened in the senate. dolabella inveighed against him with much more fluency and premeditation than i am doing now. and what things were they which he said in his anger, o ye good gods! first of all, after caesar had declared that before he departed he would order dolabella to be made consul, (and they deny that he was a king who was always doing and saying something of this sort,)--but after caesar had said this, then this virtuous augur said that he was invested with a pontificate of that sort that he was able, by means of the auspices, either to hinder or to vitiate the comitia, just as he pleased; and he declared that he would do so. and here, in the first place, remark the incredible stupidity of the man. for what do you mean? could you not just as well have done what you said you had now the power to do by the privileges with which that pontificate had invested you, even if you were not an augur, if you were consul? perhaps you could even do it more easily. for we augurs have only the power of announcing that the auspices are being observed, but the consuls and other magistrates have the right also of observing them whenever they choose. be it so. you said this out of ignorance. for one must not demand prudence from a man who is never sober. but still remark his impudence. many months before, he said in the senate that he would either prevent the comitia from assembling for the election of dolabella by means of the auspices, or that he would do what he actually did do. can any one divine beforehand what defect there will be in the auspices, except the man who has already determined to observe the heavens? which in the first place it is forbidden by law to do at the time of the comitia. and if any one has been observing the heavens, he is bound to give notice of it, not after the comitia are assembled, but before they are held. but this man's ignorance is joined to impudence, nor does he know what an augur ought to know, nor do what a modest man ought to do. and just recollect the whole of his conduct during his consulship from that day up to the ides of march. what lictor was ever so humble, so abject? he himself had no power at all; he begged everything of others; and thrusting his head into the hind part of his litter, he begged favours of his colleagues, to sell them himself afterwards. xxxiii. behold, the day of the comitia for the election of dolabella arrives. the prerogative century draws its lot. he is quiet. the vote is declared; he is still silent. the first class is called.[ ] its vote is declared. then, as is the usual course, the votes are announced. then the second class. and all this is done faster than i have told it. when the business is over, that excellent augur (you would say he must be caius laelius,) says,--"we adjourn it to another day." oh the monstrous impudence of such a proceeding! what had you seen? what had you perceived? what had you heard? for you did not say that you had been observing the heavens, and indeed you do not say so this day. that defect then has arisen, which you on the first of january had already foreseen would arise, and which you had predicted so long before. therefore, in truth, you have made a false declaration respecting the auspices, to your own great misfortune, i hope, rather than to that of the republic. you laid the roman people under the obligations of religion; you as augur interrupted an augur; you as consul interrupted a consul by a false declaration concerning the auspices. i will say no more, lest i should seem to be pulling to pieces the acts of dolabella; which must inevitably sometime or other be brought before our college. but take notice of the arrogance and insolence of the fellow. as long as you please, dolabella is a consul irregularly elected; again, while you please, he is a consul elected with all proper regard to the auspices. if it means nothing when an augur gives this notice in those words in which you gave notice, then confess that you, when you said,--"we adjourn this to another day," were not sober. but if those words have any meaning, then i, an augur, demand of my colleague to know what that meaning is. but lest by any chance, while enumerating his numerous exploits, our speech should pass over the finest action of marcus antonius, let us come to the lupercalia. xxxiv. he does not dissemble, o conscript fathers; it is plain that he is agitated; he perspires; he turns pale. let him do what he pleases, provided he is not sick, and does not behave as he did in the minucian colonnade. what defence can be made for such beastly behaviour? i wish to hear, that i may see the fruit of those high wages of that rhetorician, of that land given in leontini. your colleague was sitting in the rostra, clothed in purple robe, on a golden chair, wearing a crown. you mount the steps; you approach his chair; (if you were a priest of pan, you ought to have recollected that you were consul too;) you display a diadem. there is a groan over the whole forum. where did the diadem come from? for you had not picked it up when lying on the ground, but you had brought it from home with you, a premeditated and deliberately planned wickedness. you placed the diadem on his head amid the groans of the people; he rejected it amid great applause. you then alone, o wicked man, were found, both to advise the assumption of kingly power, and to wish to have him for your master who was your colleague; and also to try what the roman people might be able to bear and to endure. moreover, you even sought to move his pity; you threw yourself at his feet as a suppliant; begging for what? to be a slave? you might beg it for yourself, when you had lived in such a way from the time that you were a boy that you could bear everything, and would find no difficulty in being a slave; but certainly you had no commission from the roman people to try for such a thing for them. oh how splendid was that eloquence of yours, when you harangued the people stark naked! what could be more foul than this? more shameful than this? more deserving of every sort of punishment? are you waiting for me to prick you more? this that i am saying must tear you and bring blood enough if you have any feeling at all. i am afraid that i may be detracting from the glory of some most eminent men. still my indignation shall find a voice. what can be more scandalous than for that man to live who placed a diadem on a man's head, when every one confesses that that man was deservedly slain who rejected it? and, moreover, he caused it to be recorded in the annals, under the head of lupercalia, "that marcus antonius, the consul, by command of the people, had offered the kingdom to caius caesar, perpetual dictator; and that caesar had refused to accept it." i now am not much surprised at your seeking to disturb the general tranquillity; at your hating not only the city but the light of day; and at your living with a pack of abandoned robbers, disregarding the day, and yet regarding nothing beyond the day.[ ] for where can you be safe in peace? what place can there be for you where laws and courts of justice have sway, both of which you, as far as in you lay, destroyed by the substitution of kingly power? was it for this that lucius tarquinius was driven out; that spurius cassius, and spurius maelius, and marcus manlius were slain; that many years afterwards a king might be established at rome by marcus antonius, though the bare idea was impiety? however, let us return to the auspices. xxxv. with respect to all the things which caesar was intending to do in the senate on the ides of march, i ask whether you have done anything? i heard, indeed, that you had come down prepared, because you thought that i intended to speak about your having made a false statement respecting the auspices, though it was still necessary for us to respect them. the fortune of the roman people saved us from that day. did the death of caesar also put an end to your opinion respecting the auspices? but i have come to mention that occasion which must be allowed to precede those matters which i had begun to discuss. what a flight was that of yours! what alarm was yours on that memorable day! how, from the consciousness of your wickedness, did you despair of your life! how, while flying, were you enabled secretly to get home by the kindness of those men who wished to save you, thinking you would show more sense than you do! o how vain have at all times been my too true predictions of the future! i told those deliverers of ours in the capitol, when they wished me to go to you to exhort you to defend the republic, that as long as you were in fear you would promise everything, but that as soon as you had emancipated yourself from alarm you would be yourself again. therefore, while the rest of the men of consular rank were going backwards and forwards to you, i adhered to my opinion, nor did i see you at all that day, or the next; nor did i think it possible for an alliance between virtuous citizens and a most unprincipled enemy to be made, so as to last, by any treaty or engagement whatever. the third day i came into the temple of tellus, even then very much against my will, as armed men were blockading all the approaches. what a day was that for you, o marcus antonius! although you showed yourself all on a sudden an enemy to me; still i pity you for having envied yourself. xxxvi. what a man, o ye immortal gods! and how great a man might you have been, if you had been able to preserve the inclination you displayed that day;--we should still have peace which was made then by the pledge of a hostage, a boy of noble birth, the grandson of marcus bambalio. although it was fear that was then making you a good citizen, which is never a lasting teacher of duty; your own audacity, which never departs from you as long as you are free from fear, has made you a worthless one. although even at that time, when they thought you an excellent man, though i indeed differed from that opinion, you behaved with the greatest wickedness while presiding at the funeral of the tyrant, if that ought to be called a funeral. all that fine panegyric was yours, that commiseration was yours, that exhortation was yours. it was you--you, i say--who hurled those firebrands, both those with which your friend himself was nearly burnt, and those by which the house of lucius bellienus was set on fire and destroyed. it was you who let loose those attacks of abandoned men, slaves for the most part, which we repelled by violence and our own personal exertions; it was you who set them on to attack our houses. and yet you, as if you had wiped off all the soot and smoke in the ensuing days, carried those excellent resolutions in the capitol, that no document conferring any exemption, or granting any favour, should be published after the ides of march. you recollect yourself, what you said about the exiles; you know what you said about the exemption; but the best thing of all was, that you for ever abolished the name of the dictatorship in the republic. which act appeared to show that you had conceived such a hatred of kingly power that you took away all fear of it for the future, on account of him who had been the last dictator. to other men the republic now seemed established, but it did not appear so at all to me, as i was afraid of every sort of shipwreck, as long as you were at the helm. have i been deceived? or, was it possible for that man long to continue unlike himself? while you were all looking on, documents were fixed up over the whole capitol, and exemptions were being sold, not merely to individuals, but to entire states. the freedom of the city was also being given now not to single persons only, but to whole provinces. therefore, if these acts are to stand,--and stand they cannot if the republic stands too,--then, o conscript fathers, you have lost whole provinces; and not the revenues only, but the actual empire of the roman people has been diminished by a market this man held in his own house. xxxvii. where are the seven hundred millions of sesterces which were entered in the account-books which are in the temple of ops? a sum lamentable indeed, as to the means by which it was procured, but still one which, if it were not restored to those to whom it belonged, might save us from taxes. and how was it, that when you owed forty millions of sesterces on the fifteenth of march, you had ceased to owe them by the first of april? those things are quite countless which were purchased of different people, not without your knowledge; but there was one excellent decree posted up in the capitol affecting king deiotarus, a most devoted friend to the roman people. and when that decree was posted up, there was no one who, amid all his indignation, could restrain his laughter. for who ever was a more bitter enemy to another than caesar was to deiotarus? he was as hostile to him as he was to this order, to the equestrian order, to the people of massilia, and to all men whom he knew to look on the republic of the roman people with attachment. but this man, who neither present nor absent could ever obtain from him any favour or justice while he was alive, became quite an influential man with him when he was dead. when present with him in his house he had called for him though he was his host, he had made him give in his accounts of his revenue, he had exacted money from him; he had established one of his greek retainers in his tetrarchy, and he had taken armenia from him, which had been given to him by the senate. while he was alive he deprived him of all these things; now that he is dead, he gives them back again. and in what words? at one time he says, "that it appears to him to be just, ..." at another, "that it appears not to be unjust...." what a strange combination of words! but while alive, (i know this, for i always supported deiotarus, who was at a distance,) he never said that anything which we were asking for, for him, appeared just to him. a bond for ten millions of sesterces was entered into in the women's apartment, (where many things have been sold, and are still being sold,) by his ambassadors, well-meaning men, but timid and inexperienced in business, without my advice or that of the rest of the hereditary friends of the monarch. and i advise you to consider carefully what you intend to do with reference to this bond. for the king himself, of his own accord, without waiting for any of caesar's memoranda, the moment that he heard of his death, recovered his own rights by his own courage and energy. he, like a wise man, knew that this was always the law, that those men from whom the things which tyrants had taken away had been taken, might recover them when the tyrants were slain. no lawyer, therefore, not even he who is your lawyer and yours alone, and by whose advice you do all these things, will say that anything is due to you by virtue of that bond for those things which had been recovered before that bond was executed. for he did not purchase them of you; but, before you undertook to sell him his own property, he had taken possession of it. he was a man--we, indeed, deserve to be despised, who hate the author of the actions, but uphold the actions themselves. xxxviii. why need i mention the countless mass of papers, the innumerable autographs which have been brought forward? writings of which there are imitators who sell their forgeries as openly as if they were gladiators' playbills. therefore, there are now such heaps of money piled up in that man's house, that it is weighed out instead of being counted.[ ] but how blind is avarice! lately, too, a document has been posted up by which the most wealthy cities of the cretans are released from tribute; and by which it is ordained that after the expiration of the consulship of marcus brutus, crete shall cease to be a province. are you in your senses? ought you not to be put in confinement? was it possible for there really to be a decree of caesar's exempting crete after the departure of marcus brutus, when brutus had no connexion whatever with crete while caesar was alive? but by the sale of this decree (that you may not, o conscript fathers, think it wholly ineffectual) you have lost the province of crete. there was nothing in the whole world which any one wanted to buy that this fellow was not ready to sell. caesar too, i suppose, made the law about the exiles which you have posted up. i do not wish to press upon any one in misfortune; i only complain, in the first place, that the return of those men has had discredit thrown upon it, whose cause caesar judged to be different from that of the rest; and in the second place, i do not know why you do not mete out the same measure to all. for there can not be more than three or four left. why do not they who are in similar misfortune enjoy a similar degree of your mercy? why do you treat them as you treated your uncle? about whom you refused to pass a law when you were passing one about all the rest; and whom at the same time you encouraged to stand for the censorship, and instigated him to a canvass, which excited the ridicule and the complaint of every one. but why did you not hold that comitia? was it because a tribune of the people announced that there had been an ill-omened flash of lightning seen? when you have any interest of your own to serve, then auspices are all nothing; but when it is only your friends who are concerned, then you become scrupulous. what more? did you not also desert him in the matter of the septemvirate?[ ] "yes, for he interfered with me." what were you afraid of? i suppose you were afraid that you would be able to refuse him nothing if he were restored to the full possession of his rights. you loaded him with every species of insult, a man whom you ought to have considered in the place of a father to you, if you had had any piety or natural affection at all. you put away his daughter, your own cousin, having already looked out and provided yourself beforehand with another. that was not enough. you accused a most chaste woman of misconduct. what can go beyond this? yet you were not content with this. in a very full senate held on the first of january, while your uncle was present, you dared to say that this was your reason for hatred of dolabella, that you had ascertained that he had committed adultery with your cousin and your wife. who can decide whether it was more shameless of you to make such profligate and such impious statements against that unhappy woman in the senate, or more wicked to make them against dolabella, or more scandalous to make them in the presence of her father, or more cruel to make them at all? xxxix. however, let us return to the subject of caesar's written papers. how were they verified by you? for the acts of caesar were for peace's sake confirmed by the senate; that is to say, the acts which caesar had really done, not those which antonius said that caesar had done. where do all these come from? by whom are they produced and vouched for? if they are false, why are they ratified? if they are true, why are they sold? but the vote which was come to enjoined you, after the first of june, to make an examination of caesar's acts with the assistance of a council. what council did you consult? whom did you ever invite to help you? what was the first of june that you waited for? was it that day on which you, having travelled all through the colonies where the veterans were settled, returned escorted by a band of armed men? oh what a splendid progress of yours was that in the months of april and may, when you attempted even to lead a colony to capua! how you made your escape from thence, or rather how you barely made your escape, we all know. and now you are still threatening that city. i wish you would try, and we should not then be forced to say "barely." however, what a splendid progress of yours that was! why need i mention your preparations for banquets, why your frantic hard-drinking? those things are only an injury to yourself; these are injuries to us. we thought that a great blow was inflicted on the republic when the campanian district was released from the payment of taxes, in order to be given to the soldiery; but you have divided it among your partners in drunkenness and gambling. i tell you, o conscript fathers, that a lot of buffoons and actresses have been settled in the district of campania. why should i now complain of what has been done in the district of leontini? although formerly these lands of campania and leontini were considered part of the patrimony of the roman people, and were productive of great revenue, and very fertile. you gave your physician three thousand acres; what would you have done if he had cured you? and two thousand to your master of oratory; what would you have done if he had been able to make you eloquent? however, let us return to your progress, and to italy. xl. you led a colony to casilinum, a place to which caesar had previously led one. you did indeed consult me by letter about the colony of capua, (but i should have given you the same answer about casilinum,) whether you could legally lead a new colony to a place where there was a colony already. i said that a new colony could not be legally conducted to an existing colony, which had been established with a due observance of the auspices, as long as it remained in a flourishing state; but i wrote you word that new colonists might be enrolled among the old ones. but you, elated and insolent, disregarding all the respect due to the auspices, led a colony to casilinum, whither one had been previously led a few years before; in order to erect your standard there, and to mark out the line of the new colony with a plough. and by that plough you almost grazed the gate of capua, so as to diminish the territory of that flourishing colony. after this violation of all religious observances, you hasten off to the estate of marcus varro, a most conscientious and upright man, at casinum. by what right? with what face do you do this? by just the same, you will say, as that by which you entered on the estates of the heirs of lucius rubrius, or of the heirs of lucius turselius, or on other innumerable possessions. if you got the right from any auction, let the auction have all the force to which it is entitled; let writings be of force, provided they are the writings of caesar, and not your own; writings by which you are bound, not those by which you have released yourself from obligation. but who says that the estate of varro at casinum was ever sold at all? who ever saw any notice of that auction? who ever heard the voice of the auctioneer? you say that you sent a man to alexandria to buy it of caesar. it was too long to wait for caesar himself to come! but whoever heard (and there was no man about whose safety more people were anxious) that any part whatever of varro's property had been confiscated? what? what shall we say if caesar even wrote you that you were to give it up? what can be said strong enough for such enormous impudence? remove for a while those swords which we see around us. you shall now see that the cause of caesar's auctions is one thing, and that of your confidence and rashness is another. for not only shall the owner drive you from that estate, but any one of his friends, or neighbours, or hereditary connexions, and any agent, will have the right to do so. xli. but how many days did he spend revelling in the most scandalous manner in that villa! from the third hour there was one scene of drinking, gambling, and vomiting. alas for the unhappy house itself! how different a master from its former one has it fallen to the share of! although, how is he the master at all? but still by how different a person has it been occupied! for marcus varro used it as a place of retirement for his studies, not as a theatre for his lusts. what noble discussions used to take place in that villa! what ideas were originated there! what writings were composed there! the laws of the roman people, the memorials of our ancestors, the consideration of all wisdom, and all learning, were the topics that used to be dwelt on then;--but now, while you were the intruder there, (for i will not call you the master,) every place was resounding with the voices of drunken men; the pavements were floating with wine; the walls were dripping; nobly-born boys were mixing with the basest hirelings; prostitutes with mothers of families. men came from casinum, from aquinum, from interamna to salute him. no one was admitted. that, indeed, was proper. for the ordinary marks of respect were unsuited to the most profligate of men. when going from thence to rome he approached aquinum, a pretty numerous company (for it is a populous municipality) came out to meet him. but he was carried through the town in a covered litter, as if he had been dead. the people of aquinum acted foolishly, no doubt; but still they were in his road. what did the people of anagnia do? who, although they were out of his line of road, came down to meet him, in order to pay him their respects, as if he were consul. it is an incredible thing to say, but still it was only too notorious at the time, that he returned nobody's salutation; especially as he had two men of anagnia with him, mustela and laco; one of whom had the care of his swords, and the other of his drinking cups. why should i mention the threats and insults with which he inveighed against the people of teanum sidicinum, with which he harassed the men of puteoli, because they had adopted caius cassius and the bruti as their patrons? a choice dictated, in truth, by great wisdom, and great zeal, benevolence, and affection for them; not by violence and force of arms, by which men have been compelled to choose you, and basilus, and others like you both,--men whom no one would choose to have for his own clients, much less to be their client himself. xlii. in the mean time, while you yourself were absent, what a day was that for your colleague when he overturned that tomb in the forum, which you were accustomed to regard with veneration! and when that action was announced to you, you--as is agreed upon by all who were with you at the time--fainted away. what happened afterwards i know not. i imagine that terror and arms got the mastery. at all events, you dragged your colleague down from his heaven; and you rendered him, not even now like yourself, but at all events very unlike his own former self. after that what a return was that of yours to rome! how great was the agitation of the whole city! we recollected cinna being too powerful; after him we had seen sylla with absolute authority, and we had lately beheld caesar acting as king. there were perhaps swords, but they were sheathed, and they were not very numerous. but how great and how barbaric a procession is yours! men follow you in battle array with drawn swords; we see whole litters full of shields borne along. and yet by custom, o conscript fathers, we have become inured and callous to these things. when on the first of june we wished to come to the senate, as it had been ordained, we were suddenly frightened and forced to flee. but he, as having no need of a senate, did not miss any of us, and rather rejoiced at our departure, and immediately proceeded to those marvellous exploits of his. he who had defended the memoranda of caesar for the sake of his own profit, overturned the laws of caesar--and good laws too--for the sake of being able to agitate the republic. he increased the number of years that magistrates were to enjoy their provinces; moreover, though he was bound to be the defender of the acts of caesar, he rescinded them both with reference to public and private transactions. in public transactions nothing is more authoritative than law; in private affairs the most valid of all deeds is a will. of the laws, some he abolished without giving the least notice; others he gave notice of bills to abolish. wills he annulled; though they have been at all times held sacred even in the case of the very meanest of the citizens. as for the statues and pictures which caesar bequeathed to the people, together with his gardens, those he carried away, some to the house which belonged to pompeius, and some to scipio's villa. xliii. and are you then diligent in doing honour to caesar's memory? do you love him even now that he is dead? what greater honour had he obtained than that of having a holy cushion, an image, a temple, and a priest? as then jupiter, and mars, and quirinus have priests, so marcus antonius is the priest of the god julius. why then do you delay? why are not you inaugurated? choose a day; select some one to inaugurate you; we are colleagues; no one will refuse o you detestable man, whether you are the priest of a tyrant, or of a dead man! i ask you then, whether you are ignorant what day this is? are you ignorant that yesterday was the fourth day of the roman games in the circus? and that you yourself submitted a motion to the people, that a fifth day should be added besides, in honour of caesar? why are we not all clad in the praetexta? why are we permitting the honour which by your law was appointed for caesar to be deserted? had you no objection to so holy a day being polluted by the addition of supplications, while you did not choose it to be so by the addition of ceremonies connected with a sacred cushion? either take away religion in every case, or preserve it in every case. you will ask whether i approve of his having a sacred cushion, a temple and a priest? i approve of none of those things. but you, who are defending the acts of caesar, what reason can you give for defending some, and disregarding others? unless, indeed, you choose to admit that you measure everything by your own gain, and not by his dignity. what will you now reply to these arguments?--(for i am waiting to witness your eloquence; i knew your grandfather, who was a most eloquent man, but i know you to be a more undisguised speaker than he was; he never harangued the people naked; but we have seen your breast, man, without disguise as you are.) will you make any reply to these statements? will you dare to open your mouth at all? can you find one single article in this long speech of mine, to which you trust that you can make any answer? however, we will say no more of what is past. xliv. but this single day, this very day that now is, this very moment while i am speaking, defend your conduct during this very moment, if you can. why has the senate been surrounded with a belt of armed men? why are your satellites listening to me sword in hand? why are not the folding-doors of the temple of concord open? why do you bring men of all nations the most barbarous, ityreans, armed with arrows, into the forum? he says, that he does so as a guard. is it not then better to perish a thousand times than to be unable to live in one's own city without a guard of armed men? but believe me, there is no protection in that;--a man must be defended by the affection and good-will of his fellow citizens, not by arms. the roman people will take them from you, will wrest them from your hands, i wish that they may do so while we are still safe. but however you treat us, as long as you adopt those counsels, it is impossible for you, believe me, to last long. in truth, that wife of yours, who is so far removed from covetousness, and whom i mention without intending any slight to her, has been too long owing[ ] her third payment to the state. the roman people has men to whom it can entrust the helm of the state, and wherever they are, there is all the defence of the republic, or rather, there is the republic itself, which as yet has only avenged, but has not reestablished itself. truly and surely has the republic most high born youths ready to defend it,--though they may for a time keep in the background from a desire for tranquillity, still they can be recalled by the republic at any time. the name of peace is sweet, the thing itself is most salutary. but between peace and slavery there is a wide difference. peace is liberty in tranquillity, slavery is the worst of all evils,--to be repelled, if need be, not only by war, but even by death. but if those deliverers of ours have taken themselves away out of our sight, still they have left behind the example of their conduct. they have done what no one else had done. brutus pursued tarquinius with war, who was a king when it was lawful for a king to exist in rome. spurius cassius, spurius maelius, and marcus manlius were all slain because they were suspected of aiming at regal power. these are the first men who have ever ventured to attack, sword in hand, a man who was not aiming at regal power, but actually reigning. and their action is not only of itself a glorious and godlike exploit, but it is also one put forth for our imitation, especially since by it they have acquired such glory as appears hardly to be bounded by heaven itself. for although in the very consciousness of a glorious action there is a certain reward, still i do not consider immortality of glory a thing to be despised by one who is himself mortal. xlv. recollect then, o marcus antonius, that day on which you abolished the dictatorship. set before you the joy of the senate and people of rome, compare it with this infamous market held by you and by your friends, and then you will understand how great is the difference between praise and profit. but in truth, just as some people, through some disease which has blunted the senses, have no conception of the niceness of food, so men who are lustful, avaricious, and criminal, have no taste for true glory. but if praise cannot allure you to act rightly, still cannot even fear turn you away from the most shameful actions? you are not afraid of the courts of justice. if it is because you are innocent i praise you, if because you trust in your power of overbearing them by violence, are you ignorant of what that man has to fear, who on such an account as that does not fear the courts of justice? but if you are not afraid of brave men and illustrious citizens, because they are prevented from attacking you by your armed retinue, still, believe me, your own fellows will not long endure you. and what a life is it, day and night to be fearing danger from one's own people! unless, indeed, you have men who are bound to you by greater kindnesses than some of those men by whom he was slain were bound to caesar, or unless there are points in which you can be compared with him. in that man were combined genius, method, memory, literature, prudence, deliberation, and industry. he had performed exploits in war which, though calamitous for the republic, were nevertheless mighty deeds. having for many years aimed at being a king, he had with great labour, and much personal danger, accomplished what he intended. he had conciliated the ignorant multitude by presents, by monuments, by largesses of food, and by banquets, he had bound his own party to him by rewards, his adversaries by the appearances of clemency. why need i say much on such a subject? he had already brought a free city, partly by fear, partly by patience, into a habit of slavery. xlvi. with him i can, indeed, compare you as to your desire to reign, but in all other respects you are in no degree to be compared to him. but from the many evils which by him have been burnt into the republic, there is still this good, that the roman people has now learnt how much to believe every one, to whom to trust itself, and against whom to guard. do you never think on these things? and do you not understand that it is enough for brave men to have learnt how noble a thing it is as to the act, how grateful it is as to the benefit done, how glorious as to the fame acquired, to slay a tyrant? when men could not bear him, do you think they will bear you? believe me, the time will come when men will race with one another to do this deed, and when no one will wait for the tardy arrival of an opportunity. consider, i beg you, marcus antonius, do some time or other consider the republic: think of the family of which you are born, not of the men with whom you are living. be reconciled to the republic. however, do you decide on your conduct. as to mine, i myself will declare what that shall be. i defended the republic as a young man, i will not abandon it now that i am old. i scorned the sword of catiline, i will not quail before yours. no, i will rather cheerfully expose my own person, if the liberty of the city can be restored by my death. may the indignation of the roman people at last bring forth what it has been so long labouring with. in truth, if twenty years ago in this very temple i asserted that death could not come prematurely upon a man of consular rank, with how much more truth must i now say the same of an old man? to me, indeed, o conscript fathers, death is now even desirable, after all the honours which i have gained, and the deeds which i have done. i only pray for these two things: one, that dying i may leave the roman people free. no greater boon than this can be granted me by the immortal gods. the other, that every one may meet with a fate suitable to his deserts and conduct towards the republic. the third philippic, or third speech of m. t. cicero against marcus antonius. the argument. after the composition of the last speech, octavius, considering that he had reason to be offended with antonius, formed a plot for his assassination by means of some slaves, which however was discovered. in the mean time antonius began to declare more and more openly against the conspirators. he erected a statue in the forum to caesar, with the inscription, "to the most worthy defender of his country." octavius at the same time was trying to win over the soldiers of his uncle julius, and out-bidding antonius in all his promises to them, so that he soon collected a formidable army of veterans. but as he had no public office to give him any colour for this conduct, he paid great court to the republican party, in hopes to get his proceedings authorized by the senate; and he kept continually pressing cicero to return to rome and support him. cicero, however, for some time kept aloof, suspecting partly his abilities, on account of his exceeding youth, and partly his sincerity in reconciling himself to his uncle's murderers; however, at last he returned, after expressly stipulating that octavius should employ all his forces in defence of brutus and his accomplices. antonius left rome about the end of september, in order to engage in his service four legions of caesar's, which were on their return from macedonia. but when they arrived at brundusium three of them refused to follow him, on which he murdered all their centurions, to the number of three hundred, who were all put to death in his lodgings, in the sight of himself and fulvia his wife, and then returned to rome with the one legion which he had prevailed on; while the other three legions declared as yet for neither party. on his arrival in rome he published many very violent edicts, and summoned the senate to meet on the twenty-fourth of october; then he adjourned it to the twenty-eighth; and a day or two before it met, he heard that two out of the three legions had declared for octavius, and encamped at alba. and this news alarmed him so much, that he abandoned his intention of proposing to the senate a decree to declare octavius a public enemy, and after distributing some provinces among his friends, he put on his military robes, and left the city to take possession of cisalpine gaul, which had been assigned to him by a pretended law of the people, against the will of the senate. on the news of his departure cicero returned to rome, where he arrived on the ninth of december. he immediately conferred with pansa, one of the consuls elect, (hirtius his colleague was ill,) as to the measures to be taken. he was again addressed with earnest solicitations by the friends of octavius, who, to confirm his belief in his good intentions, allowed casca, who had been one of the slayers of caesar, and had himself given him the first blow, to enter on his office as tribune of the people on the tenth of december. the new tribunes convoked the senate for the nineteenth, on which occasion cicero had intended to be absent, but receiving the day before the edict of decimus brutus, by which he forbade antonius to enter his province (immediately after the death of caesar he had taken possession of cisalpine gaul, which had been conferred on him by caesar), and declared that he would defend it against him by force and preserve it in its duty to the senate, he thought it necessary to procure for brutus a resolution of the senate in his favour. he went down therefore very early, and, in a very full house, delivered the following speech. i. we have been assembled at length, o conscript fathers, altogether later than the necessities of the republic required; but still we are assembled, a measure which i, indeed, have been every day demanding, inasmuch as i saw that a nefarious war against our altars and our hearths, against our lives and our fortunes was, i will not say being prepared, but being actually waged by a profligate and desperate man. people are waiting for the first of january. but antonius is not waiting for that day, who is now attempting with an army to invade the province of decimus brutus, a most illustrious and excellent man. and when he has procured reinforcements and equipments there, he threatens that he will come to this city. what is the use then of waiting, or of even a delay for the very shortest time? for although the first of january is at hand, still a short time is a long one for people who are not prepared. for a day, or i should rather say an hour, often brings great disasters, if no precautions are taken. and it is not usual to wait for a fixed day for holding a council, as it is for celebrating a festival. but if the first of january had fallen on the day when antonius first fled from the city, or if people had not waited for it, we should by this time have no war at all. for we should easily have crushed the audacity of that frantic man by the authority of the senate and the unanimity of the roman people. and now, indeed, i feel confident that the consuls elect will do so, as soon as they enter on their magistracy. for they are men of the highest courage, of the most consummate wisdom, and they will act in perfect harmony with each other. but my exhortations to rapid and instant action are prompted by a desire not merely for victory, but for speedy victory. for how long are we to trust to the prudence of an individual to repel so important, so cruel, and so nefarious a war? why is not the public authority thrown into the scale as quickly as possible? ii. caius caesar, a young man, or, i should rather say, almost a boy, endued with an incredible and godlike degree of wisdom and valour, at the time when the frenzy of antonius was at its height, and when his cruel and mischievous return from brundusium was an object of apprehension to all, while we neither desired him to do so, nor thought of such a measure, nor ventured even to wish it, (because it did not seem practicable,) collected a most trustworthy army from the invincible body of veteran soldiers, and has spent his own patrimony in doing so. although i have not used the expression which i ought,--for he has not spent it,--he has invested it in the safety of the republic. and although it is not possible to requite him with all the thanks to which he is entitled, still we ought to feel all the gratitude towards him which our minds are capable of conceiving. for who is so ignorant of public affairs, so entirely indifferent to all thoughts of the republic, as not to see that, if marcus antonius could have come with those forces which he made sure that he should have, from brundusium to rome, as he threatened, there would have been no description of cruelty which he would not have practised? a man who in the house of his entertainer at brundusium ordered so many most gallant men and virtuous citizens to be murdered, and whose wife's face was notoriously besprinkled with the blood of men dying at his and her feet. who is there of us, or what good man is there at all, whom a man stained with this barbarity would ever have spared; especially as he was coming hither much more angry with all virtuous men than he had been with those whom he had massacred there? and from this calamity caesar has delivered the republic by his own individual prudence, (and, indeed, there were no other means by which it could have been done.) and if he had not been born in this republic we should, owing to the wickedness of antonius, now have no republic at all. for this is what i believe, this is my deliberate opinion, that if that one young man had not checked the violence and inhuman projects of that frantic man, the republic would have been utterly destroyed. and to him we must, o conscript fathers, (for this is the first time, met in such a condition, that, owing to his good service, we are at liberty to say freely what we think and feel,) we must, i say, this day give authority, so that he may be able to defend the republic, not because that defence has been voluntarily undertaken by him but also because it has been entrusted to him by us. iii. nor (since now after a long interval we are allowed to speak concerning the republic) is it possible for us to be silent about the martial legion. for what single man has ever been braver, what single man has ever been more devoted to the republic than the whole of the martial legion? which, as soon as it had decided that marcus antonius was an enemy of the roman people, refused to be a companion of his insanity; deserted him though consul; which, in truth, it would not have done if it had considered him as consul, who, as it saw, was aiming at nothing and preparing nothing but the slaughter of the citizens, and the destruction of the state. and that legion has encamped at alba. what city could it have selected either more suitable for enabling it to act, or more faithful, or full of more gallant men, or of citizens more devoted to the republic? the fourth legion, imitating the virtue of this legion, under the leadership of lucius egnatuleius, the quaestor, a most virtuous and intrepid citizen, has also acknowledged the authority and joined the army of caius caesar. we, therefore, o conscript fathers, must take care that those things which this most illustrious young man, this most excellent of all men has of his own accord done, and still is doing, be sanctioned by our authority; and the admirable unanimity of the veterans, those most brave men, and of the martial and of the fourth legion, in their zeal for the reestablishment of the republic, be encouraged by our praise and commendation. and let us pledge ourselves this day that their advantage, and honours, and rewards shall be cared for by us as soon as the consuls elect have entered on their magistracy. iv. and the things which i have said about caesar and about his army, are, indeed, already well known to you. for by the admirable valour of caesar, and by the firmness of the veteran soldiers, and by the admirable discernment of those legions which have followed our authority, and the liberty of the roman people, and the valour of caesar, antonius has been repelled from his attempts upon our lives. but these things, as i have said, happened before; but this recent edict of decimus brutus, which has just been issued, can certainly not be passed over in silence. for he promises to preserve the province of gaul in obedience to the senate and people of rome. o citizen, born for the republic; mindful of the name he bears; imitator of his ancestors! nor, indeed, was the acquisition of liberty so much an object of desire to our ancestors when tarquinius was expelled, as, now that antonius is driven away, the preservation of it is to us. those men had learnt to obey kings ever since the foundation of the city, but we from the time when the kings were driven out have forgotten how to be slaves. and that tarquinius, whom our ancestors expelled, was not either considered or called cruel or impious, but only the proud. that vice which we have often borne in private individuals, our ancestors could not endure even in a king. lucius brutus could not endure a proud king. shall decimus brutus submit to the kingly power of a man who is wicked and impious? what atrocity did tarquinius ever commit equal to the innumerable acts of the sort which antonius has done and is still doing? again, the kings were used to consult the senate; nor, as is the case when antonius holds a senate, were armed barbarians ever introduced into the council of the king. the kings paid due regard to the auspices, which this man, though consul and augur, has neglected, not only by passing laws in opposition to the auspices, but also by making his colleague (whom he himself had appointed irregularly, and had falsified the auspices in order to do so) join in passing them. again, what king was ever so preposterously impudent as to have all the profits, and kindnesses, and privileges of his kingdom on sale? but what immunity is there, what rights of citizenship, what rewards that this man has not sold to individuals, and to cities, and to entire provinces? we have never heard of anything base or sordid being imputed to tarquinius. but at the house of this man gold was constantly being weighed out in the spinning room, and money was being paid, and in one single house every soul who had any interest in the business was selling the whole empire of the roman people. we have never heard of any executions of roman citizens by the orders of tarquinius, but this man both at suessa murdered the man whom he had thrown into prison, and at brundusium massacred about three hundred most gallant men and most virtuous citizens. lastly, tarquinius was conducting a war in defence of the roman people at the very time when he was expelled. antonius was leading an army against the roman people at the time when, being abandoned by the legions, he cowered at the name of caesar and at his army, and neglecting the regular sacrifices, he offered up before daylight vows which he could never mean to perform, and at this very moment he is endeavouring to invade a province of the roman people. the roman people, therefore, has already received and is still looking for greater services at the hand of decimus brutus than our ancestors received from lucius brutus, the founder of this race and name which we ought to be so anxious to preserve. v. but, while all slavery is miserable, to be slave to a man who is profligate, unchaste, effeminate, never, not even while in fear, sober, is surely intolerable. he, then, who keeps this man out of gaul, especially by his own private authority, judges, and judges most truly, that he is not consul at all. we must take care, therefore, o conscript fathers, to sanction the private decision of decimus brutus by public authority. nor, indeed, ought you to have thought marcus antonius consul at any time since the lupercalia. for on the day when he, in the sight of the roman people, harangued the mob, naked, perfumed, and drunk, and laboured moreover to put a crown on the head of his colleague, on that day he abdicated not only the consulship, but also his own freedom. at all events he himself must at once have become a slave, if caesar had been willing to accept from him that ensign of royalty. can i then think him a consul, can i think him a roman citizen, can i think him a freeman, can i even think him a man, who on that shameful and wicked day showed what he was willing to endure while caesar lived, and what he was anxious to obtain himself after he was dead? nor is it possible to pass over in silence the virtue and the firmness and the dignity of the province of gaul. for that is the flower of italy, that is the bulwark of the empire of the roman people, that is the chief ornament of our dignity. but so perfect is the unanimity of the municipal towns and colonies of the province of gaul, that all men in that district appear to have united together to defend the authority of this order, and the majesty of the roman people. wherefore, o tribunes of the people, although you have not actually brought any other business before us beyond the question of protection, in order that the consuls may be able to hold the senate with safety on the first of january, still you appear to me to have acted with great wisdom and great prudence in giving an opportunity of debating the general circumstances of the republic. for when you decided that the senate could not be held with safety without some protection or other, you at the same time asserted by that decision that the wickedness and audacity of antonius was still continuing its practices within our walls. vi. wherefore, i will embrace every consideration in my opinion which i am now going to deliver, a course to which you, i feel sure, have no objection, in order that authority may be conferred by us on admirable generals, and that hope of reward may be held out by us to gallant soldiers, and that a formal decision may be come to, not by words only, but also by actions, that antonius is not only not a consul, but is even an enemy. for if he be consul, then the legions which have deserted the consul deserve beating[ ] to death. caesar is wicked, brutus is impious, since they of their own heads have levied an army against the consul. but if new honours are to be sought out for the soldiers on account of their divine and immortal merits, and if it is quite impossible to show gratitude enough to the generals, who is there who must not think that man a public enemy, whose conduct is such that those who are in arms against him are considered the saviours of the republic? again, how insulting is he in his edicts! how ignorant! how like a barbarian! in the first place, how has he heaped abuse on caesar, in terms drawn from his recollection of his own debauchery and profligacy. for where can we find any one who is chaster than this young man? who is more modest? where have we among our youth a more illustrious example of the old-fashioned strictness? who, on the other hand, is more profligate than the man who abuses him? he reproaches the son of caius caesar with his want of noble blood, when even his natural[ ] father, if he had been alive, would have been made consul. his mother is a woman of aricia. you might suppose he was saying a woman of tralles, or of ephesus. just see how we all who come from the municipal towns--that is to say, absolutely all of us--are looked down upon; for how few of us are there who do not come from those towns? and what municipal town is there which he does not despise who looks with such contempt on aricia; a town most ancient as to its antiquity; if we regard its rights, united with us by treaty; if we regard its vicinity, almost close to us; if we regard the high character of its inhabitants, most honourable? it is from aricia that we have received the voconian and atinian laws; from aricia have come many of those magistrates who have filled our curule chairs, both in our fathers' recollection and in our own; from aricia have sprung many of the best and bravest of the roman knights. but if you disapprove of a wife from aricia, why do you approve of one from tusculum? although the father of this most virtuous and excellent woman, marcus atius balbus, a man of the highest character, was a man of praetorian rank; but the father of your wife,--a good woman, at all events a rich one,--a fellow of the name of bambalio, was a man of no account at all. nothing could be lower than he was, a fellow who got his surname as a sort of insult, derived[ ] from the hesitation of his speech and the stolidity of his understanding. oh, but your grandfather was nobly born. yes, he was that tuditanus who used to put on a cloak and buskins, and then go and scatter money from the rostra among the people. i wish he had bequeathed his contempt of money to his descendants! you have, indeed, a most glorious nobility of family! but how does it happen that the son of a woman of aricia appears to you to be ignoble, when you are accustomed to boast of a descent on the mother's side which is precisely the same?[ ] besides, what insanity is it for that man to say anything about the want of noble birth in men's wives, when his father married numitoria of fregellae, the daughter of a traitor, and when he himself has begotten children of the daughter of a freedman. however, those illustrious men lucius philippus, who has a wife who came from aricia, and caius marcellus, whose wife is the daughter of an arician, may look to this; and i am quite sure that they have no regrets on the score of the dignity of those admirable women. vii. moreover, antonius proceeds to name quintus cicero, my brother's son, in his edict; and is so mad as not to perceive that the way in which he names him is a panegyric on him. for what could happen more desirable for this young man, than to be known by every one to be the partner of caesar's counsels, and the enemy of the frenzy of antonius? but this gladiator has dared to put in writing that he had designed the murder of his father and of his uncle. oh the marvellous impudence, and audacity, and temerity of such an assertion! to dare to put this in writing against that young man, whom i and my brother, on account of his amiable manners, and pure character, and splendid abilities, vie with one another in loving, and to whom we incessantly devote our eyes, and ears, and affections! and as to me, he does not know whether he is injuring or praising me in those same edicts. when he threatens the most virtuous citizens with the same punishment which i inflicted on the most wicked and infamous of men, he seems to praise me as if he were desirous of copying me; but when he brings up again the memory of that most illustrious exploit, then he thinks that he is exciting some odium against me in the breasts of men like himself. viii. but what is it that he has done himself? when he had published all these edicts, he issued another, that the senate was to meet in a full house on the twenty-fourth of november. on that day he himself was not present. but what were the terms of his edict? these, i believe, are the exact words of the end of it: "if any one fails to attend, all men will be at liberty to think him the adviser of my destruction and of most ruinous counsels". what are ruinous counsels? those which relate to the recovery of the liberty of the roman people? of those counsels i confess that i have been and still am an adviser and prompter to caesar. although he did not stand in need of any one's advice, but still i spurned on the willing horse, as it is said. for what good man would not have advised putting you to death, when on your death depended the safety and life of every good man, and the liberty and dignity of the roman people? but when he had summoned us all by so severe an edict, why did he not attend himself? do you suppose that he was detained by any melancholy or important occasion? he was detained drinking and feasting. if, indeed, it deserves to be called a feast, and not rather gluttony. he neglected to attend on the day mentioned in his edict, and he adjourned the meeting to the twenty-eighth. he then summoned us to attend in the capitol, and at that temple he did arrive himself, coming up through some mine left by the gauls. men came, having been summoned, some of them indeed men of high distinction, but forgetful of what was due to their dignity. for the day was such, the report of the object of the meeting such, such too the man who had convened the senate, that it was discreditable for a senate to feel no fear for the result. and yet to those men who had assembled he did not dare to say a single word about caesar, though he had made up his mind[ ] to submit a motion respecting him to the senate. there was a man of consular rank who had brought a resolution ready drawn up. is it not now admitting that he is himself an enemy, when he does not dare to make a motion respecting a man who is leading an army against him while he is consul? for it is perfectly plain that one of the two must be an enemy, nor is it possible to come to a different decision respecting adverse generals. if then caius caesar be an enemy, why does the consul submit no motion to the senate? if he does not deserve to be branded by the senate, then what can the consul say, who, by his silence respecting him, has confessed that he himself is an enemy? in his edicts he styles him spartacus, while in the senate he does not venture to call him even a bad citizen. ix. but in the most melancholy circumstances what mirth does he not provoke? i have committed to memory some short phrases of one edict, which he appears to think particularly clever, but i have not as yet found any one who has understood what he intended by them. "that is no insult which a worthy man does." now, in the first place, what is the meaning of "worthy?" for there are many men worthy of punishment, as he himself is. does he mean what a man does who is invested with any dignity?[ ] if so, what insult can be greater? moreover, what is the meaning of "doing an insult?" who ever uses such an expression? then comes, "nor any fear which an enemy threatens" what then? is fear usually threatened by a friend? then came many similar sentences. is it not better to be dumb, than to say what no one can understand? now see why his tutor, exchanging pleas for ploughs, has had given to him in the public domain of the roman people two thousand acres of land in the leontine district, exempt from all taxes, for making a stupid man still stupider at the public expense. however, these perhaps are trifling matters. i ask now, why all on a sudden he became so gentle in the senate, after having been so fierce in his edicts? for what was the object of threatening lucius cassius, a most fearless tribune of the people, and a most virtuous and loyal citizen, with death if he came to the senate? of expelling decimus caifulenus, a man thoroughly attached to the republic, from the senate by violence and threats of death? of interdicting titus canutius, by whom he had been repeatedly and deservedly harassed by most legitimate attacks, not only from the temple itself but from all approach to it? what was the resolution of the senate which he was afraid that they would stop by the interposition of their veto? that, i suppose, respecting the supplication in honour of marcus lepidus, a most illustrious man! certainly there was a great danger of our hindering an ordinary compliment to a man on whom we were every day thinking of conferring some extraordinary honour. however, that he might not appear to have had no reason at all for ordering the senate to meet, he was on the point of bringing forward some motion about the republic, when the news about the fourth legion came; which entirely bewildered him, and hastening to flee away, he took a division on the resolution for decreeing this supplication, though such a proceeding had never been heard of before.[ ] x. but what a setting out was his after this! what a journey when he was in his robe as a general! how did he shun all eyes, and the light of day, and the city, and the forum! how miserable was his flight! how shameful! how infamous! splendid, too, were the decrees of the senate passed on the evening of that very day; very religiously solemn was the allotment of the provinces; and heavenly indeed was the opportunity, when everyone got exactly what he thought most desirable. you are acting admirably, therefore, o tribunes of the people, in bringing forward a motion about the protection of the senate and consuls, and most deservedly are we all bound to feel and to prove to you the greatest gratitude for your conduct. for how can we be free from fear and danger while menaced by such covetousness and audacity? and as for that ruined and desperate man, what more hostile decision can be passed upon him than has already been passed by his own friends? his most intimate friend, a man connected with me too, lucius lentulus, and also publius naso, a man destitute of covetousness, have shown that they think that they have no provinces assigned them, and that the allotments of antonius are invalid. lucius philippus, a man thoroughly worthy of his father and grandfather and ancestors, has done the same. the same is the opinion of marcus turanius, a man of the greatest integrity and purity of life. the same is the conduct of publius oppius; and those very men,--who, influenced by their friendship for marcus antonius, have attributed to him more power than they would perhaps really approve of,--marcus piso, my own connexion, a most admirable man and virtuous citizen, and marcus vehilius, a man of equal respectability, have both declared that they would obey the authority of the senate. why should i speak of lucius cinna? whose extraordinary integrity, proved under many trying circumstances, makes the glory of his present admirable conduct less remarkable; he has altogether disregarded the province assigned to him; and so has caius cestius, a man of great and firm mind. who are there left then to be delighted with this heavensent allotment? lucius antonius and marcus antonius! o happy pair! for there is nothing that they wished for more. caius antonius has macedonia. happy, too, is he! for he was constantly talking about this province. caius calvisius has africa. nothing could be more fortunate, for he had only just departed from africa, and, as if he had divined that he should return, he left two lieutenants at utica. then marcus iccius has sicily, and quintus cassius spain. i do not know what to suspect. i fancy the lots which assigned these two provinces, were not quite so carefully attended to by the gods. xi. o caius caesar, (i am speaking of the young man,) what safety have you brought to the republic! how unforeseen has it been! how sudden! for if he did these things when flying, what would he have done when he was pursuing? in truth, he had said in a harangue that he would be the guardian of the city; and that he would keep his army at the gates of the city till the first of may. what a fine guardian (as the proverb goes) is the wolf of the sheep! would antonius have been a guardian of the city, or its plunderer and destroyer? and he said too that he would come into the city and go out as he pleased. what more need i say? did he not say, in the hearing of all the people, while sitting in front of the temple of castor, that no one should remain alive but the conqueror? on this day, o conscript fathers, for the first time after a long interval do we plant our foot and take possession of liberty. liberty, of which, as long as i could be, i was not only the defender, but even the saviour. but when i could not be so, i rested; and i bore the misfortunes and misery of that period without abjectness, and not without some dignity. but as for this most foul monster, who could endure him, or how could any one endure him? what is there in antonius except lust, and cruelty, and wantonness, and audacity? of these materials he is wholly made up. there is in him nothing ingenuous, nothing moderate, nothing modest, nothing virtuous. wherefore, since the matter has come to such a crisis that the question is whether he is to make atonement to the republic for his crimes, or we are to become slaves, let us at last, i beseech you, by the immortal gods, o conscript fathers, adopt our fathers' courage, and our fathers' virtue, so as either to recover the liberty belonging to the roman name and race, or else to prefer death to slavery. we have borne and endured many things which ought not to be endured in a free city, some of us out of a hope of recovering our freedom, some from too great a fondness for life. but if we have submitted to these things, which necessity and a sort of force which may seem almost to have been put on us by destiny have compelled us to endure, though, in point of fact, we have not endured them, are we also to bear with the most shameful and inhuman tyranny of this profligate robber? xii. what will he do in his passion, if ever he has the power, who, when he is not able to show his anger against any one, has been the enemy of all good men? what will he not dare to do when victorious, who, without having gained any victory, has committed such crimes as these since the death of caesar? has emptied his well filled house? has pillaged his gardens? has transferred to his own mansion all their ornaments? has sought to make his death a pretext for slaughter and conflagration? who, while he has carried two or three resolutions of the senate which have been advantageous to the republic, has made everything else subservient to his own acquisition of gain and plunder? who has put up exemptions and annuities to sale? who has released cities from obligations? who has removed whole provinces from subjection to the roman empire? who has restored exiles? who has passed forged laws in the name of caesar, and has continued to have forged decrees engraved on brass and fixed up in the capitol, and has set up in his own house a domestic market for all things of that sort? who has imposed laws on the roman people? and who, with armed troops and guards, has excluded both the people and the magistrates from the forum? who has filled the senate with armed men? and has introduced armed men into the temple of concord when he was holding a senate there? who ran down to brundusium to meet the legions, and then murdered all the centurions in them who were well affected to the republic? who endeavoured to come to rome with his army to accomplish our massacre and the utter destruction of the city? and he, now that he has been prevented from succeeding in this attempt by the wisdom and forces of caesar, and the unanimity of the veterans, and the valour of the legions, even now that his fortunes are desperate, does not diminish his audacity, nor, mad that he is, does he cease proceeding in his headlong career of fury. he is leading his mutilated army into gaul, with one legion, and that too wavering in its fidelity to him, he is waiting for his brother lucius, as he cannot find any one more nearly like himself than him. but now what slaughter is this man, who has thus become a captain instead of a matador, a general instead of a gladiator, making, wherever he sets his foot! he destroys stores, he slays the flocks and herds, and all the cattle, wherever he finds them, his soldiers revel in their spoil, and he himself, in order to imitate his brother, drowns himself in wine. fields are laid waste, villas are plundered, matrons, virgins, well born boys are carried off and given up to the soldiery, and marcus antonius has done exactly the same wherever he has led his army. xiii. will you open your gates to these most infamous brothers? will you ever admit them into the city? will you not rather, now that the opportunity is offered to you, now that you have generals ready, and the minds of the soldiers eager for the service, and all the roman people unanimous, and all italy excited with the desire to recover its liberty,--will you not, i say, avail yourself of the kindness of the immortal gods? you will never have an opportunity if you neglect this one. he will be hemmed in in the rear, in the front, and in flank, if he once enters gaul. nor must he be attacked by arms alone, but by our decrees also. mighty is the authority, mighty is the name of the senate when all its members are inspired by one and the same resolution. do you not see how the forum is crowded? how the roman people is on tiptoe with the hope of recovering its liberty? which now, beholding us, after a long interval, meeting here in numbers, hopes too that we are also met in freedom. it was in expectation of this day that i avoided the wicked army of marcus antonius, at a time when he, while inveighing against me, was not aware for what an occasion i was reserving myself and my strength. if at that time i had chosen to reply to him, while he was seeking to begin the massacre with me, i should not now be able to consult the welfare of the republic. but now that i have this opportunity, i will never, o conscript fathers, neither by day nor by night, cease considering what ought to be thought concerning the liberty of the roman people, and concerning your dignity. and whatever ought to be planned or done, i not only will never shrink from, but i will offer myself for, and beg to have entrusted to me. this is what i did before while it was in my power; when it was no longer in my power to do so, i did nothing. but now it is not only in my power, but it is absolutely necessary for me, unless we prefer being slaves to fighting with all our strength and courage to avoid being slaves. the immortal gods have given us these protectors, caesar for the city, brutus for gaul. for if he had been able to oppress the city we must have become slaves at once; if he had been able to get possession of gaul, then it would not have been long before every good man must have perished and all the rest have been enslaved. xiv. now then that this opportunity is afforded to you, o conscript fathers, i entreat you in the name of the immortal gods, seize upon it; and recollect at last that you are the chief men of the most honourable council on the whole face of the earth. give a token to the roman people that your wisdom shall not fail the republic, since that too professes that its valour shall never desert it either. there is no need for my warning you: there is no one so foolish as not to perceive that if we go to sleep over this opportunity we shall have to endure a tyranny which will be not only cruel and haughty, but also ignominious and flagitious. you know the insolence of antonius; you know his friends; you know his whole household. to be slaves to lustful, wanton, debauched, profligate, drunken gamblers, is the extremity of misery combined with the extremity of infamy. and if now (but may the immortal gods avert the omen!) that worst of fates shall befall the republic, then, as brave gladiators take care to perish with honour, let us too, who are the chief men of all countries and nations, take care to fall with dignity rather than to live as slaves with ignominy. there is nothing more detestable than disgrace; nothing more shameful than slavery. we have been born to glory and to liberty; let us either preserve them or die with dignity. too long have we concealed what we have felt: now at length it is revealed: every one has plainly shown what are his feelings to both sides, and what are his inclinations. there are impious citizens, measured by the love i bear my country, too many; but in proportion to the multitude of well-affected ones, very few; and the immortal gods have given the republic an incredible opportunity and chance for destroying them. for, in addition to the defences which we already have, there will soon be added consuls of consummate prudence, and virtue, and concord, who have already deliberated and pondered for many months on the freedom of the roman people. with these men for our advisers and leaders, with the gods assisting us, with ourselves using all vigilance and taking great precautions for the future, and with the roman people acting with unanimity, we shall indeed be free in a short time, and the recollection of our present slavery will make liberty sweeter. xv. moved by these considerations, since the tribunes of the people have brought forward a motion to ensure that the senate shall be able to meet in safety on the first of january, and that we may be able to deliver our sentiments on the general welfare of the state with freedom, i give my vote that caius pansa and aulus hirtius, the consuls elect, do take care that the senate be enabled to meet in safety on the first of january; and, as an edict has been published by decimus brutus, imperator and consul elect, i vote that the senate thinks that decimus brutus, imperator and consul, deserves excellently well of the republic, inasmuch as he is upholding the authority of the senate, and the freedom and empire of the roman people; and as he is also retaining the province of gallia citerior, a province full of most virtuous and brave men, and of citizens most devoted to the republic, and his army, in obedience to the senate, i vote that the senate judges that he, and his army, and the municipalities and colonies of the province of gaul, have acted and are acting properly, and regularly, and in a manner advantageous to the republic. and the senate thinks that it will be for the general interests of the republic that the provinces which are at present occupied by decimus brutus and by lucius plancus, both imperators, and consuls elect, and also by the officers who are in command of provinces, shall continue to be held by them in accordance with the provisions of the julian law, until each of these officers has a successor appointed by a resolution of the senate; and that they shall take care to maintain those provinces and armies in obedience to the senate and people of rome, and as a defence to the republic. and since, by the exertions and valour and wisdom of caius caesar, and by the admirable unanimity of the veteran soldiers, who, obeying his authority, have been and are a protection to the republic, the roman people has been defended, and is at this present time being defended, from the most serious dangers. and as the martial legion has encamped at alba, in a municipal town of the greatest loyalty and courage, and has devoted itself to the support of the authority of the senate, and of the freedom of the roman people; and as the fourth legion, behaving with equal wisdom and with the same virtue, under the command of lucius egnatuleius the quaestor, an illustrious citizen, has defended and is still defending the authority of the senate and the freedom of the roman people; i give my vote, that it is and shall be an object of anxious care to the senate to pay due honour and to show due gratitude to them for their exceeding services to the republic: and that the senate hereby orders that when caius pausa and aulus hirtius, the consuls elect, have entered on their office, they take the earliest opportunity of consulting this body on these matters, as shall seem to them expedient for the republic, and worthy of their own integrity and loyalty. the fourth oration of m.t. cicero against marcus antonius. called also the fourth philippic. * * * * * the argument. after delivering the preceding speech in the senate, cicero proceeded to the forum, where he delivered the following speech to the people, to give them information of what had been done. i. the great numbers in which you are here met this day, o romans, and this assembly, greater than, it seems to me, i ever remember, inspires me with both an exceeding eagerness to defend the republic, and with a great hope of reestablishing it. although my courage indeed has never failed; what has been unfavourable is the time; and the moment that that has appeared to show any dawn of light, i at once have been the leader in the defence of your liberty. and if i had attempted to have done so before, i should not be able to do so now. for this day, o romans, (that you may not think it is but a trifling business in which we have been engaged,) the foundations have been laid for future actions. for the senate has no longer been content with styling antonius an enemy in words, but it has shown by actions that it thinks him one. and now i am much more elated still, because you too with such great unanimity and with such a clamour have sanctioned our declaration that he is an enemy. and indeed, o romans, it is impossible but that either the men must be impious who have levied armies against the consul, or else that he must be an enemy against whom they have rightly taken arms. and this doubt the senate has this day removed--not indeed that there really was any; but it has prevented the possibility of there being any. caius caesar, who has upheld and who is still upholding the republic and your freedom by his seal and wisdom, and at the expense of his patrimonial estate, has been complimented with the highest praises of the senate. i praise you,--yes, i praise you greatly, o romans, when you follow with the most grateful minds the name of that most illustrious youth, or rather boy; for his actions belong to immortality, the name of youth only to his age. i can recollect many things; i have heard of many things; i have read of many things; but in the whole history of the whole world i have never known anything like this. for, when we were weighed down with slavery, when the evil was daily increasing, when we had no defence, while we were in dread of the pernicious and fatal return of marcus antonius from brundusium, this young man adopted the design which none of us had ventured to hope for, which beyond all question none of us were acquainted with, of raising an invincible army of his father's soldiers, and so hindering the frenzy of antonius, spurred on as it was by the most inhuman counsels, from the power of doing mischief to the republic. ii. for who is there who does not see clearly that, if caesar had not prepared an army, the return of antonius must have been accompanied by our destruction? for, in truth, he returned in such a state of mind, burning with hatred of you all, stained with the blood of the roman citizens, whom he had murdered at suessa and at brundusium, that he thought of nothing but the utter destruction of the republic. and what protection could have been found for your safety and for your liberty if the army of caius caesar had not been composed of the bravest of his father's soldiers? and with respect to his praises and honours,--and he is entitled to divine and everlasting honours for his godlike and undying services,--the senate has just consented to my proposals, and has decreed that a motion be submitted to it at the very earliest opportunity. now who is there who does not see that by this decree antonius has been adjudged to be an enemy? for what else can we call him, when the senate decides that extraordinary honours are to be devised for those men who are leading armies against him? what? did not the martial legion (which appears to me by some divine permission to have derived its name from that god from whom we have heard that the roman people descended) decide by its resolutions that antonius was an enemy before the senate had come to any resolution? for if he be not an enemy, we must inevitably decide that those men who have deserted the consul are enemies. admirably and seasonably, o romans, have you by your cries sanctioned the noble conduct of the men of the martial legion, who have come over to the authority of the senate, to your liberty, and to the whole republic; and have abandoned that enemy and robber and parricide of his country. nor did they display only their spirit and courage in doing this, but their caution and wisdom also. they encamped at alba, in a city convenient, fortified, near, full of brave men and loyal and virtuous citizens. the fourth legion imitating the virtue of this martial legion, under the leadership of lucius egnatuleius, whom the senate deservedly praised a little while ago, has also joined the army of caius caesar. iii. what more adverse decisions, o marcus antonius, can you want? caesar, who has levied an army against you, is extolled to the skies. the legions are praised in the most complimentary language, which have abandoned you, which were sent for into italy by you; and which, if you had chosen to be a consul rather than an enemy, were wholly devoted to you. and the fearless and honest decision of those legions is confirmed by the senate, is approved of by the whole roman people,--unless, indeed, you to-day, o romans, decide that antonius is a consul and not an enemy. i thought, o romans, that you did think as you show you do. what? do you suppose that the municipal towns, and the colonies, and the prefectures have any other opinion? all men are agreed with one mind; so that every one who wishes the state to be saved must take up every sort of arms against that pestilence. what? does, i should like to know, does the opinion of decimus brutus, o romans, which you can gather from his edict, which has this day reached us, appear to any one deserving of being lightly esteemed? rightly and truly do you say no, o romans. for the family and name of brutus has been by some especial kindness and liberality of the immortal gods given to the republic, for the purpose of at one time establishing, and at another of recovering, the liberty of the roman people. what then has been the opinion which decimus brutus has formed of marcus antonius? he excludes him from his province. he opposes him with his army. he rouses all gaul to war, which is already used of its own accord, and in consequence of the judgment which it has itself formed. if antonius be consul, brutus is an enemy. can we then doubt which of these alternatives is the fact? iv. and just as you now with one mind and one voice affirm that you entertain no doubt, so did the senate just now decree that decimus brutus deserved excellently well of the republic, inasmuch as he was defending the authority of the senate and the liberty and empire of the roman people. defending it against whom? why, against an enemy. for what other sort of defence deserves praise? in the next place the province of gaul is praised, and is deservedly complimented in most honourable language by the senate for resisting antonius. but if that province considered him the consul, and still refused to receive him, it would be guilty of great wickedness. for all the provinces belong to the consul of right, and are bound to obey him. decimus brutus, imperator and consul elect, a citizen born for the republic, denies that he is consul; gaul denies it; all italy denies it; the senate denies it; you deny it. who then think that he is consul except a few robbers? although even they themselves do not believe what they say; nor is it possible that they should differ from the judgment of all men, impious and desperate men though they be. but the hope of plunder and booty blinds their minds; men whom no gifts of money, no allotment of land, nor even that interminable auction has satisfied; who have proposed to themselves the city, the properties and fortunes of all the citizens as their booty; and who, as long as there is something for them to seize and carry off, think that nothing will be wanting to them; among whom marcus antonius (o ye immortal gods, avert, i pray you, and efface this omen,) has promised to divide this city. may things rather happen, o romans, as you pray that they should, and may the chastisement of this frenzy fall on him and on his friend. and, indeed, i feel sure that it will be so. for i think that at present not only men but the immortal gods have all united together to preserve this republic. for if the immortal gods foreshow us the future, by means of portents and prodigies, then it has been openly revealed to us that punishment is near at hand to him, and liberty to us. or if it was impossible for such unanimity on the part of all men to exist without the inspiration of the gods, in either case how can we doubt as to the inclinations of the heavenly deities? it only remains, o romans, for you to persevere in the sentiments which you at present display. v. i will act, therefore, as commanders are in the habit of doing when their army is ready for battle, who, although they see their soldiers ready to engage, still address an exhortation to them; and in like manner i will exhort you who are already eager and burning to recover your liberty. you have not--you have not, indeed, o romans, to war against an enemy with whom it is possible to make peace on any terms whatever. for he does not now desire your slavery, as he did before, but he is angry now and thirsts for your blood. no sport appears more delightful to him than bloodshed, and slaughter, and the massacre of citizens before his eyes. you have not, o romans, to deal with a wicked and profligate man, but with an unnatural and savage beast. and, since he has fallen into a well, let him be buried in it. for if he escapes out of it, there will be no inhumanity of torture which it will be possible to avoid. but he is at present hemmed in, pressed, and besieged by those troops which we already have, and will soon be still more so by those which in a few days the new consuls will levy. apply yourselves then to this business, as you are doing. never have you shown greater unanimity in any cause; never have you been so cordially united with the senate. and no wonder. for the question now is not in what condition we are to live, but whether we are to live at all, or to perish with torture and ignominy. although nature, indeed, has appointed death for all men: but valour is accustomed to ward off any cruelty or disgrace in death. and that is an inalienable possession of the roman race and name. preserve, i beseech you, o romans, this attribute which your ancestors have left you as a sort of inheritance. although all other things are uncertain, fleeting, transitory; virtue alone is planted firm with very deep roots; it cannot be undermined by any violence; it can never be moved from its position. by it your ancestors first subdued the whole of italy; then destroyed carthage, overthrew numantia, and reduced the most mighty kings and most warlike nations under the dominion of this empire. vi. and your ancestors, o romans, had to deal with an enemy who had also a republic, a senate-house, a treasury, harmonious and united citizens, and with whom, if fortune had so willed it, there might have been peace and treaties on settled principles. but this enemy of yours is attacking your republic, but has none himself; is eager to destroy the senate, that is to say, the council of the whole world, but has no public council himself; he has exhausted your treasury, and has none of his own. for how can a man be supported by the unanimity of his citizens, who has no city at all? and what principles of peace can there be with that man who is full of incredible cruelty, and destitute of faith? the whole then of the contest, o romans, which is now before the roman people, the conqueror of all nations, is with an assassin, a robber, a spartacus.[ ] for as to his habitual boast of being like catilina, he is equal to him in wickedness, but inferior in energy. he, though he had no army, rapidly levied one. this man has lost that very army which he had. as, therefore, by my diligence, and the authority of the senate, and your own zeal and valour, you crushed catilina, so you will very soon hear that this infamous piratical enterprise of antonius has been put down by your own perfect and unexampled harmony with the senate, and by the good fortune and valour of your armies and generals. i, for my part, as far as i am able to labour, and to effect anything by my care, and exertions, and vigilance, and authority, and counsel, will omit nothing which i may think serviceable to your liberty. nor could i omit it without wickedness after all your most ample and honourable kindness to me. however, on this day, encouraged by the motion of a most gallant man, and one most firmly attached to you, marcus servilius, whom you see before you, and his colleagues also, most distinguished men, and most virtuous citizens; and partly, too, by my advice and my example, we have, for the first time after a long interval, fired up again with a hope of liberty. the fifth oration of m.t. cicero against marcus antonius. otherwise called the fifth philippic. * * * * * the argument. the new consuls hirtius and pansa were much attached to cicero, had consulted him a great deal, and professed great respect for his opinion; but they were also under great obligations to julius caesar and, consequently, connected to some extent with his party and with antonius, on which account they wished, if possible, to employ moderate measures only against him. as soon as they had entered on their office, they convoked the senate to meet for the purpose of deliberating on the general welfare of the republic. they both spoke themselves with great firmness, promising to be the leaders in defending the liberties of rome, and exhorting the senate to act with courage. and then they called on quintus fufius calenus, who had been consul a.u.c. , and who was pansa's father-in-law, to deliver his opinion first. he was known to be a firm friend of antonius. cicero wished to declare antonius a public enemy at once, but calenus proposed that before they proceeded to acts of open hostility against him, they should send an embassy to him to admonish him to desist from his attempts upon gaul, and to submit to the authority of the senate. piso and others supported this motion, on the ground that it was cruel and unjust to condemn a man without giving him a fair chance of submitting, and without hearing what he had to say. it was in opposition to calenus's motion that cicero made the following speech, substituting for his proposition one to declare antonius an enemy, and to offer pardon to those of his army who returned to their duty by the first of february, to thank decimus brutus for his conduct in gaul, to decree a statue to marcus lepidus[ ] for his services to the republic and his loyalty, to thank caius caesar (octavius) and to grant him a special commission as general, to make him a senator and propraetor and to enable him to stand for any subsequent magistracy as if he had been quaestor, to thank lucius egnatuleius, and to vote thanks and promise rewards to the martial and the fourth legion. i. nothing, o conscript fathers, has ever seemed to me longer than these calends of january, and i think that for the last few days you have all been feeling the same thing. for those who are waging war against the republic have not waited for this day. but we, while it would have been most especially proper for us to come to the aid of the general safety with our counsel, were not summoned to the senate. however, the speech just addressed to us by the consuls has removed our complaints as to what is past, for they have spoken in such a manner that the calends of january seem to have been long wished for rather than really to have arrived late. and while the speeches of the consuls have encouraged my mind, and have given me a hope, not only of preserving our safety, but even of recovering our former dignity, on the other hand, the opinion of the man who has been asked for his opinion first would have disturbed me, if i had not confidence in your virtue and firmness. for this day, o conscript fathers, has dawned upon you, and this opportunity has been afforded you of proving to the roman people how much virtue, how much firmness and how much dignity exists in the counsels of this order. recollect what a day it was thirteen days ago, how great was then your unanimity, and virtue, and firmness, and what great praise, what great glory, and what great gratitude you gained from the roman people. and on that day, o conscript fathers, you resolved that no other alternative was in your power, except either an honourable peace, or a necessary war. is marcus antonius desirous of peace? let him lay down his arms, let him implore our pardon, let him deprecate our vengeance; he will find no one more reasonable than me, though, while seeking to recommend himself to impious citizens, he has chosen to be an enemy instead of a friend to me. there is, in truth, nothing which can be given to him while waging war, there will perhaps be something which may be granted to him if he comes before us as a suppliant. ii. but to send ambassadors to a man respecting whom you passed a most dignified and severe decision only thirteen days ago, is not an act of lenity, but, if i am to speak my real opinion, of downright madness. in the first place, you praised those generals who, of their own head, had undertaken war against him, in the next place, you praised the veterans who, though they had been settled in those colonies by antonius, preferred the liberty of the roman people to the obligations which they were under to him. is it not so? why was the martial legion? why was the fourth legion praised? for if they have deserted the consul, they ought to be blamed; if they have abandoned an enemy to the republic, then they are deservedly praised. but as at that time you had not yet got any consuls, you passed a decree that a motion concerning the rewards for the soldiers and the honours to be conferred on the generals should be submitted to you at the earliest opportunity. are you then going now to arrange rewards for those men who have taken arms against antonius, and to send ambassadors to antonius? so as to deserve to be ashamed that the legions should have come to more honourable resolutions than the senate if, indeed, the legions have resolved to defend the senate against antonius, but the senate decrees to send ambassadors to antonius. is this encouraging the spirit of the soldiers, or damping their virtue? this is what we have gained in the last twelve days, that the man whom no single person except cotyla was then found to defend, has now advocates even of consular rank. would that they had all been asked their opinion before me, (although i have my suspicions as to what some of those men who will be asked after me, are intending to say) i should find it easier to speak against them if any argument appeared to have been advanced. for there is an opinion in some quarters that some one intends to propose to decree antonius that further gaul, which plancus is at present in possession of. what else is that but supplying an enemy with all the arms necessary for civil war; first of all with the sinews of war, money in abundance, of which he is at present destitute, and secondly, with as much cavalry as he pleases? cavalry do i say? he is a likely man to hesitate, i suppose, to bring with him the barbarian nations,--a man who does not see this is senseless, he who does see it, and still advocates such a measure, is impious. will you furnish a wicked and desperate citizen with an army of gauls and germans, with money, and infantry, and cavalry, and all sorts of resources? all these excuses are no excuse at all.--"he is a friend of mine." let him first be a friend of his country.--"he is a relation of mine." can any relationship be nearer than that of one's country, in which even one's parents are comprised? "he has given me money:"--i should like to see the man who will dare to say that. but when i have explained what is the real object aimed at, it will be easy for you to decide which opinion you ought to agree with and adopt. iii. the matter at issue is, whether power is to be given to marcus antonius of oppressing the republic, of massacring the virtuous citizens, of plundering the city, of distributing the lands among his robbers, of overwhelming the roman people in slavery; or, whether he is not to be allowed to do all this. do you doubt what you are to do? "oh, but all this does not apply to antonius." even cotyla would not venture to say that. for what does not apply to him? a man who, while he says that he is defending the acts of another, perverts all those laws of his which we might most properly praise. caesar wished to drain the marshes: this man has given all italy to that moderate man lucius antonius to distribute.--what? has the roman people adopted this law?--what? could it be passed with a proper regard for the auspices? but this conscientious augur acts in reference to the auspices without his colleagues. although those auspices do not require any interpretation;--for who is there who is ignorant that it is impious to submit any motion to the people while it is thundering? the tribunes of the people carried laws respecting the provinces in opposition to the acts of caesar; caesar had extended the provisions of his law over two years; antonius over six years. has then the roman people adopted this law? what? was it ever regularly promulgated? what? was it not passed before it was even drawn up? did we not see the deed done before we even suspected that it was going to be done? where is the caecilian and didian law? what is become of the law that such bills should be published on three market days? what is become of the penalty appointed by the recent junian and licinian law? can these laws be ratified without the destruction of all other laws? has any one had a right of entering the forum? moreover, what thunder, and what a storm that was! so that even if the consideration of the auspices had no weight with marcus antonius, it would seem strange that he could endure and bear such exceeding violence of tempest, and rain, and whirlwind. when therefore he, as augur, says that he carried a law while jupiter was not only thundering, but almost uttering an express prohibition of it by his clamour from heaven, will he hesitate to confess that it was carried in violation of the auspices? what? does the virtuous augur think that it has nothing to do with the auspices, that he carried the law with the aid of that colleague whose election he himself vitiated by giving notice of the auspices? iv. but perhaps we, who are his colleagues, may be the interpreters of the auspices? do we also want interpreters of arms? in the first place, all the approaches to the forum were so fenced round, that even if no armed men were standing in the way, still it would have been impossible to enter the forum except by tearing down the barricades. but the guards were arranged in such a manner, that, as the access of an enemy to a city is prevented, so you might in this instance see the burgesses and the tribunes of the people cut off by forts and works from all entrance to the forum. on which account i give my vote that those laws which marcus antonius is said to have carried were all carried by violence, and in violation of the auspices; and that the people is not bound by them. if marcus antonius is said to have carried any law about confirming the acts of caesar and abolishing the dictatorship for ever, and of leading colonies into any lands, then i vote that those laws be passed over again, with a due regard to the auspices, so that they may bind the people. for although they may be good measures which he passed irregularly and by violence, still they are not to be accounted laws, and the whole audacity of this frantic gladiator must be repudiated by our authority. but that squandering of the public money cannot possibly be endured by which he got rid of seven hundred millions of sesterces by forged entries and deeds of gifts, so that it seems an absolute miracle that so vast a sum of money belonging to the roman people can have disappeared in so short a time. what? are those enormous profits to be endured which the household of marcus antonius has swallowed up? he was continually selling forged decrees; ordering the names of kingdoms and states, and grants of exemptions to be engraved on brass, having received bribes for such orders. and his statement always was, that he was doing these things in obedience to the memoranda of caesar, of which he himself was the author. in the interior of his house there was going on a brisk market of the whole republic. his wife, more fortunate for herself than for her husband, was holding an auction of kingdoms and provinces: exiles were restored without any law, as if by law: and unless all these acts are rescinded by the authority of the senate, now that we have again arrived at a hope of recovering the republic, there will be no likeness of a free city left to us. nor is it only by the sale of forged memoranda and autographs that a countless sum of money was collected together in that house, while antonius, whatever he sold, said that he was acting in obedience to the papers of caesar; but he even took bribes to make false entries of the resolutions of the senate; to seal forged contracts; and resolutions of the senate that had never been passed were entered on the records of that treasury. of all this baseness even foreign nations were witnesses. in the meantime treaties were made; kingdoms given away; nations and provinces released from the burdens of the state; and false memorials of all these transactions were fixed up all over the capitol, amid the groans of the roman people. and by all these proceedings so vast a sum of money was collected in one house, that if it were all made available, the roman people would never want money again. v. moreover, he passed a law to regulate judicial proceedings, this chaste and upright man, this upholder of the tribunals and the law. and in this he deceived us. he used to say that he appointed men from the front ranks of the army, common soldiers, men of the alauda,[ ] as judges. but he has in reality selected gamesters; he has selected exiles; he has selected greeks. oh the fine bench of judges! oh the admirable dignity of that council! i do long to plead in behalf of some defendant before that tribunal--cyda of crete; a prodigy even in that island; the most audacious and abandoned of men. but even suppose he were not so. does he understand latin? is he qualified by birth and station to be a judge? does he--which is most important--does he know anything about our laws and manners? is he even acquainted with any of the citizens? why, crete is better known to you than rome is to cyda. in fact, the selection and appointment of the judges has usually been confined to our own citizens. but who ever knew, or could possibly have known this gortynian judge? for lysiades, the athenian, we most of us do know. for he is the son of phaedrus, an eminent philosopher. and, besides, he is a witty man, so that he will be able to get on very well with marcus curius, who will be one of his colleagues, and with whom he is in the habit of playing. i ask if lysiades, when summoned as a judge, should not answer to his name, and should have an excuse alleged for him that he is an areopagite, and that he is not bound to act as a judge at both rome and athens at the same time, will the man who presides over the investigation admit the excuse of this greekling judge, at one time a greek, and at another a roman? or will he disregard the most ancient laws of the athenians? and what a bench will it be, o ye good gods! a cretan judge, and he the most worthless of men. whom can a defendant employ to propitiate him? how is he to get at him? he comes of a hard nation. but the athenians are merciful. i dare say that curius, too, is not cruel, inasmuch as he is a man who is himself at the mercy of fortune every day. there are besides other chosen judges who will perhaps be excused. for they have a legitimate excuse, that they have left their country in banishment, and that they have not been restored since. and would that madman have chosen these men as judges, would he have entered their names as such in the treasury, would he have trusted a great portion of the republic to them, if he had intended to leave the least semblance of a republic? vi. and i have been speaking of those judges who are known. those whom you are less acquainted with i have been unwilling to name. know then that dancers, harp-players, the whole troop, in fact, of antonius's revellers, have all been pitchforked into the third decury of judges. now you see the object of passing so splendid and admirable a law, amid excessive rain, storm, wind, tempest, and whirlwind, amid thunder and lightning; it was that we might have those men for our judges whom no one would like to have for guests. it is the enormity of his wickedness, the consciousness of his crimes, the plunder of that money of which the account was kept in the temple of ops, which have been the real inventors of this third decury. and infamous judges were not sought for, till all hope of safety for the guilty was despaired of, if they came before respectable ones. but what must have been the impudence, what must have been the iniquity of a man who dared to select those men as judges, by the selection of whom a double disgrace was stamped on the republic: one, because the judges were so infamous; the other, because by this step it was revealed and published to the world how many infamous citizens we had in the republic? these then, and all other similar laws, i should vote ought to be annulled, even if they had been passed without violence, and with all proper respect for the auspices. but now why need i vote that they ought to be annulled, when i do not consider that they were ever legally passed? is not this, too, to be marked with the deepest ignominy, and with the severest animadversion of this order, so as to be recollected by all posterity, that marcus antonius (the first man who has ever done so since the foundation of the city) has openly taken armed men about with him in this city? a thing which the kings never did, nor those men who, since the kings have been banished, have endeavoured to seize on kingly power. i can recollect cinna; i have seen sylla; and lately caesar. for these three men are the only ones since the city was delivered by lucius brutus, who have had more power than the entire republic. i cannot assert that no man in their trains had weapons. this i do say, that they had not many, and that they concealed them. but this pest was attended by an army of armed men. classitius, mustela, and tiro, openly displaying their swords, led troops of fellows like themselves through the forum. barbarian archers occupied their regular place in the army. and when they arrived at the temple of concord, the steps were crowded, the litters full of shields were arranged; not because he wished the shields to be concealed, but that his friends might not be fatigued by carrying the shields themselves. vii. and what was most infamous not only to see, but even to hear of, armed men, robbers, assassins were stationed in the temple of concord; the temple was turned into a prison; the doors of the temple were closed, and the conscript fathers delivered their opinions while robbers were standing among the benches of the senators. and if i did not come to a senate-house in this state, he, on the first of september, said that he would send carpenters and pull down my house. it was an important affair, i suppose, that was to be discussed. he made some motion about a supplication. i attended the day after. he himself did not come. i delivered my opinion about the republic, not indeed with quite so much freedom as usual, but still with more than the threats of personal danger to myself made perhaps advisable. but that violent and furious man (for lucius piso had done the same thing with great credit thirty days before) threatened me with his enmity, and ordered me to attend the senate on the nineteenth of september. in the meantime he spent the whole of the intervening seventeen days in the villa of scipio, at tibur, declaiming against me to make himself thirsty. for this is his usual object in declaiming. when the day arrived on which he had ordered me to attend, then he came with a regular army in battle array to the temple of concord, and out of his impure mouth vomited forth an oration against me in my absence. on which day, if my friends had not prevented me from attending the senate as i was anxious to do, he would have begun a massacre by the slaughter of me. for that was what he had resolved to do. and when once he had dyed his sword in blood, nothing would have made him leave off but pure fatigue and satiety. in truth, his brother, lucius antonius, was present, an asiatic gladiator, who had fought as a mirmillo,[ ] at mylasa; he was thirsting for my blood, and had shed much of his own in that gladiatorial combat. he was now valuing our property in his mind, taking notice of our possessions in the city and in the country; his indigence united with his covetousness was threatening all our fortunes; he was distributing our lands to whomsoever and in whatever shares he pleased; no private individual could get access to him, or find any means to propitiate him, and induce him to act with justice. every former proprietor had just so much property as antonius left him after the division of his estate. and although all these proceedings cannot be ratified, if you annul his laws, still i think that they ought all to be separately taken note of, article by article; and that we ought formally to decide that the appointment of septemvirs was null and void; and that nothing is ratified which is said to have been done by them. viii. but who is there who can consider marcus antonius a citizen, rather than a most foul and barbarous enemy, who, while sitting in front of the temple of castor, in the hearing of the roman people, said that no one should survive except those who were victorious? do you suppose, o conscript fathers, that he spoke with more violence than he would act? and what are we to think of his having ventured to say that, after he had given up his magistracy, he should still be at the city with his army? that he should enter the city as often as he pleased? what else was this but threatening the roman people with slavery? and what was the object of his journey to brundusium? and of that great haste? what was his hope, except to lead that vast army to the city, or rather into the city? what a proceeding was that selection of the centurions! what unbridled fury of an intemperate mind! for when those gallant legions had raised an outcry against his promises, he ordered those centurions to come to him to his house, whom he perceived to be loyally attached to the republic, and then he had them all murdered before his own eyes and those of his wife, whom this noble commander had taken with him to the army. what disposition do you suppose that this man will display towards us whom he hates, when he was so cruel to those men whom he had never seen? and how covetous will he be with respect to the money of rich men, when he thirsted for even the blood of poor men? whose property, such as it was, he immediately divided among his satellites and boon companions. and he in a fury was now moving his hostile standards against his country from brundusium, when caius caesar, by the kind inspiration of the immortal gods, by the greatness of his own heavenly courage, and wisdom, and genius, of his own accord, indeed, and prompted by his own admirable virtue, but still with the approbation of my authority, went down to the colonies which had been founded by his father; convoked the veteran soldiery; in a few days raised an army; and checked the furious advance of this bandit. but after the martial legion saw this admirable leader, it had no other thoughts but those of securing our liberty. and the fourth legion followed its example. ix. and antonius, on hearing of this news, after he had summoned the senate, and provided a man of consular rank to declare his opinion that caius caesar was an enemy of his country, immediately fainted away. and afterwards, without either performing the usual sacrifices, or offering the customary vows, he, i will not say went forth, but took to flight in his robe as a general. but which way did he flee? to the province of our most resolute and bravest citizens; men who could never have endured him if he had not come bringing war in his train, an intemperate, passionate, insolent, proud man, always making demands, always plundering, always drunk. but he, whose worthlessness even when quiet was more than any one could endure, has declared war upon the province of gaul; he is besieging mutina, a valiant and splendid colony of the roman people; he is blockading decimus brutus, the general, the consul elect, a citizen born not for himself, but for us and the republic. was then hannibal an enemy, and is antonius a citizen? what did the one do like an enemy, that the other has not done, or is not doing, or planning, and thinking of? what was there in the whole of the journey of the antonii; except depopulation, devastation, slaughter, and rapine? actions which hannibal never did, because he was reserving many things for his own use, these men do, as men who live merely for the present hour; they never have given a thought not only to the fortunes and welfare of the citizens, but not even to their own advantage. are we then, o ye good gods, to resolve to send ambassadors to this man? are those men who propose this acquainted with the constitution of the republic, with the laws of war, with the precedents of our ancestors? do they give a thought to what the majesty of the roman people and the severity of the senate requires? do you resolve to send ambassadors? if to beg his mercy, he will despise you; if to declare your commands he will not listen to them; and last of all, however severe the message may be which we give the ambassadors, the very name of ambassadors will extinguish this ardour of the roman people which we see at present, and break the spirit of the municipal towns and of italy. to say nothing of these arguments, though they are weighty, at all events that sending of an embassy will cause delay and slowness to the war. although those who propose it should say, as i hear that some intend to say,--"let the ambassadors go, but let war be prepared for all the same." still the very name of ambassadors will damp men's courage, and delay the rapidity of the war. x. the most important events, o conscript fathers, are often determined by very trivial moving influences in every circumstance that can happen in the republic, and also in war, and especially in civil war, which is usually governed a great deal by men's opinions and by reports. no one will ask what is the commission with which we have sent the ambassadors; the mere name of an embassy, and that sent by us of our own accord, will appear an indication of fear. let him depart from mutina; let him cease to attack brutus; let him retire from gaul. he must not be begged in words to do so; he must be compelled by arms. for we are not sending to hannibal to desire him to retire from before saguntum; to whom the senate formerly sent publius valerius flaccus and quintus baebius tampilus; who, if hannibal did not comply, were ordered to proceed to carthage. whither do we order our ambassadors to proceed, if antonius does not comply? are we sending an embassy to our own citizen, to beg him not to attack a general and a colony of the roman people? is it so? is it becoming to us to beg this by means of ambassadors? what is the difference, in the name of the immortal gods, whether he attacks this city itself, or whether he attacks an outpost of this city, a colony of the roman people, established for the sake of its being a bulwark and protection to us? the siege of saguntum was the cause of the second punic war, which hannibal carried on against our ancestors. it was quite right to send ambassadors to him. they were sent to a carthaginian, they were sent on behalf of those who were the enemies of hannibal, and our allies. what is there resembling that case here? we are sending to one of our own citizens to beg him not to blockade a general of the roman army, not to attack our army and our colony,--in short, not to be an enemy of ours. come; suppose he obeys, shall we either be inclined, or shall we be able by any possibility, to treat him as one of our citizens? xi. on the nineteenth of december, you overwhelmed him with your decrees; you ordained that this motion should be submitted to you on the first of january, which you see is submitted now, respecting the honours and rewards to be conferred on those who have deserved or do deserve well of the republic. and the chief of those men you have adjudged to be the man who really has done so, caius caesar, who had diverted the nefarious attacks of marcus antonius against this city, and compelled him to direct them against gaul; and next to him you consider the veteran soldiers who first followed caesar; then those excellent and heavenly-minded legions the martial and the fourth, to whom you have promised honours and rewards, for having not only abandoned their consul, but for having even declared war against him. and on the same day, having a decree brought before you and published on purpose, you praised the conduct of decimus brutus, a most excellent citizen, and sanctioned with your public authority this war which he had undertaken of his own head. what else, then, did you do on that day except pronounce antonius a public enemy? after these decrees of yours, will it be possible for him to look upon you with equanimity, or for you to behold him without the most excessive indignation? he has been excluded and cut off and wholly separated from the republic, not merely by his own wickedness, as it seems to me, but by some especial good fortune of the republic. and if he should comply with the demands of the ambassadors and return to rome, do you suppose that abandoned citizens will ever be in need of a standard around which to rally? but this is not what i am so much afraid of. there are other things which i am more apprehensive of and more alarmed at. he never will comply with the demands of the ambassadors. i know the man's insanity and arrogance; i know the desperate counsels of his friends, to which he is wholly given up. lucius his brother, as being a man who has fought abroad, leads on his household. even suppose him to be in his senses himself, which he never will be; still he will not be allowed by these men to act as if he were so. in the mean time, time will be wasted. the preparations for war will cool. how is it that the war has been protracted as long as this, if it be not by procrastination and delay? from the very first moment after the departure, or rather after the hopeless flight of that bandit, that the senate could have met in freedom, i have always been demanding that we should be called together. the first day that we were called together, when the consuls elect were not present, i laid, in my opinion, amid the greatest unanimity on your part, the foundations of the republic, later, indeed, than they should have been laid, for i could not do so before, but still if no time had been lost after that day, we should have no war at all now. every evil is easily crushed at its birth, when it has become of long standing, it usually gets stronger. but then everybody was waiting for the first of january, perhaps not very wisely. xii however, let us say no more of what is past. are we still to allow any further delay while the ambassadors are on their road to him? and while they are coming back again? and the time spent in waiting for them will make men doubt about the war. and while the fact of the war is in doubt, how can men possibly be zealous about the levies for the army? wherefore, o conscript fathers, i give my vote that there should be no mention made of ambassadors i think that the business that is to be done must be done without any delay, and instantly. i say that it is necessary that we should decree that there is sedition abroad, that we should suspend the regular courts of justice, order all men to wear the garb of war, and enlist men in all quarters, suspending all exemptions from military service in the city and in all italy, except in gaul. and if this be done, the general opinion and report of your severity will overwhelm the insanity of that wicked gladiator. he will feel that he has undertaken a war against the republic, he will experience the sinews and vigour of a unanimous senate for at present he is constantly saying that it is a mere struggle between parties. between what parties? one party is defeated, the other is the heart of caius caesar's party. unless, indeed, we believe that the party of caesar is attacked by pansa and hirtius the consuls, and by caius caesar's son. but this war has been kindled, not by a struggle between parties, but by the nefarious hopes of the most abandoned citizens, by whom all our estates and properties have been marked down, and already distributed according as every one has thought them desirable. i have read the letter of antonius which he sent to one of the septemviri, a thoroughpaced scoundrel, a colleague of his own, "look out, and see what you take a fancy to, what you do fancy you shall certainly have". see to what a man we are sending ambassadors, against what a man we are delaying to make war, a man who does not even let us draw lots for our fortunes, but hands us over to each man's caprice in such a way, that he has not left even himself anything untouched, or which has not been promised to somebody. with this man, o conscript fathers, we must wage war,--war, i say, and that instantly. we must reject the slow proceedings of ambassadors. therefore, that we may not have a number of decrees to pass every day, i give my vote that the whole republic should be committed to the consuls, and that they should have a charge given them to defend the republic, and to take care "that the republic suffer no injury." and i give my vote that those men who are in the army of antonius be not visited with blame, if they leave him before the first of february. if you adopt these proposals of mine, o conscript fathers, you will in a short time recover the liberty of the roman people and our own authority. but if you act with more mildness, still you will pass those resolutions, but perhaps you will pass them too late. as to the general welfare of the republic, on which you, o consuls, have consulted us, i think that i have proposed what is sufficient. xiii. the next question is about honours. and to this point i perceive that i must speak next. but i will preserve the same order in paying respect to brave men, that is usually preserved in asking their opinions. let us, therefore, according to the usages of our ancestors, begin with brutus, the consul elect, and, to say nothing of his former conduct,--which has indeed been most admirable, but still such as has been praised by the individual judgments of men, rather than by public authority,--what words can we find adequate to his praise at this very time? for such great virtue requires no reward except this one of praise and glory; and even if it were not to receive that, still it would be content with itself, and would rejoice at being laid up in the recollection of grateful citizens, as if it were placed in the full light. the praise then of our deliberate opinion, and of our testimony in his favour, must be given to brutus. therefore, o conscript fathers, i give my vote that a resolution of the senate be passed in these words: "as decimus brutus, imperator, consul elect is maintaining the province of gaul in obedience to the senate and people of rome, and as he has enlisted and collected in so short a time a very numerous army, being aided by the admirable zeal of the municipal towns and colonies of the province of gaul, which has deserved and still does deserve admirably well of the republic, he has acted rightly and virtuously, and greatly for the advantage of the republic. and that most excellent service done by decimus brutus to the republic, is and always will be grateful to the senate and people of rome. therefore, the senate and the roman people is of opinion that the exertions, and prudence, and virtue of decimus brutus, imperator and consul elect, and the incredible zeal and unanimity of the province of gaul, have been a great assistance to the republic, at a most critical time." what honour, o conscript fathers, can be too great to be due to such a mighty service as this of brutus, and to such important aid as he has afforded the republic? for if gaul had been open to marcus antonius--if after having overwhelmed the municipal towns and colonies unprepared to resist him, he had been able to penetrate into that further gaul--what great danger would have hung over the republic! that most insane of men, that man so headlong and furious in all his courses, would have been likely, i suppose, to hesitate at waging war against us, not only with his own army, but with all the savage troops of barbarism, so that even the wall of the alps would not have enabled us to check his frenzy. these thanks then will be deservedly paid to decimus brutus, who, before any authority of yours had been interposed, acting on his own judgment and responsibility, refused to receive him as consul, but repelled him from gaul as an enemy, and preferred to be besieged himself rather than to allow this city to be so. let him therefore have, by your decree, an everlasting testimony to this most important and glorious action, and let gaul,[ ] which always is and has been a protection to this empire and to the general liberty, be deservedly and truly praised for not having surrendered herself and her power to antonius, but for having opposed him with them. xiv. and, furthermore, i give my vote that the most ample honours be decreed to marcus lepidus, as a reward for his eminent services to the republic. he has at all times wished the roman people to be free, and he gave the greatest proof of his inclination and opinion on that day, when, while antonius was placing the diadem on caesar's head, he turned his face away, and by his groans and sorrow showed plainly what a hatred of slavery he had, how desirous he was for the roman people to be free, and how he had endured those things which he had endured more because of the necessity of the times, than because they harmonised with his sentiments. and who of us can forget with what great moderation he behaved during that crisis of the city which ensued after the death of caesar? these are great merits, but i hasten to speak of greater still. for, (o ye immortal gods!) what could happen more to be admired by foreign nations or more to be desired by the roman people, than, at a time when there was a most important civil war, the result of which we were all dreading, that it should be extinguished by prudence rather than that arms and violence should be able to put everything to the hazard of a battle? and if caesar had been guided by the same principles in that odious and miserable war, we should have--to say nothing of their father--the two sons of cnaeus pompeius, that most illustrious and virtuous man, safe among us, men whose piety and filial affection certainly ought not to have been their ruin. would that marcus lepidus had been able to save them all! he showed that he would have done so, by his conduct in cases where he had the power, when he restored sextus pompeius to the state, a great ornament to the republic, and a most illustrious monument of his clemency. sad was that picture, melancholy was the destiny then of the roman people. for after pompeius the father was dead, he who was the light of the roman people, the son too, who was wholly like his father, was also slain. but all these calamities appear to me to have been effaced by the kindness of the immortal gods, sextus pompeius being preserved to the republic. xv. for which cause, reasonable and important as it is and because marcus lepidus, by his humanity and wisdom, has changed a most dangerous and extensive civil war into peace and concord, i give my vote, that a resolution of the senate be drawn up in these words: "since the affairs of the republic have repeatedly been well and prosperously conducted by marcus lepidus, imperator, and pontifex maximus, and since the roman people is fully aware that kingly power is very displeasing to him; and since by his exertions, and virtue, and prudence, and singular clemency and humanity, a most bitter civil war has been extinguished; and sextus pompeius magnus, the son of cnaeus, having submitted to the authority of this order and laid down his arms, and, in accordance with the perfect good-will of the senate and people of rome, has been restored to the state by marcus lepidus, imperator, and pontifex maximus; the senate and people of rome, in return for the important and numerous services of marcus lepidus to the republic, declares that it places great hopes of future tranquillity and peace and concord, in his virtue, authority, and good fortune; and the senate and people of rome will ever remember his services to the republic; and it is decreed by the vote of this order, that a gilt equestrian statue be erected to him in the rostra, or in whatever other place in the forum he pleases." and this honour, o conscript fathers, appears to me a very great one, in the first place, because it is just;--for it is not merely given on account of our hopes of the future, but it is paid, as it were, in requital of his ample services already done. nor are we able to mention any instance of this honour having been conferred on any one by the senate by their own free and voluntary judgment before. xvi. i come now to caius caesar, o conscript fathers; if he had not existed, which of us could have been alive now? that most intemperate of men, antonius, was flying from brundusium to the city, burning with hatred, with a disposition hostile to all good men, with an army. what was there to oppose to his audacity and wickedness? we had not as yet any generals, or any forces. there was no public council, no liberty; our necks were at the mercy of his nefarious cruelty; we were all preparing to have recourse to flight, though flight itself had no escape for us. who was it--what god was it, who at that time gave to the roman people this godlike young man, who, while every means for completing our destruction seemed open to that most pernicious citizen, rising up on a sudden, beyond every one's hope, completed an army fit to oppose to the fury of marcus antonius before any one suspected that he was thinking of any such step? great honours were paid to cnaeus pompeius when he was a young man, and deservedly; for he came to the assistance of the republic; but he was of a more vigorous age, and more calculated to meet the eager requirements of soldiers seeking a general. he had also been already trained in other kinds of war. for the cause of sylla was not agreeable to all men. the multitude of the proscribed, and the enormous calamities that fell on so many municipal towns, show this plainly. but caesar, though many years younger, armed veterans who were now eager to rest; he has embraced that cause which was most agreeable to the senate, to the people, to all italy,--in short, to gods and men. and pompeius came as a reinforcement to the extensive command and victorious army of lucius sylla; caesar had no one to join himself to. he, of his own accord, was the author and executor of his plan of levying an army, and arraying a defence for us. pompeius found the whole picene district hostile to the party of his adversaries; but caesar has levied an army against antonius from men who were antonius's own friends, but still greater friends to liberty. it was owing to the influence of pompeius that sylla was enabled to act like a king. it is by the protection afforded us by caesar that the tyranny of antonius has been put down. let us then confer on caesar a regular military command, without which the military affairs cannot be directed, the army cannot be held together, war cannot be waged. let him be made proprietor with all the privileges which have ever been attached to that appointment. that honour, although it is a great one for a man of his age, still is not merely of influence as giving dignity, but it confers powers calculated to meet the present emergency. therefore, let us seek for honours for him which we shall not easily find at the present day. xvii. but i hope that we and the roman people shall often have an opportunity of complimenting and honouring this young man. but at the present moment i give my vote that we should pass a decree in this form: "as caius caesar, the son of caius, pontiff and propraetor, has at a most critical period of the republic exhorted the veteran soldiers to defend the liberty of the roman people, and has enlisted them in his army, and as the martial legion and the fourth legion, with great zeal for the republic, and with admirable unanimity, under the guidance and authority of caius caesar, have defended and are defending the republic and the liberty of the roman people, and as caius caesar, propraetor, has gone with his army as a reinforcement to the province of gaul, has made cavalry, and archers, and elephants, obedient to himself and to the roman people, and has, at a most critical time for the republic, come to the aid of the safety and dignity of the roman people,--on these accounts, it seems good to the senate that caius caesar, the son of caius, pontiff and propraetor, shall be a senator, and shall deliver his opinions from the bench occupied by men of praetorian rank, and that, on occasion of his offering himself for any magistracy, he shall be considered of the same legal standing and qualification as if he had been quaestor the preceding year." for what reason can there be, o conscript fathers, why we should not wish him to arrive at the highest honours at as early an age as possible? for when, by the laws fixing the age at which men might be appointed to the different magistracies our ancestors fixed a more mature age for the consulship, they were influenced by fears of the precipitation of youth, caius caesar, at his first entrance into life, has shown us that, in the case of his eminent and unparalleled virtue, we have no need to wait for the progress of age. therefore our ancestors, those old men, in the most ancient times, had no laws regulating the age for the different offices, it was ambition which caused them to be passed many years afterwards, in order that there might be among men of the same age different steps for arriving at honours. and it has often happened that a disposition of great natural virtue has been lost before it had any opportunity of benefiting the republic. but among the ancients, the rulii, the decii, the corvim, and many others, and in more modern times the elder africanus and titus flaminius were made consuls very young, and performed such exploits as greatly to extend the empire of the roman people, and to embellish its name. what more? did not the macedonian alexander, having begun to perform mighty deeds from his earliest youth, die when he was only in his thirty-third year? and that age is ten years less than that fixed by our laws for a man to be eligible for the consulship. from which it may be plainly seen that the progress of virtue is often swifter than that of age. xviii. for as to the fear which those men, who are enemies of caesar, pretend to entertain, there is not the slightest reason to apprehend that he will be unable to restrain and govern himself, or that he will be so elated by the honours which he receives from us as to use his power with out moderation. it is only natural, o conscript fathers, that the man who has learnt to appreciate real glory, and who feels that he is considered by the senate and by the roman knights and the whole roman people a citizen who is dear to, and a blessing to the republic, should think nothing whatever deserving of being compared to this glory. would that it had happened to caius caesar--the father, i mean--when he was a young man, to be beloved by the senate and by every virtuous citizen, but, having neglected to aim at that, he wasted all the power of genius which he had in a most brilliant degree, in a capricious pursuit of popular favour. therefore, as he had not sufficient respect for the senate and the virtuous part of the citizens, he opened for himself that path for the extension of his power, which the virtue of a free people was unable to bear. but the principles of his son are widely different; who is not only beloved by every one, but in the greatest degree by the most virtuous men. in him is placed all our hope of liberty, from him already has our safety been received, for him the highest honours are sought out and prepared. while therefore we are admiring his singular prudence, can we at the same time fear his folly? for what can be more foolish than to prefer useless power, such influence as brings envy in its train, and a rash and slippery ambition of reigning, to real, dignified, solid glory? has he seen this truth as a boy, and when he has advanced in age will he cease to see it? "but he is an enemy to some most illustrious and excellent citizens." that circumstance ought not to cause any fear caesar has sacrificed all those enmities to the republic; he had made the republic his judge; he has made her the directress of all his counsels and actions. for he is come to the service of the republic in order to strengthen her, not to overturn her. i am well acquainted with all the feelings of the young man: there is nothing dearer to him than the republic, nothing which he considers of more weight than your authority; nothing which he desires more than the approbation of virtuous men; nothing which he accounts sweeter than genuine glory. wherefore you not only ought not to fear anything from him, but you ought to expect greater and better things still. nor ought you to apprehend with respect to a man who has already gone forward to release decimus brutus from a siege, that the recollection of his domestic injury will dwell in his bosom, and have more weight with him than the safety of the city. i will venture even to pledge my own faith, o conscript fathers, to you, and to the roman people, and to the republic, which in truth, if no necessity compelled me to do so, i would not venture to do, and in doing which on slight grounds, i should be afraid of giving rise to a dangerous opinion of my rashness in a most important business; but i do promise, and pledge myself, and undertake, o conscript fathers, that caius caesar will always be such a citizen as he is this day, and as we ought above all things to wish and desire that he may turn out. xix. and as this is the case, i shall consider that i have said enough at present about caesar. nor do i think that we ought to pass over lucius egnatuleius, a most gallant and wise and firm citizen, and one thoroughly attached to the republic, in silence; but that we ought to give him our testimony to his admirable virtue, because it was he who led the fourth legion to caesar, to be a protection to the consuls, and senate, and people of rome, and the republic. and for these acts i give my vote: "that it be made lawful for lucius egnatuleius to stand for, and be elected to, and discharge the duties of any magistracy, three years before the legitimate time." and by this motion, o conscript fathers, lucius egnatuleius does not get so much actual advantage as honour. for in a case like this it is quite sufficient to be honourably mentioned. but concerning the army of caius caesar, i give my vote for the passing of a decree in this form: "the senate decrees that the veteran soldiers who have defended and are defending [lacuna] of caesar, pontiff [lacuna] and the authority of this order, should, and their children after them, have an exemption from military service. and that caius pansa and aulus hirtius the consuls, one or both of them, as they think fit, shall inquire what land there is in those colonies in which the veteran soldiers have been settled, which is occupied in defiance of the provisions of the julian law, in order that that may be divided among these veterans. that they shall institute a separate inquiry about the campanian district, and devise a plan for increasing the advantages enjoyed by these veteran soldiers; and with respect to the martial legion, and to the fourth legion, and to those soldiers of the second and thirty-fifth legions who have come over to caius pansa and aulus hirtius the consuls, and have given in their names, because the authority of the senate and the liberty of the roman people is and always has been most dear to them, the senate decrees that they and their children shall have exemption from military service, except in the case of any gallic and italian sedition; and decrees further, that those legions shall have their discharge when this war is terminated; and that whatever sum of money caius caesar, pontiff and propraetor, has promised to the soldiers of those legions individually, shall be paid to them. and that caius pansa and aulus hirtius the consuls, one or both of them, as it seems good to them, shall make an estimate of the land which can be distributed without injury to private individuals; and that land shall be given and assigned to the soldiers of the martial legion and of the fourth legion, in the largest shares in which land has ever been given and assigned to soldiers." i have now spoken, o consuls, on every point concerning which you have submitted a motion to us; and if the resolutions which i have proposed be decreed without delay, and seasonably, you will the more easily prepare those measures which the present time and emergency demand. but instant action is necessary. and if we had adopted that earlier, we should, as i have often said, now have no war at all. the sixth oration of m. t cicero against marcus antonius called also the sixth philippic. addressed to the people. the argument in respect of the honours proposed by cicero in the last speech the senate agreed with him, voting to octavius honours beyond any that cicero had proposed. but they were much divided about the question of sending an embassy to antonius, and the consuls, seeing that a majority agreed with cicero, adjourned the debate till the next day. the discussion lasted three days, and the senate would at last have adopted all cicero's measures if one of the tribunes, salvius, had not put his veto on them. so that at last the embassy was ordered to be sent, and servius sulpicius, lucius piso, and lucius philippus, appointed as the ambassadors, but they were charged merely to order antonius to abandon the siege of mutina, and to desist from hostilities against the province of gaul, and further, to proceed to decimus brutus in mutina, and to give him and his army the thanks of the senate and people. the length of the debates roused the curiosity of the people, who, being assembled in the forum to learn the result, called on cicero to come forth and give them an account of what had been done--on which he went to the rostra, accompanied by publius appuleius the tribune, and related to them all that had passed in the following speech: i. i imagine that you have heard, o romans, what has been done in the senate, and what has been the opinion delivered by each individual. for the matter which has been in discussion ever since the first of january, has been just brought to a conclusion, with less severity indeed than it ought to have been, but still in a manner not altogether unbecoming. the war has been subjected to a delay, but the cause has not been removed. wherefore, as to the question which publius appuleius--a man united to me by many kind offices and by the closest intimacy, and firmly attached to your interests--has asked me, i will answer in such a manner that you may be acquainted with the transactions at which you were not present. the cause which prompted our most fearless and excellent consuls to submit a motion on the first of january, concerning the general state of the republic, arose from the decree which the senate passed by my advice on the nineteenth of december. on that day, o romans, were the foundations of the republic first laid. for then, after a long interval, the senate was free in such a manner that you too might become free. on which day, indeed,--even if it had been to bring to me the end of my life,--i received a sufficient reward for my exertions, when you all with one heart and one voice cried out together, that the republic had been a second time saved by me. stimulated by so important and so splendid a decision of yours in my favour, i came into the senate on the first of january, with the feeling that i was bound to show my recollection of the character which you had imposed upon me, and which i had to sustain. therefore, when i saw that a nefarious war was waged against the republic, i thought that no delay ought to be interposed to our pursuit of marcus antonius; and i gave my vote that we ought to pursue with war that most audacious man, who, having committed many atrocious crimes before, was at this moment attacking a general of the roman people, and besieging your most faithful and gallant colony; and that a state of civil war ought to be proclaimed; and i said further, that my opinion was that a suspension of the ordinary forms of justice should be declared, and that the garb of war should be assumed by the citizens, in order that all men might apply themselves with more activity and energy to avenging the injuries of the republic, if they saw that all the emblems of a regular war had been adopted by the senate. therefore, this opinion of mine, o romans, prevailed so much for three days, that although no division was come to, still all, except a very few, appeared inclined to agree with me. but to-day--i know not owing to what circumstance--the senate was more indulgent. for the majority decided on our making experiment, by means of ambassadors, how much influence the authority of the senate and your unanimity will have upon antonius. ii. i am well aware, o romans, that this decision is disapproved of by you; and reasonably too. for to whom are we sending ambassadors? is it not to him who, after having dissipated and squandered the public money, and imposed laws on the roman people by violence and in violation of the auspices,--after having put the assembly of the people to flight and besieged the senate, sent for the legions from brundusium to oppress the republic? who, when deserted by them, has invaded gaul with a troop of banditti? who is attacking brutus? who is besieging mutina? how can you offer conditions to, or expect equity from, or send an embassy to, or, in short, have anything in common with, this gladiator? although, o romans, it is not an embassy, but a denunciation of war if he does not obey. for the decree has been drawn up as if ambassadors were being sent to hannibal. for men are sent to order him not to attack the consul elect, not to besiege mutina, not to lay waste the province, not to enlist troops, but to submit himself to the power of the senate and people of rome. no doubt he is a likely man to obey this injunction, and to submit to the power of the conscript fathers and to yours, who has never even had any mastery over himself. for what has he ever done that showed any discretion, being always led away wherever his lust, or his levity, or his frenzy, or his drunkenness has hurried him? he has always been under the dominion of two very dissimilar classes of men, pimps and robbers; he is so fond of domestic adulteries and forensic murders, that he would rather obey a most covetous woman than the senate and people of rome. iii. therefore, i will do now before you what i have just done in the senate. i call you to witness, i give notice, i predict beforehand, that marcus antonius will do nothing whatever of those things which the ambassadors are commissioned to command him to do; but that he will lay waste the lands, and besiege mutina and enlist soldiers, wherever he can. for he is a man who has at all times despised the judgment and authority of the senate, and your inclinations and power. will he do what it has been just now decreed that he shall do,--lead his army back across the rubicon, which is the frontier of gaul, and yet at the same time not come nearer rome than two hundred miles? will he obey this notice? will he allow himself to be confined by the river rubicon and by the limit of two hundred miles? antonius is not that sort of man. for if he had been, he would never have allowed matters to come to such a pass, as for the senate to give him notice, as it did to hannibal at the beginning of the punic war not to attack saguntum. but what ignominy it is to be called away from mutina, and at the same time to be forbidden to approach the city as if he were some fatal conflagration! what an opinion is this for the senate to have of a man! what? as to the commission which is given to the ambassadors to visit decimus brutus and his soldiers, and to inform them that their excellent zeal in behalf of, and services done to the republic, are acceptable to the senate and people of rome, and that that conduct shall tend to their great glory and to their great honour; do you think that antonius will permit the ambassadors to enter mutina? and to depart from thence in safety? he never will allow it, believe me. i know the violence of the man, i know his impudence, i know his audacity. nor, indeed, ought we to think of him as of a human being, but as of a most ill-omened beast. and as this is the case, the decree which the senate has passed is not wholly improper. the embassy has some severity in it; i only wish it had no delay. for as in the conduct of almost every affair slowness and procrastination are hateful, so above all things does this war require promptness of action. we must assist decimus brutus; we must collect all our forces from all quarters; we cannot lose a single hour in effecting the deliverance of such a citizen without wickedness. was it not in his power, if he had considered antonius a consul, and gaul the province of antonius, to have given over the legions and the province to antonius? and to return home himself? and to celebrate a triumph? and to be the first man in this body to deliver his opinion, until he entered on his magistracy? what was the difficulty of doing that? but as he remembered that he was brutus, and that he was born for your freedom, not for his own tranquillity, what else did he do but--as i may almost say--put his own body in the way to prevent antonius from entering gaul? ought we then to send ambassadors to this man, or legions? however, we will say nothing of what is past. let the ambassadors hasten, as i see that they are about to do. do you prepare your robes of war. for it has been decreed, that, if he does not obey the authority of the senate, we are all to betake our selves to our military dress. and we shall have to do so. he will never obey. and we shall lament that we have lost so many days, when we might have been doing something. iv i have no fear, o romans, that when antonius hears that i have asserted, both in the senate and in the assembly of the people, that he never will submit himself to the power of the senate, he will, for the sake of disproving my words, and making me to appeal to have had no foresight, alter his behaviour and obey the senate. he will never do so. he will not grudge me this part of my reputation, he will prefer letting me be thought wise by you to being thought modest himself. need i say more? even if he were willing to do so himself, do you think that his brother lucius would permit him? it has been reported that lately at tibur, when marcus antonius appeared to him to be wavering, he, lucius, threatened his brother with death. and do we suppose that the orders of the senate, and the words of the ambassadors, will be listened to by this asiatic gladiator? it will be impossible for him to be separated from a brother, especially from one of so much authority. for he is another africanus among them. he is considered of more influence than lucius trebellius, of more than titus plancus [lacuna] a noble young man. as for plancus, who, having been condemned by the unanimous vote of every one, amid the overpowering applause of you yourselves, somehow or other got mixed up in this crowd, and returned with a countenance so sorrowful, that he appeared to have been dragged back rather than to have returned, he despises him to such degree, as if he were interdicted from fire and water. at times he says that that man who set the senate house on fire has no right to a place in the senate house. for at this moment he is exceedingly in love with trebellius. he hated him some time ago, when he was opposing an abolition of debts, but now he delights in him, ever since he has seen that trebellius himself cannot continue in safety without an abolition of debts. for i think that you have heard, o romans, what indeed you may possibly have seen, that the sureties and creditors of lucius trebellius meet every day. oh confidence! for i imagine that trebellius has taken this surname, what can be greater confidence than defrauding one's creditors? than flying from one's house? than, because of one's debts, being forced to go to war? what has become of the applauses which he received on the occasion of caesar's triumph, and often at the games? where is the aedileship that was conferred on him by the zealous efforts of all good men? who is there who does not now think that he acted virtuously by accident? * * * * * v however, i return to your love and especial delight, lucius antonius, who has admitted you all to swear allegiance to him. do you deny it? is there any one of you who does not belong to a tribe? certainly not. but thirty five tribes have adopted him for their patron. do you again cry out against my statement? look at that gilt statue of him on the left what is the inscription upon it? "the thirty five tribes to their patron." is then lucius antonius the patron of the roman people? plague take him! for i fully assent to your outcry. i won't speak of this bandit whom no one would choose to have for a client, but was there ever a man possessed of such influence, or illustrious for mighty deeds, as to dare to call himself the patron of the whole roman people, the conqueror and master of all nations? we see in the forum a statue of lucius antonius, just as we see one of quintus tremulus, who conquered the hernici, before the temple of castor. oh the incredible impudence of the man! has he assumed all this credit to himself, because as a mumillo at mylasa he slew the thracian, his friend? how should we be able to endure him, if he had fought in this forum before the eyes of you all? but, however, this is but one statue. he has another erected by the roman knights who received horses from the state,[ ] and they too inscribe on that, "to their patron". who was ever before adopted by that order as its patron? if it ever adopted any one as such, it ought to have adopted me. what censor was ever so honoured? what imperator? "but he distributed land among them". shame on their sordid natures for accepting it! shame on his dishonesty for giving it! moreover, the military tribunes who were in the army of caesar have erected him a statue. what order is that? there have been plenty of tribunes in our numerous legions in so many years. among them he has distributed the lands of semurium. the campus martius was all that was left, if he had not first fled with his brother. but this allotment of lands was put an end to a little while ago, o romans, by the declaration of his opinion by lucius caesar a most illustrious man and a most admirable senator. for we all agreed with him and annulled the acts of the septemvirs. so all the kindness of nucula[ ] goes for nothing, and the patron antonius is at a discount. for those who had taken possession will depart with more equanimity. they had not been at any expense, they had not yet furnished or stocked their domains, partly because they did not feel sure of their title, and partly because they had no money. but as for that splendid statue, concerning which, if the times were better, i could not speak without laughing, "to lucius antonius, patron of the middle of janus"[ ] is it so? is the middle of janus a client of lucius antonius? who ever was found in that janus who would have lent lucius antonius a thousand sesterces? vi. however, we have been spending too much time in trifles. let us return to our subject and to the war. although it was not wholly foreign to the subject for some characters to be thoroughly appreciated by you, in order that you might in silence think over who they were against whom you were to wage war. but i exhort you, o romans, though perhaps other measures might have been wiser, still now to wait with calmness for the return of the ambassadors. promptness of action has been taken from our side, but still some good has accrued to it. for when the ambassadors have reported what they certainly will report, that antonius will not submit to you nor to the senate, who then will be so worthless a citizen as to think him deserving of being accounted a citizen? for at present there are men, few indeed, but still more than there ought to be, or than the republic deserves that there should be, who speak in this way,--"shall we not even wait for the return of the ambassadors?" certainly the republic itself will force them to abandon that expression and that pretence of clemency. on which account, to confess the truth to you, o romans, i have less striven to day, and laboured all the less to day, to induce the senate to agree with me in decreeing the existence of a seditious war, and ordering the apparel of war to be assumed. i preferred having my sentiments applauded by every one in twenty days' time, to having it blamed to day by a few. wherefore, o romans, wait now for the return of the ambassadors, and devour your annoyance for a few days. and when they do return, if they bring back peace, believe me that i have been desirous that they should, if they bring back war, then allow me the praise of foresight. ought i not to be provident for the welfare of my fellow-citizens? ought i not day and night to think of your freedom and of the safety of the republic? for what do i not owe to you, o romans, since you have preferred for all the honours of the state a man who is his own father to the most nobly born men in the republic? am i ungrateful? who is less so? i, who, after i had obtained those honours, have constantly laboured in the forum with the same exertions as i used while striving for them. am i inexperienced in state affairs? who has had more practice than i, who have now for twenty years been waging war against impious citizens? vii wherefore, o romans, with all the prudence of which i am master, and with almost more exertion than i am capable of, will i put forth my vigilance and watchfulness in your behalf in truth, what citizen is there, especially in this rank in which you have placed me, so forgetful of your kindness, so unmindful of his country, so hostile to his own dignity, as not to be roused and stimulated by your wonderful unanimity? i, as consul, have held many assemblies of the people, i have been present at many others, i have never once seen one so numerous as this one of yours now is. you have all one feeling, you have all one desire, that of averting the attempts of marcus antonius from the republic, of extinguishing his frenzy and crushing his audacity. all orders have the same wish. the municipal towns, the colonies, and all italy are labouring for the same end. therefore you have made the senate, which was already pretty firm of its own accord, firmer still by your authority. the time has come, o romans, later altogether than for the honour of the roman people it should have been, but still so that the things are now so ripe that they do not admit of a moment's delay. there has been a sort of fatality, if i may say so, which we have borne as it was necessary to bear it. but hereafter if any disaster happens to us it will be of our own seeking. it is impossible for the roman people to be slaves, that people whom the immortal gods have ordained should rule over all nations. matters are now come to a crisis. we are fighting for our freedom. either you must conquer, o romans, which indeed you will do if you continue to act with such piety and such unanimity, or you must do anything rather than become slaves. other nations can endure slavery. liberty is the inalienable possession of the roman people. the seventh oration of m. t. cicero against marcus antonius called also the seventh philippic. the argument after the senate had decided on sending them, the ambassadors immediately set out, though servius sulpicius was in a very bad state of health. in the meantime the partisans of antonius in the city, with calenus at their head were endeavouring to gain over the rest of the citizens, by representing him as eager for an accommodation and they kept up a correspondence with him, and published such of his letters as they thought favourable for their views. matters being in this state, cicero, at an ordinary meeting of the senate, made the following speech to counteract the machinations of this party, and to warn the citizens generally of the danger of being deluded by them. i. we are consulted to-day about matters of small importance, but still perhaps necessary, o conscript fathers. the consul submits a motion to us about the appian road, and about the coinage, the tribune of the people one about the luperci. and although it seems easy to settle such matters as those, still my mind cannot fix itself on such subjects, being anxious about more important matters. for our affairs, o conscript fathers, are come to a crisis, and are in a state of almost extreme danger. it is not without reason that i have always feared and never approved of that sending of ambassadors. and what their return is to bring us i know not, but who is there who does not see with how much languor the expectation of it infects our minds? for those men put no restraint on themselves who grieve that the senate has revived so as to entertain hopes of its former authority, and that the roman people is united to this our order, that all italy is animated by one common feeling, that armies are prepared, and generals ready for the armies, even already they are inventing replies for antonius, and defending them. some pretend that his demand is that all the armies be disbanded. i suppose then we sent ambassadors to him, not that he should submit and obey this our body, but that he should offer us conditions, impose laws upon us, order us to open italy to foreign nations, especially while we were to leave him in safety from whom there is more danger to be feared than from any nation whatever. others say that he is willing to give up the nearer gaul to us, and that he will be satisfied with the further gaul. very kind of him! in order that from thence he may endeavour to bring not merely legions, but even nations against this city. others say that he makes no demands now but such as are quite moderate. macedonia he calls absolutely his own, since it was from thence that his brother caius was recalled. but what province is there in which that firebrand may not kindle a conflagration? therefore those same men, like provident citizens and diligent senators, say that i have sounded the charge, and they undertake the advocacy of peace. is not this the way in which they argue? "antonius ought not to have been irritated, he is a reckless and a bold man, there are many bad men besides him." (no doubt, and they may begin and count themselves first). and they warn us to be on our guard against them. which conduct then is it which shows the more prudent caution chastising wicked citizens when one is able to do so, or fearing them? ii. and these men speak in this way, who on account of their trifling disposition used to be considered friends of the people. from which it may be understood that they in their hearts have at all times been disinclined to a good constitution of the state, and they were not friends of the people from inclination. for how comes it to pass that those men who were anxious to gratify the people in evil things, now, on an occasion which above all others concerns the people's interests, because the same thing would be also salutary for the republic, now prefer being wicked to being friends of the people? this noble cause of which i am the advocate has made me popular, a man who (as you know) have always opposed the rashness of the people. and those men are called, or rather they call themselves, consulars; though no man is worthy of that name except those who can support so high an honour. will you favour an enemy? will you let him send you letters about his hopes of success? will you be glad to produce them? to read them? will you even give them to wicked citizens to take copies of? will you thus raise their courage? will you thus damp the hopes and valour of the good? and then will you think yourself a consular, or a senator, or even a citizen? caius pansa, a most fearless and virtuous consul, will take what i say in good part. for i will speak with a disposition most friendly to him; but i should not consider him himself a consul, though a man with whom i am most intimate, unless he was such a consul as to devote all his vigilance, and cares, and thoughts to the safety of the republic. although long acquaintance, and habit, and a fellowship and resemblance in the most honourable pursuits, has bound us together from his first entrance into life; and his incredible diligence, proved at the time of the most formidable dangers of the civil war, showed that he was a favourer not only of my safety, but also of my dignity; still, as i said before, if he were not such a consul as i have described, i should venture to deny that he was a consul at all. but now i call him not only a consul, but the most excellent and virtuous consul within my recollection; not but that there have been others of equal virtue and equal inclination, but still they have not had an equal opportunity of displaying that virtue and inclination. but the opportunity of a time of most formidable change has been afforded to his magnanimity, and dignity, and wisdom. and that is the time when the consulship is displayed to the greatest advantage, when it governs the republic during a time which, if not desirable, is at all events critical and momentous. and a more critical time than the present, o conscript fathers, never was. iii. therefore i, who have been at all times an adviser of peace, and who, though all good men always considered peace, and especially internal peace, desirable, have desired it more than all of them;--for the whole of the career of my industry has been passed in the forum and in the senate-house, and in warding off dangers from my friends; it is by this course that i have arrived at the highest honours, at moderate wealth, and at any dignity which we may be thought to have: i therefore, a nursling of peace, as i may call myself, i who, whatever i am, (for i arrogate nothing to myself,) should undoubtedly not have been such without internal peace: i am speaking in peril: i shudder to think how you will receive it, o conscript fathers: but still, out of regard for my unceasing desire to support and increase your dignity, i beg and entreat you, o conscript fathers, although it may be a bitter thing to hear, or an incredible thing that it should be said by marcus cicero, still to receive at first, without offence, what i am going to say, and not to reject it before i have fully explained what it is;--i, who, i will say so over and over again, have always been a panegyrist, have always been an adviser of peace, do not wish to have peace with marcus antonius. i approach the rest of my speech with great hope, o conscript fathers, since i have now passed by that perilous point amid your silence. why then do i not wish for peace? because it would be shameful; because it would be dangerous; because it cannot possibly be real. and while i explain these three points to you, i beg of you, o conscript fathers, to listen to my words with the same kindness which you usually show to me. what is more shameful than inconsistency, fickleness, and levity, both to individuals, and also to the entire senate? moreover, what can be more inconsistent than on a sudden to be willing to be united in peace with a man whom you have lately adjudged to be an enemy, not by words, but by actions and by many formal decrees? unless, indeed, when you were decreeing honours to caius caesar, well-deserved indeed by and fairly due to him, but still unprecedented and never to be forgotten, for one single reason,--because he had levied an army against marcus antonius,--you were not judging marcus antonius to be an enemy; and unless antonius was not pronounced an enemy by you, when the veteran soldiers were praised by your authority, for having followed caesar; and unless you did not declare antonius an enemy when you promised exemptions and money and lands to those brave legions, because they had deserted him who was consul while he was an enemy. iv. what? when you distinguished with the highest praises brutus, a man born under some omen, as it were, of his race and name, for the deliverance of the republic, and his army, which was waging war against antonius on behalf of the liberty of the roman people, and the most loyal and admirable province of gaul, did you not then pronounce antonius an enemy? what? when you decreed that the consuls, one or both of them, should go to the war, what war was there if antonius was not an enemy? why then was it that most gallant man, my own colleague and intimate friend, aulus hirtius the consul, has set out? and in what delicate health he is; how wasted away! but the weak state of his body could not repress the vigour of his mind. he thought it fair, i suppose, to expose to danger in defence of the roman people that life which had been preserved to him by their prayers. what? when you ordered levies of troops to be made throughout all italy, when you suspended all exemptions from service, was he not by those steps declared to be an enemy? you see manufactories of arms in the city; soldiers, sword in hand, are following the consul; they are in appearance a guard to the consul, but in fact and reality to us; all men are giving in their names, not only without any shirking, but with the greatest eagerness; they are acting in obedience to your authority. has not antonius been declared an enemy by such acts? "oh, but we have sent ambassadors to him." alas, wretched that i am! why am i compelled to find fault with the senate whom i have always praised? why? do you think, o conscript fathers, that you have induced the roman people to approve of the sending ambassadors? do you not perceive, do you not hear, that the adoption of my opinion is demanded by them? that opinion which you, in a full house, agreed to the day before, though the day after you allowed yourselves to be brought down to a groundless hope of peace. moreover, how shameful it is for the legions to send out ambassadors to the senate, and the senate to antonius! although that is not an embassy; it is a denunciation that destruction is prepared for him if he do not submit to this order. what is the difference? at all events, men's opinions are unfavourable to the measure; for all men see that ambassadors have been sent, but it is not all who are acquainted with the terms of your decree. v. you must, therefore, preserve your consistency, your wisdom, your firmness, your perseverance. you must go back to the old-fashioned severity, if at least the authority of the senate is anxious to establish its credit, its honour, its renown, and its dignity, things which this order has been too long deprived of. but there was some time ago some excuse for it, as being oppressed; a miserable excuse indeed, but still a fair one; now there is none. we appeared to have been delivered from kingly tyranny; and afterwards we were oppressed much more severely by domestic enemies. we did indeed turn their arms aside; we must now wrest them from their hands. and if we cannot do so, (i will say what it becomes one who is both a senator and a roman to say,) let us die. for how just will be the shame, how great will be the disgrace, how great the infamy to the republic, if marcus antonius can deliver his opinion in this assembly from the consular bench. for, to say nothing of the countless acts of wickedness committed by him while consul in the city, during which time he has squandered a vast amount of public money, restored exiles without any law, sold our revenues to all sorts of people, removed provinces from the empire of the roman people, given men kingdoms for bribes, imposed laws on the city by violence, besieged the senate, and, at other times, excluded it from the senate-house by force of arms;--to say nothing, i say, of all this, do you not consider this, that he who has attacked mutina, a most powerful colony of the roman people--who has besieged a general of the roman people, who is consul elect--who has laid waste the lands,--do you not consider, i say, how shameful and iniquitous a thing it would be for that man to be received into this order, by which he has been so repeatedly pronounced an enemy for these very reasons? i have said enough of the shamefulness of such a proceeding; i will now speak next, as i proposed, of the danger of it; which, although it is not so important to avoid as shame, still offends the minds of the greater part of mankind even more. vi. will it then be possible for you to rely on the certainty of any peace, when you see antonius, or rather the antonii, in the city? unless, indeed, you despise lucius: i do not despise even caius. but, as i think, lucius will be the dominant spirit,--for he is the patron of the five-and-thirty tribes, whose votes he took away by his law, by which he divided the magistracies in conjunction with caius caesar. he is the patron of the centuries of the roman knights, which also he thought fit to deprive of the suffrages: he is the patron of the men who have been military tribunes; he is the patron of the middle of janus. o ye gods! who will be able to support this man's power? especially when he has brought all his dependants into the lands. who ever was the patron of all the tribes? and of the roman knights? and of the military tribunes? do you think that the power of even the gracchi was greater than that of this gladiator will be? whom i have called gladiator, not in the sense in which sometimes marcus antonius too is called gladiator, but as men call him who are speaking plain latin. he has fought in asia as a mirmillo. after having equipped his own companion and intimate friend in the armour of a thracian, he slew the miserable man as he was flying; but he himself received a palpable wound, as the scar proves. what will the man who murdered his friend in this way, when he has an opportunity, do to an enemy? and if he did such a thing as this for the fun of the thing, what do you think he will do when tempted by the hope of plunder? will he not again meet wicked men in the decuries? will he not again tamper with those men who have received lands? will he not again seek those who have been banished? will he not, in short, be marcus antonius; to whom, on the occasion of every commotion, there will be a rush of all profligate citizens? even if there be no one else except those who are with him now, and these who in this body now openly speak in his favour, will they be too small in number? especially when all the protection which we might have had from good men is lost, and when those men are prepared to obey his nod? but i am afraid, if at this time we fail to adopt wise counsels, that that party will in a short time appear too numerous for us. nor have i any dislike to peace; only i do dread war disguised under the name of peace. wherefore, if we wish to enjoy peace we must first wage war. if we shrink from war, peace we shall never have. vii. but it becomes your prudence, o conscript fathers, to provide as far forward as possible for posterity. that is the object for which we were placed in this garrison, and as it were on this watch-tower; that by our vigilance and foresight we might keep the roman people free from fear. it would be a shameful thing, especially in so clear a case as this, for it to be notorious that wisdom was wanting to the chief council of the whole world. we have such consuls, there is such eagerness on the part of the roman people, we have such an unanimous feeling of all italy in our favour, such generals, and such armies, that the republic cannot possibly suffer any disaster without the senate being in fault. i, for my part, will not be wanting. i will warn you, i will forewarn you, i will give you notice, i will call gods and men to witness what i do really believe. nor will i display my good faith alone, which perhaps may seem to be enough, but which in a chief citizen is not enough; i will exert all my care, and prudence, and vigilance. i have spoken about the danger. i will now proceed to prove to you that it is not possible for peace to be firmly cemented; for of the propositions which i promised to establish this is the last. viii. what peace can there be between marcus antonius and (in the first place) the senate? with what face will he be able to look upon you, and with what eyes will you, in turn, look upon him? which of you does not hate him? which of you does not he hate? come, are you the only people who hate him; and whom he hates? what? what do you think of those men who are besieging mutina, who are levying troops in gaul, who are threatening your fortunes? will they ever be friends to you, or you to them? will he embrace the roman knights? for, suppose their inclinations respecting, and their opinions of antonius were very much concealed, when they stood in crowds on the steps of the temple of concord, when they stimulated you to endeavour to recover your liberty, when they demanded arms, the robe of war, and war, and who, with the roman people, invited me to meet in the assembly of the people, will these men ever become friends to antonius? will antonius ever maintain peace with them? for why should i speak of the whole roman people? which, in a full and crowded forum, twice, with one heart and one voice, summoned me into the assembly, and plainly showed their excessive eagerness for the recovery of their liberty. so, desirable as it was before to have the roman people for our comrade, we now have it for our leader. what hope then is there that there ever can be peace between the roman people and the men who are besieging mutina and attacking a general and army of the roman people? will there be peace with the municipal towns, whose great zeal is shown by the decrees which they pass, by the soldiers whom they furnish, by the sums which they promise, so that in each town there is such a spirit as leaves no one room to wish for a senate of the roman people? the men of firmium deserve to be praised by a resolution of our order, who set the first example of promising money; we ought to return a complimentary answer to the marrucini, who have passed a vote that all who evade military service are to be branded with infamy. these measures are adopted all over italy. there is great peace between antonius and these men, and between them and him! what greater discord can there possibly be? and in discord civil peace cannot by any possibility exist. to say nothing of the mob, look at lucius nasidius, a roman knight, a man of the very highest accomplishments and honour, a citizen always eminent, whose watchfulness and exertions for the protection of my life i felt in my consulship; who not only exhorted his neighbours to become soldiers, but also assisted them from his own resources; will it be possible ever to reconcile antonius to such a man as this, a man whom we ought to praise by a formal resolution of the senate? what? will it be possible to reconcile him to caius caesar, who prevented him from entering the city, or to decimus brutus, who has refused him entrance into gaul? moreover, will he reconcile himself to, or look mercifully on the province of gaul, by which he has been excluded and rejected? you will see everything, o conscript fathers, if you do not take care, full of hatred and full of discord, from which civil wars arise. do not then desire that which is impossible: and beware, i entreat you by the immortal gods, o conscript fathers, that out of hope of present peace you do not lose perpetual peace. what now is the object of this oration? for we do not yet know what the ambassadors have done. but still we ought to be awake, erect, prepared, armed in our minds, so as not to be deceived by any civil or supplicatory language, or by any pretence of justice. he must have complied with all the prohibitions and all the commands which we have sent him, before he can demand anything. he must have desisted from attacking brutus and his army, and from plundering the cities and lands of the province of gaul; he must have permitted the ambassadors to go to brutus, and led his army back on this side of the rubicon, and yet not come within two hundred miles of this city. he must have submitted himself to the power of the senate and of the roman people. if he does this, then we shall have an opportunity of deliberating without any decision being forced upon us either way. if he does not obey the senate, then it will not be the senate that declares war against him, but he who will have declared it against the senate. but i warn you, o conscript fathers, the liberty of the roman people, which is entrusted to you, is at stake. the life and fortune of every virtuous man is at stake, against which antonius has long been directing his insatiable covetousness, united to his savage cruelty. your authority is at stake, which you will wholly lose if you do not maintain it now. beware how you let that foul and deadly beast escape now that you have got him confined and chained. you too, pansa, i warn, (although you do not need counsel, for you have plenty of wisdom yourself: but still, even the most skilful pilots receive often warnings from the passengers in terrible storms,) not to allow this vast and noble preparation which you have made to fall away to nothing. you have such an opportunity as no one ever had. it is in your power so to avail yourself of this wise firmness of the senate, of this zeal of the equestrian order, of this ardour of the roman people, as to release the roman people from fear and danger for ever. as to the matters to which your motion before the senate refers, i agree with publius servilius. * * * * * the eighth oration of m t cicero against marcus antonius called also the eighth philippic * * * * * the argument after the embassy to antonius had left rome the consuls zealously exerted themselves in preparing for war, in case he should reject the demands of the ambassador. hirtius, though in bad health, left rome first, at the head of an army containing, among others, the martial and the fourth legions, intending to join octavius and hoping with his assistance to prevent his gaining any advantage over brutus till pansa could join them. and he gained some advantages over antonius at once. about the beginning of february the two remaining ambassadors (for servius sulpicius had died just as they arrived at antonius's camp) returned, bringing word that antonius would comply with none of the commands of the senate, nor allow them to proceed to decimus brutus, and bringing also (contrary to their duty) demands from him, of which the principal were, that his troops were to be rewarded, all the acts of himself and dolabella to be ratified as also all that he had done respecting caesar's papers, that no account was to be required of him of the money; in the temple of ops and that he should have the further gaul with an army of six legions. pansa summoned the senate to receive the report of the ambassador, when cicero made a severe speech, proposing very vigorous measures against antonius, which, however, galenus and his party were still numerous enough to mitigate very greatly; and even pansa voted against him and in favour of the milder measures though they could not prevail against cicero to have a second embassy sent to antonius, and though cicero carried his point of ordering the citizens to assume the _sagum_, or robe of war which he also (waving his privilege as a man of consular rank) wore himself. the next day the senate met again, to draw upon form the decrees on which they had resolved the day before, when cicero addressed the following speech to them, expostulating with them for their wavering the day before. i. matters were carried on yesterday, o caius pansa, in a more irregular manner than the beginning of your consulship required. you did not appear to me to make sufficient resistance to those men, to whom you are not in the habit of yielding. for while the virtue of the senate was such as it usually is, and while all men saw that there was war in reality, and some thought that the name ought to be kept back, on the division, your inclination inclined to lenity. the course which we proposed therefore was defeated, at your instigation, on account of the harshness of the word war. that urged by lucius caesar, a most honourable man, prevailed, which, taking away that one harsh expression, was gentler in its language than in its real intention. although he, indeed, before he delivered his opinion at all, pleaded his relationship to antonius in excuse for it. he had done the same in my consulship, in respect of his sister's husband, as he did now in respect of his sister's son, so that he was moved by the grief of his sister, and at the same time he wished to provide for the safety of the republic. and yet caesar himself in some degree recommended you, o conscript fathers, not to agree with him, when he said that he should have expressed quite different sentiments, worthy both of himself and of the republic, if he had not been hampered by his relationship to antonius. he, then, is his uncle, are you his uncles too, you who voted with him? but on what did the dispute turn? some men, in delivering their opinion, did not choose to insert the word "war". they preferred calling it "tumult," being ignorant not only of the state of affairs, but also of the meaning of words. for there can be a "war" without a "tumult," but there cannot be a "tumult" without a "war." for what is a "tumult," but such a violent disturbance that an unusual alarm is engendered by it? from which indeed the name "tumult"[ ] is derived. therefore, our ancestors spoke of the italian "tumult," which was a domestic one, of the gallic "tumult," which was on the frontier of italy, but they never spoke of any other. and that a "tumult" is a more serious thing than a "war" may be seen from this, that during a war exemptions from military service are valid, but in a tumult they are not. so that it is the fact, as i have said, that war can exist without a tumult, but a tumult cannot exist without a war. in truth, as there is no medium between war and peace, it is quite plain that a tumult, if it be not a sort of war, must be a sort of peace; and what more absurd can be said or imagined? however, we have said too much about a word; let us rather look to the facts, o conscript fathers, the appreciation of which, i know, is at times injured by too much attention being paid to words. ii. we are unwilling that this should appear to be a war. what is the object, then, of our giving authority to the municipal towns and colonies to exclude antonius? of our authorizing soldiers to be enlisted without any force, without the terror of any fine, of their own inclination and eagerness? of permitting them to promise money for the assistance of the republic? for if the name of war be taken away, the zeal of the municipal towns will be taken away too. and the unanimous feeling of the roman people which at present pours itself into our cause, if we cool upon it, must inevitably be damped. but why need i say more? decimus brutus is attacked. is not that war? mutina is besieged. is not even that war? gaul is laid waste. what peace can be more assured than this? who can think of calling that war? we have sent forth a consul, a most gallant man, with an army, who, though he was in a weak state from a long and serious illness, still thought he ought not to make any excuse when he was summoned to the protection of the republic. caius caesar, indeed, did not wait for our decrees; especially as that conduct of his was not unsuited to his age. he undertook war against antonius of his own accord; for there was not yet time to pass a decree; and he saw that, if he let slip the opportunity of waging war, when the republic was crushed it would be impossible to pass any decrees at all. they and their arms, then, are now at peace. he is not an enemy whose garrison hirtius has driven from claterna; he is not an enemy who is in arms resisting a consul, and attacking a consul elect; and those are not the words of an enemy, nor is that warlike language, which pansa read just now out of his colleague's letters: "i drove out the garrison." "i got possession of claterna." "the cavalry were routed." "a battle was fought." "a good many men were slain." what peace can be greater than this? levies of troops are ordered throughout all italy; all exemptions from service are suspended; the robe of war is to be assumed to-morrow, the consul has said that he shall come down to the senate house with an armed guard. is not this war? ay, it is such a war as has never been. for in all other wars, and most especially in civil wars, it was a difference as to the political state of the republic which gave rise to the contest. sylla contended against sulpicius about the force of laws which sylla said had been passed by violence. cinna warred against octavius because of the votes of the new citizens. again, sylla was at variance with cinna and marius, in order to prevent unworthy men from attaining power, and to avenge the cruel death of most illustrious men. the causes of all these wars arose from the zeal of different parties, for what they considered the interest of the republic. of the last civil war i cannot bear to speak. i do not understand the cause of it, i detest the result. iii. this is the fifth civil war, (and all of them have fallen upon our times,) the first which has not only not brought dissensions and discord among the citizens, but which has been signalised by extraordinary unanimity and incredible concord. all of them have the same wish, all defend the same objects, all are inspired with the same sentiments. when i say all, i except those whom no one thinks worthy of being citizens at all. what, then, is the cause of war, and what is the object aimed at? we are defending the temples of the immortal gods, we are defending the walls of the city, we are defending the homes and habitations of the roman people, the household gods, the altars, the hearths and the sepulchres of our forefathers, we are defending our laws, our courts of justice, our freedom, our wives, our children, and our country. on the other hand, marcus antonius labours and fights in order to throw into confusion and overturn all these things, and hopes to have reason to think the plunder of the republic sufficient cause for the war, while he squanders part of our fortunes, and distributes the rest among his parricidal followers. while, then, the motives for war are so different, a most miserable circumstance is what that fellow promises to his band of robbers. in the first place our houses, for he declares that he will divide the city among them, and after that he will lead them out at whatever gate and settle them on whatever lands they please. all the caphons,[ ] all the saxas, and the other plagues which attend antonius, are marking out for themselves in their own minds most beautiful houses, and gardens, and villas, at tusculum and alba; and those clownish men--if indeed they are men, and not rather brute beasts--are borne on in their empty hopes as far as the waters and puteoli. so antonius has something to promise to his followers. what can we do? have we anything of the sort? may the gods grant us a better fate! for our express object is to prevent any one at all from hereafter making similar promises. i say this against my will, still i must say it;--the auction sanctioned by caesar, o conscript fathers, gives many wicked men both hope and audacity. for they saw some men become suddenly rich from having been beggars. therefore, those men who are hanging over our property, and to whom antonius promises everything, are always longing to see an auction. what can we do? what do we promise our soldiers? things much better and more honourable. for promises to be earned by wicked actions are pernicious both to those who expect them, and to those who promise them. we promise to our soldiers freedom, rights, laws, justice, the empire of the world, dignity, peace, tranquillity. the promises then of antonius are bloody, polluted, wicked, odious to gods and men, neither lasting nor salutary; ours, on the other hand, are honourable, upright, glorious, full of happiness, and full of piety. iv. here also quintus fufius, a brave and energetic man, and a friend of mine, reminds me of the advantages of peace. as if, if it were necessary to praise peace, i could not do it myself quite as well as he. for is it once only that i have defended peace? have i not at all times laboured for tranquillity? which is desirable for all good men, but especially for me. for what course could my industry pursue without forensic causes, without laws, without courts of justice? and these things can have no existence when civil peace is taken away. but i want to know what you mean, o calenus? do you call slavery peace? our ancestors used to take up arms not merely to secure their freedom, but also to acquire empire; you think that we ought to throw away our arms, in order to become slaves. what juster cause is there for waging war than the wish to repel slavery? in which, even if one's master be not tyrannical, yet it is a most miserable thing that he should be able to be so if he chooses. in truth, other causes are just, this is a necessary one. unless, perhaps, you think that this does not apply to you, because you expect that you will be a partner in the dominion of antonius. and there you make a two-fold mistake: first of all, in preferring your own to the general interest; and in the next place, in thinking that there is anything either stable or pleasant in kingly power. even if it has before now been advantageous to you, it will not always be so. moreover, you used to complain of that former master, who was a man; what do you think you will do when your master is a beast? and you say that you are a man who have always been desirous of peace, and have always wished for the preservation of all the citizens. very honest language; that is, if you mean all citizens who are virtuous, and useful, and serviceable to the republic; but if you wish those who are by nature citizens, but by inclination enemies, to be saved, what difference is there between you and them? your father, indeed, with whom i as a youth was acquainted, when he was an old man, --a man of rigid virtue and wisdom,--used to give the greatest praise of all citizens who had ever lived to publius nasica, who slew tiberius gracchus. by his valour, and wisdom, and magnanimity he thought that the republic had been saved. what am i to say? have we received any other doctrine from our fathers? therefore, that citizen--if you had lived in those times--would not have been approved of by you, because he did not wish all the citizens to be safe. "because lucius opimius the consul has made a speech concerning the republic, the senators have thus decided on that matter, that opimius the consul shall defend the republic." the senate adopted these measures in words, opimius followed them up by his arms. should you then, if you had lived in those times, have thought him a hasty or a cruel citizen? or should you have thought quintus metellus one, whose four sons were all men of consular rank? or publius lentulus the chief of the senate, and many other admirable men, who, with lucius opimius the consul, took arms, and pursued gracchus to the aventine? and in the battle which ensued, lentulus received a severe wound, gracchus was plain, and so was marcus fulvius, a man of consular rank, and his two youthful sons. those men, therefore, are to be blamed; for they did not wish all the citizens to be safe. v. let us come to instances nearer our own time. the senate entrusted the defence of the republic to caius marius and lucius valerius, the consuls; lucius saturninus, a tribune of the people, and caius glaucia the praetor, were slain. on that day, all the scauri, and metelli, and claudii, and catuli, and scaevolae, and crassi took arms. do you think either those consuls or those other most illustrious men deserving of blame? i myself wished catiline to perish. did you who wish every one to be safe, wish catiline to be safe? there is this difference, o calenus, between my opinion and yours. i wish no citizen to commit such crimes as deserve to be punished with death. you think that, even if he has committed them, still he ought to be saved. if there is anything in our own body which is injurious to the rest of the body, we allow that to be burnt and cut out, in order that a limb may be lost in preference to the whole body. and so in the body of the republic, whatever is rotten must be cut off in order that the whole may be saved. harsh language! this is much more harsh, "let the worthless, and wicked and impious be saved, let the innocent, the honourable, the virtuous, the whole republic be destroyed." in the case of one individual, o quintus fufius, i confess that you saw more than i did. i thought publius clodius a mischievous, wicked, lustful, impious, audacious, criminal citizen. you, on the other hand, called him religious, temperate, innocent, modest; a citizen to be preserved and desired. in this one particular i admit that you had great discernment, and that i made a great mistake. for as for your saying that i am in the habit of arguing against you with ill-temper, that is not the case. i confess that i argue with vehemence, but not with ill-temper. i am not in the habit of getting angry with my friends every now and then, not even if they deserve it. therefore, i can differ from you without using any insulting language, though not without feeling the greatest grief of mind. for is the dissension between you and me a trifling one, or on a trifling subject? is it merely a case of my favouring this man, and you that man? yes; i indeed favour decimus brutus, you favour marcus antonius; i wish a colony of the roman people to be preserved, you are anxious that it should be stormed and destroyed. vi. can you deny this, when you interpose every sort of delay calculated to weaken brutus, and to improve the position of antonius? for how long will you keep on saying that you are desirous of peace? matters are progressing rapidly; the works have been carried on; severe battles are taking place. we sent three chief men of the city to interpose. antonius has despised, rejected, and repudiated them. and still you continue a persevering defender of antonius. and calenus, indeed, in order that he may appear a more conscientious senator, says that he ought not to be a friend to him; since, though antonius was under great obligations to him, he still had acted against him. see how great is his affection for his country. though he is angry with the individual, still he defends antonius for the sake of his country. when you are so bitter, o quintus fufius, against the people of marseilles, i cannot listen to you with calmness. for how long are you going to attack marseilles? does not even a triumph put an end to the war? in which was carried an image of that city, without whose assistance our forefathers never triumphed over the transalpine nations. then, indeed, did the roman people groan. although they had their own private griefs because of their own affairs, still there was no citizen who thought the miseries of this most loyal city unconnected with himself. caesar himself, who had been the most angry of all men with them, still, on account of the unusually high character and loyalty of that city, was every day relaxing something of his displeasure. and is there no extent of calamity by which so faithful a city can satiate you? again, perhaps, you will say that i am losing my temper. but i am speaking without passion, as i always do, though not without great indignation. i think that no man can be an enemy to that city, who is a friend to this one. what your object is, o calenus, i cannot imagine. formerly we were unable to deter you from devoting yourself to the gratification of the people; now we are unable to prevail on you to show any regard for their interests. i have argued long enough with fufius, saying everything without hatred, but nothing without indignation. but i suppose that a man who can bear the complaint of his son in law with indifference, will bear that of his friend with great equanimity. vii. i come now to the rest of the men of consular rank of whom there is no one, (i say this on my own responsibility,) who is not connected with me in some way or other by kindnesses conferred or received, some in a great, some in a moderate degree, but everyone to some extent or other. what a disgraceful day was yesterday to us! to us consulars, i mean. are we to send ambassadors again? what? would he make a truce? before the very face and eyes of the ambassadors he battered mutina with his engines. he displayed his works and his defences to the ambassadors. the siege was not allowed one moment's breathing time, not even while the ambassadors should be present. send ambassadors to this man! what for? in order to have great fears for their return? in truth, though on the previous occasion i had voted against the ambassadors being decreed, still i consoled myself with this reflection, that, when they had returned from antonius despised and rejected, and had reported to the senate not merely that he had not withdrawn from gaul, as we had voted that he should, but that he had not even retired from before mutma, and that they had not been allowed to proceed on to decimus brutus, all men would be inflamed with hatred and stimulated by indignation, so that we should reinforce decimus brutus with arms, and horses, and men. but we have become even more languid since we have become acquainted with, not only the audacity and wickedness of antonius, but also with his indolence and pride. would that lucius caesar were in health, that servius sulpicius were alive. this cause would be pleaded much better by these men, than it is now by me single handed. what i am going to say i say with grief, rather than by way of insult. we have been deserted--we have, i say, been deserted, o conscript fathers, by our chiefs. but, as i have often said before, all those who in a time of such danger have proper and courageous sentiments shall be men of consular rank. the ambassadors ought to have brought us back courage, they have brought us back fear. not, indeed, that they have caused me any fear--let them have as high an opinion as they please of the man to whom they were sent; from whom they have even brought back commands to us. viii. o ye immortal gods! where are the habits and virtues of our forefathers? caius popillius, in the time of our ancestors, when he had been sent as ambassador to antiochus the king, and had given him notice, in the words of the senate, to depart from alexandria, which he was besieging, on the kings seeking to delay giving his answer, drew a line round him where he was standing with his rod, and stated that he should report him to the senate if he did not answer him as to what he intended to do before he moved out of that line which surrounded him. he did well for he had brought with him the countenance of the senate and the authority of the roman people, and if a man does not obey that, we are not to receive commands from him in return, but he is to be utterly rejected. am i to receive commands from a man who despises the commands of the senate? or am i to think that he has anything in common with the senate, who besieges a general of the roman people in spite of the prohibition of the senate? but what commands they are! with what arrogance, with what stupidity, with what insolence are they conceived! but what made him charge our ambassadors with them when he was sending cotyla to us, the ornament and bulwark of his friends, a man of aedilitian rank? if, indeed, he really was an aedile at the time when the public slaves flogged him with thongs at a banquet by command of antonius. but what modest commands they are! we must be non-hearted men, o conscript fathers, to deny anything to this man! "i give up both provinces," says he, "i disband my army, i am willing to become a private individual." for these are his very words. he seems to be coming to himself. "i am willing to forget everything, to be reconciled to everybody." but what does he add? "if you give booty and land to my six legions, to my cavalry, and to my praetorian cohort." he even demands rewards for those men for whom, if he were to demand pardon, he would be thought the most impudent of men. he adds further, "those men to whom the lands have been given which he himself and dolabella distributed, are to retain them." this is the campanian and leontine district, both which our ancestors considered a certain resource in times of scarcity. ix. he is protecting the interests of his buffoons and gamesters and pimps. he is protecting capho's and sasu's interests too, pugnacious and muscular centurions, whom he placed among his troops of male and female buffoons. besides all this, he demands "that the decrees of himself and his colleague concerning caesar's writings and memoranda are to stand." why is he so anxious that every one should have what he has bought, if he who sold it all has the price which he received for it? "and that his accounts of the money in the temple of ops are not to be meddled with." that is to say, that those seven hundred millions of sesterces are not to be recovered from him. "that the septemviri are to be exempt from blame or from prosecution for what they have done." it was nucula, i imagine, who put him in mind of that, he was afraid, perhaps, of losing so many clients. he also wishes to make stipulations in favour of "those men who are with him who may have done anything against the laws." he is here taking care of mustela and tiro, he is not anxious about himself. for what has he done? has he ever touched the public money, or murdered a man, or had armed men about him? but what reason has he for taking so much trouble about them? for he demands, "that his own judiciary law be not abrogated." and if he obtains that, what is there that he can fear? can he be afraid that any one of his friends may be convicted by cydas, or lysiades, or curius? however, he does not press us with many more demands. "i give up," says he, "gallia togata; i demand gallia comata"[ ]--he evidently wishes to be quite at his ease--'with six legions, and those made up to their full complement out of the army of decimus brutus,--not only out of the troops whom he has enlisted himself; "and he is to keep possession of it as long as marcus brutus and carus cassius, as consuls, or as proconsuls, keep possession of their provinces." in the comitia held by him, his brother carus (for it is his year) has already been repulsed. "and i myself," says he, "am to retain possession of my province five years." but that is expressly forbidden by the law of caesar, and you defend the acts of caesar. x. were you, o lucius piso, and you, o lucius philippus, you chiefs of the city, able, i will not say to endure in your minds but even to listen with your ears to these commands of his? but, i suspect there was some alarm at work, nor, while in his power, could you feel as ambassadors, or as men of consular rank, nor could you maintain our own dignity, or that of the republic. and nevertheless, somehow or other, owing to some philosophy, i suppose, you did what i could not have done,--you returned without any very angry feelings. marcus antonius paid you no respect, though you were most illustrious men, ambassadors of the roman people. as for us, what concessions did not we make to cotyla the ambassador of marcus antonius? though it was against the law for even the gates of the city to be opened to him, yet even this temple was opened to him. he was allowed to enter the senate, here yesterday he was taking down our opinions and every word we said in his note books, and men who had been preferred to the highest honours sold themselves to him in utter disregard of their own dignity. o ye immortal gods! how great an enterprise is it to uphold the character of a leader in the republic, for it requires one to be influenced not merely by the thoughts but also by the eyes of the citizens. to take to one's house the ambassador of an enemy, to admit him to one's chamber, even to confer apart with him, is the act of a man who thinks nothing of his dignity, and too much of his danger. but what is danger? for if one is engaged in a contest where everything is at stake, either liberty is assured to one if victorious, or death if defeated, the former of which alternatives is desirable, and the latter some time or other inevitable. but a base flight from death is worse than any imaginable death. for i will never be induced to believe that there are men who envy the consistency or diligence of others, and who are indignant at the unceasing desire to assist the republic being approved by the senate and people of rome. that is what we were all bound to do, and that was not only in the time of our ancestors, but even lately, the highest praise of men of consular rank, to be vigilant, to be anxious, to be always either thinking, or doing, or saying something to promote the interests of the republic. i, o conscript fathers, recollect that quintus scaevola the augur, in the marsic war, when he was a man of extreme old age, and quite broken down in constitution, every day, as soon as it was daylight, used to give every one an opportunity of consulting him, nor, throughout all that war, did any one ever see him in bed, and, though old and weak, he was the first man to come into the senate house. i wish, above all things, that those who ought to do so would imitate his industry, and, next to that, i wish that they would not envy the exertions of another. xi. in truth, o conscript fathers, now we have begun to entertain hopes of liberty again, after a period of six years, during which we have been deprived of it, having endured slavery longer than prudent and industrious prisoners usually do, what watchfulness, what anxiety, what exertions ought we to shrink from, for the sake of delivering the roman people? in truth, o conscript fathers, though men who have had the honours conferred on them that we have, usually wear their gowns, while the rest of the city is in the robe of war, still i decided that at such a momentous crisis, and when the whole republic was in so disturbed a state, we would not differ in our dress from you and the rest of the citizens. for we men of consular rank are not in this war conducting ourselves in such a manner that the roman people will be likely to look with equanimity on the ensigns of our honour, when some of us are so cowardly as to have cast away all recollection of the kindnesses which they have received from the roman people, some are so disaffected to the republic that they openly allege that they favour this enemy, and easily bear having our ambassadors despised and insulted by antonius, while they wish to support the ambassador sent by antonius. for they said that he ought not to be prevented from returning to antonius, and they proposed an amendment to my proposition of not receiving him. well, i will submit to them. let varius return to his general, but on condition that he never returns to rome. and as to the others, if they abandon their errors and return to their duty to the republic, i think they may be pardoned and left unpunished. therefore, i give my vote, "that of those men who are with marcus antonius, those who abandon his army, and come over either to caius pansa or aulus hirtius the consuls; or to decimus brutus, imperator and consul elect, or to caius caesar, propraetor, before the first of march next, shall not be liable to prosecution for having been with antonius. that, if any one of those men who are now with antonius shall do anything which appears entitled to honour or to reward, caius pansa and aulus hirtius the consuls, one or both of them, shall, if they think fit, make a motion to the senate respecting that man's honour or reward, at the earliest opportunity. that, if, after this resolution of the senate, any one shall go to antonius except lucius varius, the senate will consider that that man has acted as an enemy to the republic." * * * * * the ninth oration of m.t. cicero against marcus antonius. called also the ninth philippio. the argument. servius sulpicius, as has been already said, had died on his embassy to marcus antonius, before mutina; and the day after the delivery of the preceding speech, pansa again called the senate together to deliberate on the honours to be paid to his memory. he himself proposed a public funeral, a sepulchre, and a statue. servilius opposed the statue, as due only to those who had been slain by violence while in discharge of their duties as ambassadors. cicero delivered the following oration in support of pansa's proposition, which was carried.[ ] i. i wish, o conscript fathers, that the immortal gods had granted to us to return thanks to servius sulpicius while alive, rather than thus to devise honours for him now that he is dead. nor have i any doubt, but that if that man had been able himself to give us his report of the proceedings of his embassy, his return would have been acceptable to you and salutary to the republic. not that either lucius piso or lucius philippus have been deficient in either zeal or care in the performance of so important a duty and so grave a commission; but, as servius sulpicius was superior in age to them, and in wisdom to every one, he, being suddenly taken from the business, left the whole embassy crippled and enfeebled. but if deserved honours have been paid to any ambassador after death, there is no one by whom they can be found to have been ever more fully deserved than by servius sulpicius. the rest of those men who have died while engaged on an embassy, have gone forth, subject indeed to the usual uncertainties of life, but without any especial danger or fear of death. servius sulpicius set out with some hope indeed of reaching antonius, but with none of returning. but though he was so very ill that if any exertion were added to his bad state of health, he would have no hope of himself, still he did not refuse to try, even while at his last gasp, to be of some service to the republic. therefore neither the severity of the winter, nor the snow, nor the length of the journey, nor the badness of the roads, nor his daily increasing illness, delayed him. and when he had arrived where he might meet and confer with the man to whom he had been sent, he departed this life in the midst of his care and consideration as to how he might best discharge the duty which he had undertaken. as therefore, o caius pansa, you have done well in other respects, so you have acted admirably in exhorting us this day to pay honour to servius sulpicius, and in yourself making an eloquent oration in his praise. and after the speech which we have heard from you, i should have been content to say nothing beyond barely giving my vote, if i did not think it necessary to reply to publius servilius, who has declared his opinion that this honour of a statue ought to be granted to no one who has not been actually slain with a sword while performing the duties of his embassy. but i, o conscript fathers, consider that this was the feeling of our ancestors, that they considered that it was the cause of death, and not the manner of it, which was a proper subject for inquiry. in fact, they thought fit that a monument should be erected to any man whose death was caused by an embassy, in order to tempt men in perilous wars to be the more bold in undertaking the office of an ambassador. what we ought to do, therefore, is, not to scrutinise the precedents afforded by our ancestors, but to explain their intentions from which the precedents themselves arose. ii. lar tolumnius, the king of veii, slew four ambassadors of the roman people, at fidenae, whose statues were standing in the rostra till within my recollection. the honour was well deserved. for our ancestors gave those men who had encountered death in the cause of the republic an imperishable memory in exchange for this transitory life. we see in the rostra the statue of cnaeus octavius, an illustrious and great man, the first man who brought the consulship into that family, which afterwards abounded in illustrious men. there was no one then who envied him, because he was a new man; there was no one who did not honour his virtue. but yet the embassy of octavius was one in which there was no suspicion of danger. for having been sent by the senate to investigate the dispositions of kings and of free nations, and especially to forbid the grandson of king antiochus, the one who had carried on war against our forefathers, to maintain fleets and to keep elephants, he was slain at laodicea, in the gymnasium, by a man of the name of leptines. on this a statue was given to him by our ancestors as a recompense for his life, which might ennoble his progeny for many years, and which is now the only memorial left of so illustrious a family. but in his case, and in that of tullus cluvius,[ ] and lucius roseius, and spurius antius, and caius fulcinius, who were slain by the king of veii, it was not the blood that was shed at their death, but the death itself which was encountered in the service of the republic, which was the cause of their being thus honoured. iii. therefore, o conscript fathers, if it had been chance which had caused the death of servius sulpicius, i should sorrow indeed over such a loss to the republic, but i should consider him deserving of the honour, not of a monument, but of a public mourning. but, as it is, who is there who doubts that it was the embassy itself which caused his death? for he took death away with him; though, if he had remained among us, his own care, and the attention of his most excellent son and his most faithful wife, might have warded it off. but he, as he saw that, if he did not obey your authority, he should not be acting like himself; but that if he did obey, then that duty, undertaken, for the welfare of the republic, would be the end of his life; preferred dying at a most critical period of the republic, to appearing to have done less service to the republic than he might have done. he had an opportunity of recruiting his strength and taking care of himself in many cities through which his journey lay. he was met by the liberal invitation of many entertainers as his dignity deserved, and the men too who were sent with him exhorted him to take rest, and to think of his own health. but he, refusing all delay, hastening on eager to perform your commands, persevered in this his constant purpose, in spite of the hindrances of his illness and as antonius was above all things disturbed by his arrival, because the commands which were laid upon him by your orders had been drawn up by the authority and wisdom of servius sulpicius, he showed plainly how he hated the senate by the evident joy which he displaced at the death of the adviser of the senate. leptines then did not kill octavius, nor did the king of veii slay those whom i have just named, more clearly than antonius killed servius sulpicius. surely he brought the man death, who was the cause of his death. wherefore, i think it of consequence, in order that posterity may recollect it, that there should be a record of what the judgment of the senate was concerning this war. for the statue itself will be a witness that the war was so serious an one, that the death of an ambassador in it gained the honour of an imperishable memorial. iv. but if, o conscript fathers, you would only recollect the excuses alleged by servius sulpicius why he should not be appointed to this embassy, then no doubt will be left on your minds that we ought to repair by the honour paid to the dead the injury which we did to him while living. for it is you, o conscript fathers (it is a grave charge to make, but it must be uttered,) it is you, i say, who have deprived servius sulpicius of life. for when you saw him pleading his illness as an excuse more by the truth of the fact than by any laboured plea of words, you were not indeed cruel, (for what can be more impossible for this order to be guilty of than that,) but as you hoped that there was nothing that could not be accomplished by his authority and wisdom, you opposed his excuse with great earnestness, and compelled the man, who had always thought your decisions of the greatest weight, to abandon his own opinion. but when there was added the exhortation of pansa, the consul, delivered with more weight than the ears of servius sulpicius had learnt to resist, then at last he led me and his own son aside, and said that he was bound to prefer your authority to his own life. and we, admiring his virtue, did not dare to oppose his determination. his son was moved with extraordinary piety and affection, and my own grief did not fall far short of his agitation, but each of us was compelled to yield to his greatness of mind, and to the dignity of his language, when he, indeed, amid the loud praises and congratulations of you all, promised to do whatever you wished, and not to avoid the danger which might be inclined by the adoption of the opinion of which he himself had been the author. and we the next day escorted him early in the morning as he hastened forth to execute your commands. and he, in truth, when departing, spoke with me in such a manner that his language seemed like an omen of his fate. v. restore then, o conscript fathers, life to him from whom you have taken it. for the life of the dead consists in the recollection cherished of them by the living. take ye care that he, whom you without intending it sent to his death, shall from you receive immortality. and if you by your decree erect a statue to him in the rostia, no forgetfulness of posterity will ever obscure the memory of his embassy. for the remainder of the life of servius sulpicius will be recommended to the eternal recollection of all men by many and splendid memorials. the praise of all mortals will for ever celebrate his wisdom, his firmness, his loyalty, his admirable vigilance and prudence in upholding the interests of the public. nor will that admirable, and incredible, and almost godlike skill of his in interpreting the laws and explaining the principles of equity be buried in silence. if all the men of all ages, who have ever had any acquaintance with the law in this city, were got together into one place, they would not deserve to be compared to servius sulpicius. nor was he more skilful in explaining the law than in laying down the principles of justice. those maxims which were derived from laws and from the common law, he constantly referred to the original principles of kindness and equity. nor was he more fond of arranging the conduct of law-suits than of preventing disputes altogether. therefore he is not in want of this memorial which a statue will provide; he has other and better ones. for this statue will be only a witness of his honourable death; those actions will be the memorial of his glorious life. so that this will be rather a monument of the gratitude of the senate, than of the glory of the man. the affection of the son, too, will appear to have great influence in moving us to honour the father; for although, being overwhelmed with grief, he is not present, still you ought to be animated with the same feelings as if he were present. but he is in such distress, that no father ever sorrowed more over the loss of an only son than he grieves for the death of his father. indeed, i think that it concerns also the fame of servius sulpicius the son, that he should appear to have paid all due respect to his father. although servius sulpicius could leave no nobler monument behind him than his son, the image of his own manners, and virtues, and wisdom, and piety, and genius; whose grief can either be alleviated by this honour paid to his father by you, or by no consolation at all. vi. but when i recollect the many conversations which in the days of our intimacy on earth i have had with servius sulpicius, it appears to me, that if there be any feeling in the dead, a brazen statue, and that too a pedestrian one, will be more acceptable to him than a gilt equestrian one, such as was first erected to lucius sylla. for servius was wonderfully attached to the moderation of our forefathers, and was accustomed to reprove the insolence of this age. as if, therefore, i were able to consult himself as to what he would wish, so i give my vote for a pedestrian statue of brass, as if i were speaking by his authority and inclination; which by the honour of the memorial will diminish and mitigate the great grief and regret of his fellow-citizens. and it is certain that this my opinion, o conscript fathers, will be approved of by the opinion of publius servilius, who has given his vote that a sepulchre be publicly decreed to servius sulpicius, but has voted against the statue. for if the death of an ambassador happening without bloodshed and violence requires no honour, why does he vote for the honour of a public funeral, which is the greatest honour that can be paid to a dead man! if he grants that to servius sulpicius which was not given to cnaeus octavius, why does he think that we ought not to give to the former what was given to the latter? our ancestors, indeed, decreed statues to many men; public sepulchres to few. but statues perish by weather, by violence, by lapse of time; but the sanctity of the sepulchres is in the soil itself, which can neither be moved nor destroyed by any violence; and while other things are extinguished, so sepulchres become holier by age. let, then, that man be distinguished by that honour also, a man to whom no honour can be given which is not deserved. let us be grateful in paying respect in death to him to whom we can now show no other gratitude. and by that same step let the audacity of marcus antonius, waging a nefarious war, be branded with infamy. for when these honours have been paid to servius sulpicius, the evidence of his embassy having been insulted and rejected by antonius will remain for everlasting. vii. on which account i give my vote for a decree in this form: 'as servius sulpicius rufus, the son of quintus, of the lemonian tribe, at a most critical period of the republic, and being ill with a very serious and dangerous disease, preferred the authority of the senate and the safety of the republic to his own life, and struggled against the violence and severity of his illness, in order to arrive at the camp of antonius, to which the senate had sent him; and as he when he had almost arrived at the camp, being overwhelmed by the violence of the disease, has lost his life in discharging a most important office of the republic; and as his death has been in strict correspondence to a life passed with the greatest integrity and honour, during which he, servius sulpicius, has often been of great service to the republic, both as a private individual and in the discharge of various magistracies; and as he, being such a man, has encountered death on behalf of the republic while employed on an embassy;--the senate decrees that a brazen pedestrian statue of servius sulpicius be erected in the rostra in compliance with the resolution of this order, and that his children and posterity shall have a place round this statue of five feet in every direction, from which to behold the games and gladiatorial combats, because he died in the cause of the republic; and that this reason be inscribed on the pedestal of the statue; and that carus pansa and aulus hirtius the consuls, one or both of them, if it seem good to them, shall command the quaestors of the city to let out a contract for making that pedestal and that statue, and erecting them in the rostra; and that whatever price they contract for, they shall take care the amount is given and paid to the contractor, and as in old times the senate has exerted its authority with respect to the obsequies of, and honours paid to brave men, it now decrees that he shall be carried to the tomb on the day of his funeral with the greatest possible solemnity. and as servius sulpicius rufus, the son of quintus of the lemonian tribe, has deserved so well of the republic as to be entitled to be complimented with all those distinctions, the senate is of opinion, and thinks it for the advantage of the republic, that the consule aedile should suspend the edict which usually prevails with respect to funerals in the case of the funeral of servius sulpicius rufus, the son of quintus of the lemonian tribe, and that carus pansa, the consul, shall assign him a place for a tomb in the esquiline plain, or in whatever place shall seem good to him extending thirty feet in every direction, where servius sulpicius may be buried, and that that shall be his tomb, and that of his children and posterity, as having been a tomb most deservedly given to them by the public authority. the tenth oration of m.t. cicero against marcus antonius. called also the tenth philippic. the argument soon after the delivery of the last speech, despatches were received from brutus by the consuls, giving an account of his success against carus antonius in macedonia, stating that he had secured macedonia, illyricum, and greece with the armies in those countries, that carus antonius had retired to apollonia with seven cohorts, that a legion under lucius piso had surrendered to young cicero, who was commanding his cavalry, that dolabella's cavalry had deserted to him, and that vatinius had surrendered dyrrachium and its garrison to him. he likewise praised quintus hortensius, the proconsul of macedonia, as having assisted him in gaining over the grecian provinces and the armies in those districts. as soon as pansa received the despatches, he summoned the senate to have them read, and in a set speech greatly extolled brutus, and moved a vote of thanks to him but calenus, who followed him, declared his opinion, that as brutus had acted without any public commission or authority he should be required to give up his army to the proper governors of the provinces, or to whoever the senate should appoint to receive it. after he had sat down, cicero rose, and delivered the following speech. i. we all, o pansa, ought both to feel and to show the greatest gratitude to you, who--though we did not expect that you would hold any senate to day,--the moment that you received the letters of marcus brutus, that most excellent citizen, did not interpose even the slightest delay to our enjoying the most excessive delight and mutual congratulation at the earliest opportunity. and not only ought this action of yours to be grateful to us all, but also the speech which you addressed to us after the letters had been read. for you showed plainly, that that was true which i have always felt to be so, that no one envied the virtue of another who was confident of his own. therefore i, who have been connected with brutus by many mutual good offices and by the greatest intimacy, need not say so much concerning him for the part that i had marked out for myself your speech has anticipated me in. but, o conscript fathers, the opinion delivered by the man who was asked for his vote before me, has imposed upon me the necessity of saying rather more than i otherwise should have said, and i differ from him so repeatedly at present, that i am afraid (what certainly ought not to be the case) that our continual disagreement may appear to diminish our friendship. what can be the meaning of this argument of yours, o calenus? what can be your intention? how is it that you have never once since the first of january been of the same opinion with him who asks you your opinion first? how is it that the senate has never yet been so full as to enable you to find one single person to agree with your sentiments? why are you always defending men who in no point resemble you? why, when both your life and your fortune invite you to tranquillity and dignity, do you approve of those measures, and defend those measures, and declare those sentiments, which are adverse both to the general tranquillity and to your own individual dignity? ii. for to say nothing of former speeches of yours, at all events i cannot pass over in silence this which excites my most especial wonder. what war is there between you and the bruti? why do you alone attack those men whom we are all bound almost to worship? why are you not indignant at one of them being besieged, and why do you--as far as your vote goes--strip the other of those troops which by his own exertions and by his own danger he has got together by himself, without any one to assist him, for the protection of the republic, not for himself? what is your meaning in this? what are your intentions? is it possible that you should not approve of the bruti, and should approve of antonius? that you should hate those men whom every one else considers most dear? and that you should love with the greatest constancy those whom every one else hates most bitterly? you have a most ample fortune, you are in the highest rank of honour, your son, as i both hear and hope is born to glory,--a youth whom i favour not only for the sake of the republic, but for your sake also. i ask, therefore, would you rather have him like brutus or like antonius? and i will let you choose whichever of the three antonii you please. god forbid! you will say. why, then, do you not favour those men and praise those men whom you wish your own son to resemble? for by so doing you will be both consulting the interests of the republic, and proposing him an example for his imitation. but in this instance, i hope, o quintus fufius, to be allowed to expostulate with you, as a senator who greatly differs from you, without any prejudice to our friendship. for you spoke in this matter, and that too from a written paper, for i should think you had made a slip from want of some appropriate expression, if i were not acquainted with your ability in speaking. you said "that the letters of brutus appeared properly and regularly expressed." what else is this than praising brutus's secretary, not brutus? you both ought to have great experience in the affairs of the republic, and you have. when did you ever see a decree framed in this manner? or in what resolution of the senate passed on such occasions, (and they are innumerable,) did you ever hear of its being decreed that the letters had been well drawn up? and that expression did not--as is often the case with other men--fall from you by chance, but you brought it with you written down, deliberated on, and carefully meditated on. iii. if any one could take from you this habit of disparaging good men on almost every occasion, then what qualities would not be left to you which every one would desire for himself? do, then, recollect yourself, do at last soften and quiet that disposition of yours, do take the advice of good men, with many of whom you are intimate, do converse with that wisest of men, your own son in-law, oftener than with yourself, and then you will obtain the name of a man of the very highest character. do you think it a matter of no consequence, (it is a matter in which i, out of the friendship which i feel you, constantly grieve in your stead,) that this should be commonly said out of doors, and should be a common topic of conversation among the roman people, that the man who delivered his opinion first did not find a single person to agree with him? and that i think will be the case to day. you propose to take the legions away from brutus--which legions? why, those which he has gained over from the wickedness of caius antonius, and has by his own authority gained over to the republic. do you wish then that he should again appear to be the only person stripped of his authority, and as it were banished by the senate? and you, o conscript fathers, if you abandon and betray marcus brutus, what citizen in the world will you ever distinguish? whom will you ever favour? unless, indeed, you think that those men who put a diadem on a man's head deserve to be preserved, and those who have abolished the very name of kingly power deserve to be abandoned. and of this divine and immortal glory of marcus brutus i will say no more, it is already embalmed in the grateful recollection of all the citizens, but it has not yet been sanctioned by any formal act of public authority. such patience! o ye good gods! such moderation! such tranquillity and submission under injury! a man who, while he was praetor of the city, was driven from the city, was prevented from sitting as judge in legal proceedings, when it was he who had restored all law to the republic, and, though he might have been hedged round by the daily concourse of all virtuous men, who were constantly flocking round him in marvellous numbers, he preferred to be defended in his absence by the judgment of the good, to being present and protected by their force,--who was not even present to celebrate the games to apollo, which had been prepared in a manner suitable to his own dignity and to that of the roman people, lest he should open any road to the audacity of most wicked men. iv. although, what games or what days were ever more joyful than those on which at every verse that the actor uttered, the roman people did honour to the memory of brutus, with loud shouts of applause? the person of their liberator was absent, the recollection of their liberty was present, in which the appearance of brutus himself seemed to be visible. but the man himself i beheld on those very days of the games, in the country-house of a most illustrious young man, lucullus, his relation, thinking of nothing but the peace and concord of the citizens. i saw him again afterwards at veha, departing from italy, in order that there might be no pretext for civil war on his account. oh what a sight was that! grievous, not only to men but to the very waves and shores. that its saviour should be departing from his country, that its destroyers should be remaining in their country! the fleet of cassius followed a few days afterwards, so that i was ashamed o conscript fathers, to return into the city from which those men were departing. but the design with which i returned you heard at the beginning, and since that you have known by experience. brutus, therefore, bided his time. for, as long as he saw you endure everything, he himself behaved with incredible patience, after that he saw you roused to a desire of liberty, he prepared the means to protect you in your liberty. but what a pest, and how great a pest was it which he resisted? for if caius antonius had been able to accomplish what he intended in his mind, (and he would have been able to do so if the virtue of marcus brutus had not opposed his wickedness,) we should have lost macedonia, illyricum, and greece. greece would have been a refuge for antonius if defeated, or a support to him in attacking italy, which at present, being not only arrayed in arms, but embellished by the military command and authority and troops of marcus brutus stretches out her right hand to italy, and promises it her protection. and the man who proposes to deprive him of his army, is taking away a most illustrious honour, and a most trustworthy guard from the republic. i wish, indeed, that antonius may hear this news as speedily as possible, so that he may understand that it is not decimus brutus whom he is surrounding with his ramparts, but he himself who is really hemmed in. v. he possesses three towns only on the whole face of the earth. he has gaul most bitterly hostile to him, he has even those men the people beyond the po, in whom he placed the greatest reliance, entirely alienated from him, all italy is his enemy. foreign nations, from the nearest coast of greece to egypt, are occupied by the military command and armies of most virtuous and intrepid citizens. his only hope was in caius antonius; who being in age the middle one between his two brothers, rivalled both of them in vices. he hastened away as if he were being driven away by the senate into macedonia, not as if he were prohibited from proceeding thither. what a storm, o ye immortal gods! what a conflagration! what a devastation! what a pestilence to greece would that man have been, if incredible and godlike virtue had not checked the enterprise and audacity of that frantic man. what promptness was there in brutus's conduct! what prudence! what valour! although the rapidity of the movement of caius antonius also is not despicable; for if some vacant inheritance had not delayed him on his march, you might have said that he had flown rather than travelled. when we desire other men to go forth to undertake any public business, we are scarcely able to get them out of the city; but we have driven this man out by the mere fact of our desiring to retain him. but what business had he with apollonia? what business had he with dyrrachium? or with illyricum? what had he to do with the army of publius vatinius, our general? he, as he said himself, was the successor of hortensius. the boundaries of macedonia are well defined; the condition of the proconsul is well known; the amount of his army, if he has any at all, is fixed. but what had antonius to do at all with illyricum and with the legions of vatinius? but brutus had nothing to do with them either. for that, perhaps, is what some worthless man may say. all the legions, all the forces which exist anywhere, belong to the roman people. nor shall those legions which have quitted marcus antonius be called the legions of antonius rather than of the republic; for he loses all power over his army, and all the privileges of military command, who uses that military command and that army to attack the republic. vi. but if the republic itself could give a decision, or if all rights were established by its decrees, would it adjudge the legions of the roman people to antonius or to brutus? the one had flown with precipitation to the plunder and destruction of the allies, in order, wherever he went, to lay waste, and pillage, and plunder everything, and to employ the army of the roman people against the roman people itself. the other had laid down this law for himself, that wherever he came he should appear to come as a sort of light and hope of safety. lastly, the one was seeking aids to overturn the republic; the other to preserve it. nor, indeed, did we see this more clearly than the soldiers themselves; from whom so much discernment in judging was not to have been expected. he writes, that antonius is at apollonia with seven cohorts, and he is either by this time taken prisoner, (may the gods grant it!) or, at all events, like a modest man, he does not come near macedonia, lest he should seem to act in opposition to the resolution of the senate. a levy of troops has been held in macedonia, by the great zeal and diligence of quintus hortensius; whose admirable courage, worthy both of himself and of his ancestors, you may clearly perceive from the letters of brutus. the legion which lucius piso, the lieutenant of antonius, commanded, has surrendered itself to cicero, my own son. of the cavalry, which was being led into syria in two divisions, one division has left the quaestor who was commanding it, in thessaly, and has joined brutus; and cnaeus domitius, a young man of the greatest virtue and wisdom and firmness, has carried off the other from the syrian lieutenant in macedonia. but publius vatinius, who has before this been deservedly praised by us, and who is justly entitled to further praise at the present time, has opened the gates of dyrrachium to brutus, and has given him up his army. the roman people then is now in possession of macedonia, and illyricum, and greece. the legions there are all devoted to us, the light-armed troops are ours, the cavalry is ours, and, above all, brutus is ours, and always will be ours--a man born for the republic, both by his own most excellent virtues, and also by some especial destiny of name and family, both on his father's and on his mother's side. vii. does any one then fear war from this man, who, until we commenced the war, being compelled to do so, preferred lying unknown in peace to flourishing in war? although he, in truth, never did lie unknown, nor can this expression possibly be applied to such great eminence in virtue. for he was the object of regret to the state; he was in every one's mouth, the subject of every one's conversation. but he was so far removed from an inclination to war, that, though he was burning with a desire to see italy free, he preferred being wanting to the zeal of the citizens, to leading them to put everything to the issue of war. therefore, those very men, if there be any such, who find fault with the slowness of brutus's movements, nevertheless at the same time admire his moderation and his patience. but i see now what it is they mean: nor, in truth, do they use much disguise. they say that they are afraid how the veterans may endure the idea of brutus having an army. as if there were any difference between the troops of aulus hirtius, of caius pansa, of decimus brutus, of caius caesar, and this army of marcus brutus. for if these four armies which i have mentioned are praised because they have taken up arms for the sake of the liberty of the roman people, what reason is there why this army of marcus brutus should not be classed under the same head? oh, but the very name of marcus brutus is unpopular among the veterans.--more than that of decimus brutus?--i think not; for although the action is common to both the bruti, and although their share in the glory is equal, still those men who were indignant at that deed were more angry with decimus brutus, because they said, that it was more improper for it to be executed by him. what now are all those armies labouring at, except to effect the release of decimus brutus from a siege? and who are the commanders of those armies? those men, i suppose, who wish the acts of caius caesar to be overturned, and the cause of the veterans to be betrayed. viii. if caesar himself were alive, could he, do you imagine, defend his own acts more vigorously than that most gallant man hirtius defends them? or, is it possible that any one should be found more friendly to the cause than his son? but the one of these, though not long recovered from a very long attack of a most severe disease, has applied all the energy and influence which he had to defending the liberty of those men by whose prayers he considered that he himself had been recalled from death; the other, stronger in the strength of his virtue than in that of his age, has set out with those very veterans to deliver decimus brutus. therefore, those men who are both the most certain and at the same time the most energetic defenders of the acts of caesar, are waging war for the safety of decimus brutus; and they are followed by the veterans. for they see that they must fight to the uttermost for the freedom of the roman people, not for their own advantages. what reason, then, is there why the army of marcus brutus should be an object of suspicion to those men who with the whole of their energies desire the preservation of decimus brutus? but, moreover, if there were anything which were to be feared from marcus brutus, would not pansa perceive it? or if he did perceive it, would not he, too, be anxious about it? who is either more acute in his conjectures of the future, or more diligent in warding off danger? but you have already seen his zeal for, and inclination towards marcus brutus. he has already told us in his speech what we ought to decree, and how we ought to feel with respect to marcus brutus. and he was so far from thinking the army of marcus brutus dangerous to the republic, that he considered it the most important and the most trusty bulwark of the republic. either, then, pansa does not perceive this (no doubt he is a man of dull intellect), or he disregards it. for he is clearly not anxious that the acts which caesar executed should be ratified,--he, who in compliance with our recommendation is going to bring forward a bill at the comitia centuriata for sanctioning and confirming them. ix. let those, then, who have no fear, cease to pretend to be alarmed, and to be exercising their foresight in the cause of the republic. and let those who really are afraid of everything, cease to be too fearful, lest the pretence of the one party and the inactivity of the other be injurious to us. what, in the name of mischief! is the object of always opposing the name of the veterans to every good cause? for even if i were attached to their virtue, as indeed i am, still, if they were arrogant i should not be able to tolerate their airs. while we are endeavouring to break the bonds of slavery, shall any one hinder us by saying that the veterans do not approve of it? for they are not, i suppose, beyond all counting, who are ready to take up arms in defence of the common freedom! there is no man, except the veteran soldiers, who is stimulated by the indignation of a freeman to repel slavery! can the republic then stand, relying wholly on veterans, without a great reinforcement of the youth of the state? whom, indeed, you ought to be attached to, if they be assistants to you in the assertion of your freedom, but whom you ought not to follow if they be the advisers of slavery. lastly, (let me at last say one true word, one word worthy of myself!)--if the inclinations of this order are governed by the nod of the veterans, and if all our words and actions are to be referred to their will, death is what we should wish for, which has always, in the minds of roman citizens, been preferable to slavery. all slavery is miserable; but some may have been unavoidable. do you think, then, that there is never to be a beginning of our endeavours to recover our freedom? or, when we would not bear that fortune which was unavoidable, and which seemed almost as if appointed by destiny, shalt we tolerate the voluntary bondage? all italy is burning with a desire for freedom. the city cannot endure slavery any longer. we have given this warlike attire and these arms to the roman people much later than they have been demanded of us by them. x. we have, indeed, undertaken our present course of action with a great and almost certain hope of liberty. but even if i allow that the events of war are uncertain, and that the chances of mars are common to both sides, still it is worth while to fight for freedom at the peril of one's life. for life does not consist wholly in breathing, there is literally no life at all for one who is a slave. all nations can endure slavery. our state cannot. nor is there any other reason for this, except that those nations shrink from toil and pain, and are willing to endure anything so long as they may be free from those evils, but we have been trained and bred up by our forefathers in such a manner, as to measure all our designs and all our actions by the standard of dignity and virtue. the recovery of freedom is so splendid a thing that we must not shun even death when seeking to recover it. but if immortality were to be the result of our avoidance of present danger, still slavery would appear still more worthy of being avoided, in proportion as it is of longer duration. but as all sorts of deaths surround us on all sides night and day, it does not become a man, and least of all a roman, to hesitate to give up to his country that breath which he owes to nature. men flock together from all quarters to extinguish a general conflagration. the veterans were the first to follow the authority of caesar and to repel the attempts of antonius, afterwards the martial legion checked his frenzy, the fourth legion crushed it. being thus condemned by his own legions, he burst into gaul, which he knew to be adverse and hostile to him both in word and deed. the armies of aulus hirtius and caius caesar pursued him, and afterwards the levies of pansa roused the city and all italy. he is the one enemy of all men. although he has with him lucius his brother, a citizen very much beloved by the roman people, the regret for whose absence the city is unable to endure any longer! what can be more foul than that beast? what more savage? who appears born for the express purpose of preventing marcus antonius from being the basest of all mortals. they have with them trebellius, who, now that all debts are cancelled, is become reconciled to them, and titus plancus, and other like them, who are striving with all their hearts, and whose sole object is, to appear to have been restored against the will of the republic. saxa and capho, themselves rustic and clownish men, men who never have seen and who never wish to see this republic firmly established, are tampering with the ignorant classes; men who are not upholding the acts of caesar but those of antonius, who are led away by the unlimited occupation of the campanian district, and who i marvel are not somewhat ashamed when they see that they have actors and actresses for their neighbours. xi. why then should we be displeased that the army of marcus brutus is thrown into the scale to assist us in overwhelming these pests of the commonwealth? it is the army, i suppose, of an intemperate and turbulent man. i am more afraid of his being too patient, although in all the counsels and actions of that man there never has been anything either too much or too little. the whole inclinations of marcus brutus, o conscript fathers, the whole of his thoughts, the whole of his ideas, are directed towards the authority of the senate and the freedom of the roman people. these are the objects which he proposes to himself, these are what he desires to uphold. he has tried what he could do by patience, as he did nothing he has thought it necessary to encounter force by force. and, o conscript fathers, you ought at this time to grant him the same honours which on the nineteenth of december you conferred by my advice on decimus brutus and caius caesar, whose designs and conduct in regard to the republic, while they also were but private individuals, was approved of and praised by your authority. and you ought to do the same now with respect to marcus brutus, by whom an unhoped for and sudden reinforcement of legions and cavalry, and numerous and trusty bands of allies, have been provided for the republic. quintus hortensius also ought to have a share of your praise, who, being governor of macedonia, joined brutus as a most faithful and untiring assistant in collecting that army. for i think that a separate motion ought to be made respecting marcus appuleius, to whom brutus bears witness in his letters that he has been a prime assistant to him in his endeavours to get together and equip his army. and since this is the case, "as caius pansa the consul has addressed to us a speech concerning the letters which have been received from quintus caepio brutus,[ ] proconsul, and have been read in this assembly, i give my vote in this matter thus. "since, by the exertions and wisdom and industry and valour of quintus caepio brutus, proconsul, at a most critical period of the republic, the province of macedonia, and illyircum, and all greece, and the legions and armies and cavalry, have been preserved in obedience to the consuls and senate and people of rome, quintus caepio brutus, proconsul, has acted well, and in a manner advantageous to the republic and suitable to his own dignity and to that of his ancestors, and to the principles according to which alone the affairs of the republic can be properly managed, and that conduct is and will be grateful to the senate and people of rome. "and moreover, as quintus caepio brutus, proconsul, is occupying and defending and protecting the province of macedonia, and illyricum, and all greece, and is preserving them in safety, and as he is in command of an army which he himself has levied and collected, he is at liberty, if he has need of any, to exact money for the use of the military service, which belongs to the public, and can lawfully be exacted, and to use it, and to borrow money for the exigencies of the war from whomsoever he thinks fit, and to exact coin, and to endeavour to approach italy as near as he can with his forces. and as it has been understood from the letters of quintus caepio brutus, proconsul, that the republic has been greatly benefited by the energy and valour of quintus hortensius, proconsul, and that all his counsels have been in harmony with those of quintus caepio brutus, proconsul, and that that harmony has been of the greatest service to the republic, quintus hortensius has acted well and becomingly, and in a manner advantageous to the republic. and the senate decrees that quintus hortensius, proconsul, shall occupy the province of macedonia with his quaestors, or proquaestors and lieutenants, until he shall have a successor regularly appointed by resolution of the senate." the eleventh oration of m t cicero against marcus antonius. called also the eleventh philippic * * * * * the argument a short time after the delivery of the preceding speech, news came to rome of dolabella (the colleague of antonius) having been very successful in asia. he had left rome before the expiration of his consulship to take possession of syria, which antonius had contrived to have allotted him, and he hoped to prevail on the inhabitants of the province of asia also to abandon trebonius, (who had been one of the slayers of caesar, and was governor of asia) and submit to him. trebonius was residing at smyrna, and dolabella arrived before the walls of that town with very few troops, requesting a free passage through trebonius's province. trebonius refused to admit him into the town, but promised that he would permit him to enter ephesus. dolabella, however, effected an entry into smyrna by a nocturnal surprise, and seized trebonius, whom he murdered with great cruelty. as soon as the news of this event reached rome, the consul summoned the senate, which at once declared dolabella a public enemy, and confiscated his estate. calenus was the mover of this decree. but besides this motion there was another question to be settled namely, who was to be appointed to conduct the war against dolabella. some proposed to send publius servilus; others, that the two consuls should be sent, and should have the two provinces of asia and syria allotted to them, and this last proposition pansa himself was favourable to, and it was supported not only by his friends, but also by the partisans of antonius, who thought it would draw off the consuls from their present business of relieving decimus brutus. but cicero thought that it would be an insult to cassius, who was already in those countries, to supersede him as it were, by sending any one else to command there, and so he exerted all his influence to procure a decree entrusting the command to him, though servilia, the mother-in-law of cassius, and other of cassius's friends, begged him not to disoblige pansa. he persevered, however and made the following speech in support of his opinion. it appears that cicero failed in his proposition through the influence of pansa, but before any orders came from rome, cassius had defeated dolabella near laodicea, and he killed himself to avoid falling into the hands of his conqueror. i. amid the great grief, o conscript fathers, or rather misery which we have suffered at the cruel and melancholy death of caius trebonius, a most virtuous citizen and a most moderate man, there is still a circumstance or two in the case which i think will turn out beneficial to the republic. for we have now thoroughly seen what great barbarity these men are capable of who have taken up wicked arms against their country. for these two, dolabella and antonius, are the very blackest and foulest monsters that have ever lived since the birth of man; one of whom has now done what he wished; and as to the other, it has been plainly shown what he intended. lucius cinna was cruel; caius marius was unrelenting in his anger; lucius sylla was fierce; but still the inhumanity of none of these men ever went beyond death; and that punishment indeed was thought too cruel to be inflicted on citizens. here now you have a pair equal in wickedness; unprecedented, unheard of, savage, barbarous. therefore those men whose vehement mutual hatred and quarrel you recollect a short time ago, have now been united in singular unanimity and mutual attachment by the singularity of their wicked natures and most infamous lives. therefore, that which dolabella has now done in a case in which he had the power, antonius threatens many with. but the former, as he was a long way from our counsels and armies, and as he was not yet aware that the senate had united with the roman people, relying on the forces of antonius, has committed those wicked actions which he thought were already put in practice at rome by his accomplice in wickedness. what else then do you think that this man is contriving or wishing, or what other object do you think he has in the war? all of us who have either entertained the thoughts of freemen concerning the republic, or have given utterance to opinions worthy of ourselves, he decides to be not merely opposed to him, but actual enemies. and he plans inflicting bitterer punishments on us than on the enemy; he thinks death a punishment imposed by nature, but torments and tortures the proper inflictions of anger. what sort of enemy then must we consider that man who, if he be victorious, requires one to think death a kindness if he spares one the tortures with which it is in his power to accompany it? ii. wherefore, o conscript fathers, although you do not need any one to exhort you, (for you yourself have of your own accord warmed up with the desire of recovering your freedom,) still defend, i warn you, your freedom with so much the more zeal and courage, in proportion as the punishments of slavery with which you see the conquered are threatened are more terrible. antonius has invaded gaul; dolabella, asia; each a province with which he had no business whatever. brutus has opposed himself to the one, and at the peril of his own life has checked the onset of that frantic man wishing to harass and plunder everything, has prevented his further progress, and has cut him off from his return. by allowing himself to be besieged he has hemmed in antonius on each side. the other has forced his way into asia. with what object? if it was merely to proceed into syria, he had a road open to him which was sure, and was not long. what was the need of sending forward some marsian, they call him octavius, with a legion; a wicked and necessitous robber; a man to lay waste the lands, to harass the cities, not from any hope of acquiring any permanent property, which they who know him say that he is unable to keep (for i have not the honour of being acquainted with this senator myself,) but just as present food to satisfy his indigence? dolabella followed him, without any one having any suspicion of war. for how could any one think of such a thing? very friendly conferences with trebonius ensued; embraces, false tokens of the greatest good-will, were there full of simulated affection; the pledge of the right hand, which used to be a witness of good faith, was violated by treachery and wickedness; then came the nocturnal entry into smyrna, as if into an enemy's city--smyrna, which is a city of our most faithful and most ancient allies; then the surprise of trebonius, who, if he were surprised by one who was an open enemy, was very careless; if by one who up to that moment maintained the appearance of a citizen, was miserable. and by his example fortune wished us to take a lesson of what the conquered party had to fear. he handed over a man of consular rank, governing the province of asia with consular authority, to an exiled armourer;[ ] he would not slay him the moment that he had taken him, fearing, i suppose, that his victory might appear too merciful; but after having attacked that most excellent man with insulting words from his impious mouth, then he examined him with scourges and tortures concerning the public money, and that for two days together. afterwards he cut off his head, and ordered it to be fixed on a javelin and carried about, and the rest of his body, having been dragged through the street and town, he threw into the sea. we, then, have to war against this enemy by whose most foul cruelty all the savageness of barbarous nations is surpassed. why need i speak of the massacre of roman citizens? of the plunder of temples? who is there who can possibly deplore such circumstances as their atrocity deserves? and now he is ranging all over asia, he is triumphing about as a king, he thinks that we are occupied in another quarter by another war, as if it were not one and the same war against this outrageous pair of impious men. iii. you see now an image of the cruelty of marcus antonius in dolabella, this conduct of his is formed on the model of the other. it is by him that the lessons of wickedness have been taught to dolabella. do you think that antonius, if he had the power, would be more merciful in italy than dolabella has proved in asia? to me, indeed, this latter appears to have gone as far as the insanity of a savage man could go; nor do i believe that antonius either would omit any description of punishment, if he had only the power to inflict it. place then before your eyes, o conscript fathers, that spectacle, miserable indeed, and tearful, but still indispensable to rouse your minds properly: the nocturnal attack upon the most beautiful city in asia; the irruption of armed men into trebonius's house, when that unhappy man saw the swords of the robbers before he heard what was the matter, the entrance of dolabella, raging,--his ill omened voice, and infamous countenance,--the chains, the scourges, the rack, the armourer who was both torturer and executioner, all which they say that the unhappy trebonius endured with great fortitude. a great praise, and in my opinion indeed the greatest of all, for it is the part of a wise man to resolve beforehand that whatever can happen to a brave man is to be endured with patience if it should happen. it is indeed a proof of altogether greater wisdom to act with such foresight as to prevent any such thing from happening, but it is a token of no less courage to bear it bravely if it should befall one. and dolabella was indeed so wholly forgetful of the claims of humanity, (although, indeed, he never had any particular recollection of it,) as to vent his insatiable cruelty, not only on the living man, but also on the dead carcass, and, as he could not sufficiently glut his hatred, to feed his eyes also on the lacerations inflicted, and the insults offered to his corpse. iv. o dolabella, much more wretched than he whom you intended to be the most wretched of all men! trebonius endured great agonies, many men have endured greater still, from severe disease, whom, however, we are in the habit of calling not miserable, but afflicted. his sufferings, which lasted two days, were long, but many men have had sufferings lasting many years, nor are the tortures inflicted by executioners more terrible than those caused by disease are sometimes. there are other tortures,--others, i tell you, o you most abandoned and insane man, which are far more miserable. for in proportion as the vigour of the mind exceeds that of the body, so also are the sufferings which rack the mind more terrible than those which are endured by the body. he, therefore, who commits a wicked action is more wretched than he who is compelled to endure the wickedness of another. trebonius was tortured by dolabella, and so, indeed, was regulus by the carthaginians. if on that account the carthaginians were considered very cruel for such behaviour to an enemy, what must we think of dolabella, who treated a citizen in such a manner? is there any comparison? or can we doubt which of the two is most miserable? he whose death the senate and roman people wish to avenge, or he who has been adjudged an enemy by the unanimous vote of the senate? for in every other particular of their lives, who could possibly, without the greatest insult to trebonius, compare the life of trebonius to that of dolabella? who is ignorant of the wisdom, and genius, and humanity, and innocence of the one, and of his greatness of mind as displayed in his exertions for the freedom of his country? the other, from his very childhood, has taken delight in cruelty; and, moreover, such has been the shameful nature of his lusts, that he has always delighted in the very fact of doing those things which he could not even be reproached with by a modest enemy. and this man, o ye immortal gods, was once my relation! for his vices were unknown to one who did not inquire into such things nor perhaps should i now be alienated from him if he had not been discovered to be an enemy to you, to the walls of his country, to this city, to our household gods, to the altars and hearths of all of us,--in short, to human nature and to common humanity. but now, having received this lesson from him, let us be the more diligent and vigilant in being on our guard against antonius. v. indeed, dolabella had not with him any great number of notorious and conspicuous robbers. but you see there are with antonius, and in what numbers. in the first place, there is his brother lucius--what a firebrand, o ye immortal gods! what an incarnation of crime and wickedness! what a gulf, what a whirlpool of a man! what do you think that man incapable of swallowing up in his mind, or gulping down in his thoughts! who do you imagine there is whose blood he is not thirsting for? who, on whose possessions and fortunes he is not fixing his most impudent eyes, his hopes, and his whole heart? what shall we say of censorinus? who, as far as words go, said indeed that he wished to be the city praetor, but who, in fact, was unwilling to be so? what of bestia, who professes that he is a candidate for the consulship in the place of brutus? may jupiter avert from us this most detestable omen! but how absurd is it for a man to stand for the consulship who cannot be elected praetor! unless, indeed, he thinks his conviction may be taken as an equivalent to the praetorship. let this second caesar, this great vopiscus[ ], a man of consummate genius, of the highest influence, who seeks the consulship immediately after having been aedile, be excused from obedience to the laws. although, indeed, the laws do not bind him, on account, i suppose, of his exceeding dignity. but this man has been acquitted five times when i have defended him. to win a sixth city victory is difficult, even in the case of a gladiator. however, this is the fault of the judges, not mine. i defended him with perfect good faith, they were bound to retain a most illustrious and excellent citizen in the republic, who now, however, appears to have no other object except to make us understand that those men whose judicial decisions we annulled, decided rightly and in a manner advantageous to the republic. nor is this the case with respect to this man alone; there are other men in the same camp honestly condemned and shamefully restored; what counsel do you imagine can be adopted by those men who are enemies to all good men, that is not utterly cruel? there is besides a fellow called saxa; i don't know who he is, some man whom caesar imported from the extremity of celtiberia and gave us for a tribune of the people. before that, he was a measurer of ground for camps; now he hopes to measure out and value the city. may the evils which this foreigner predicts to us fall on his own head, and may we escape in safety! with him is the veteran capho; nor is there any man whom the veteran troops hate more cordially; to these men, as if in addition to the dowry which they had received during our civil disasters, antonius had given the campanian district, that they might have it as a sort of nurse for their other estates. i only wish they would be contented with them! we would bear it then, though it would not be what ought to be borne, but still it would be worth our while to bear anything, as long as we could escape this most shameful war. vi. what more? have you not before your eyes those ornaments of the camp of marcus antonius? in the first place, these two colleagues of the antonii and dolabella, nucula and lento the dividers of all italy according to that law which the senate pronounced to have been earned by violence, one of whom has been a writer of farces, and the other an actor of tragedies. why should i speak of domitius the apulian? whose property we have lately seen advertised, so great is the carelessness of his agents. but this man lately was not content with giving poison to his sister's son, he actually drenched him with it. but it is impossible for these men to live in any other than a prodigal manner, who hope for our property while they are squandering their own. i have seen also an auction of the property of publius decius, an illustrious man, who, following the example of his ancestors, devoted himself for the debts of another. but at that auction no one was found to be a purchaser. ridiculous man to think it possible to escape from debt by selling other people's property! for why should i speak of trebellius? on whom the furies of debts seem to have wrecked their vengeance, for we have seen one table[ ] avenging another. why should i speak of plancus? whom that most illustrious citizen aquila has driven from pollentia,--and that too with a broken leg, and i wish he had met with that accident earlier, so as not to be liable to return hither. i had almost passed over the light and glory of that army, caius annius cimber, the son of lysidicus, a lysidicus himself in the greek meaning of the word, since he has broken all laws, unless perhaps it is natural for a cimbrian to slay a german[ ]? when antonius has such numbers with him, and those too men of that sort, what crime will he shrink from, when dolabella has polluted himself with such atrocious murders without at all an equal troop of robbers to support him? wherefore, as i have often at other times differed against my will from quintus fufius, so on this occasion i gladly agree with his proposition. and from this you may see that my difference is not with the man, but with the cause which he sometimes advocates. therefore, at present i not only agree with quintus fufius, but i even return thanks to him, for he has given utterance to opinions which are upright, and dignified, and worthy of the republic. he has pronounced dolabella a public enemy, he has declared his opinion that his property ought to be confiscated by public authority. and though nothing could be added to this, (for, indeed, what could he propose more severe or more pitiless?) nevertheless, he said that if any of those men who were asked their opinion after him proposed any more severe sentence, he would vote for it. who can avoid praising such severity as this? vii. now, since dolabella has been pronounced a public enemy, he must be pursued by war. for he himself will not remain quiet. he has a legion with him, he has troops of runaway slaves, he has a wicked band of impious men, he himself is confident, intemperate, and bent on falling by the death of a gladiator. wherefore, since, as dolabella was voted an enemy by the decree which was passed yesterday, war must be waged, we must necessarily appoint a general. two opinions have been advanced, neither of which do i approve. the one, because i always think it dangerous unless it be absolutely necessary, the other, because i think it wholly unsuited to the emergency. for an extraordinary commission is a measure suited rather to the fickle character of the mob, one which does not at all become our dignity or this assembly. in the war against antiochus, a great and important war, when asia had fallen by lot to lucius scipio as his province, and when he was thought to have hardly spirit and hardly vigour enough for it, and when the senate was inclined to entrust the business to his colleague caius laelius, the father of this laelius, who was surnamed the wise; publius africanus, the elder brother of lucius scipio, rose up, and entreated them not to cast such a slur on his family, and said that in his brother there was united the greatest possible valour, with the most consummate prudence, and that he too, notwithstanding his age, and all the exploits which he had performed, would attend his brother as his lieutenant. and after he had said this, nothing was changed in respect to scipio's province, nor was any extraordinary command sought for any more in that war than in those two terrible punic wars which had preceded it, which were carried on and conducted to their termination either by the consuls or by dictators, or than in the war with pyrrhus, or in that with philippus, or afterwards in the achaean war, or in the third punic war, for which last the roman people took great care to select a suitable general, publius scipio, but at the same time it appointed him to the consulship in order to conduct it. viii. war was to be waged against aristonicus in the consulship of publius licunius and lucius valerius. the people was consulted as to whom it wished to have the management of that war. crassus, the consul and pontifex maximus, threatened to impose a fine upon flaccus his colleague the priest of mars, if he deserted the sacrifices. and though the people remitted the fine, still they ordered the priest to submit to the commands of the pontiff. but even then the roman people did not commit the management of the war to a private individual, although there was africanus, who the year before had celebrated a triumph over the people of numantia, and who was far superior to all men in martial renown and military skill; yet he only gained the votes of two tribunes. and accordingly the roman people entrusted the management of the war to crassus the consul rather than to the private individual africanus. as to the commands given to cnaeus pompeius, that most illustrious man, that first of men, they were carried by some turbulent tribunes of the people. for the war against sertorius was only given by the senate to a private individual because the consuls refused it, when lucius philippus said that he sent the general in the place of the two consuls, not as proconsul. what then is the object of these comitia? or what is the meaning of this canvassing which that most wise and dignified citizen, lucius caesar, has introduced into the senate? he has proposed to vote a military command to one who is certainly a most illustrious and unimpeachable man, but still only a private individual. and by doing so he has imposed a heavy burden upon us. suppose i agree, shall i by so doing countenance the introduction of the practice of canvassing into the senate house? suppose i vote against it, shall i appear as if i were in the comitia to have refused an honour to a man who is one of my greatest friends? but if we are to have the comitia in the senate, let us ask for votes, let us canvass, let a voting tablet be given us, just as one is given to the people. why do you, o caesar, allow it to be so managed that either a most illustrious man, if your proposition be not agreed too, shall appear to have received a repulse, or else that one of us shall appear to have been passed over, if, while we are men of equal dignity, we are not considered worthy of equal honour? but (for this is what i hear is said,) i myself gave by my own vote an extraordinary commission to caius caesar. ay, indeed, for he had given me extraordinary protection, when i say me, i mean he had given it to the senate and to the roman people. was i to refuse giving an extraordinary military command to that man from whom the republic had received protection which had never even been thought of, but that still was of so much consequence that without it she could not have been safe? there were only the alternatives of taking his army from him, or giving him such a command. for on what principle or by what means can an army be retained by a man who has not been invested with any military command? we must not, therefore, think that a thing has been given to a man which has, in fact, not been taken away from him. you would, o conscript fathers, have taken a command away from caius caesar, if you had not given him one. the veteran soldiers, who, following his authority and command and name, had taken up arms in the cause of the republic, desired to be commanded by him. the martial legion and the fourth legion had submitted to the authority of the senate, and had devoted themselves to uphold the dignity of the republic, in such a way as to feel that they had a right to demand caius caesar for their commander. it was the necessity of the war that invested caius caesar with military command, the senate only gave him the ensigns of it. but i beg you to tell me, o lucius caesar,--i am aware that i am arguing with a man of the greatest experience,--when did the senate ever confer a military command on a private individual who was in a state of inactivity, and doing nothing? ix. however, i have been speaking hitherto to avoid the appearance of gratuitously opposing a man who is a great friend of mine, and who has showed me great kindness. although, can one deny a thing to a person who not only does not ask for it, but who even refuses it? but, o conscript fathers, that proposition is unsuited to the dignity of the consuls, unsuited to the critical character of the times, namely, the proposition that the consuls, for the sake of pursuing dolabella, shall have the provinces of asia and syria allotted to them. i will explain why it is inexpedient for the republic, but first of all, consider what ignominy it fixes on the consuls. when a consul elect is being besieged, when the safety of the republic depends upon his liberation, when mischievous and parricidal citizens have revolted from the republic, and when we are carrying on a war in which we are fighting for our dignity, for our freedom, and for our lives, and when, if any one falls into the power of antonius, tortures and torments are prepared for him, and when the struggle for all these objects has been committed and entrusted to our most admirable and gallant consuls,--shall any mention be made of asia and syria so that we may appear to have given any injurious cause for others to entertain suspicion of us, or to bring us into unpopularity? they do indeed propose it, "after having liberated brutus,"--for those were the last words of the proposal, say rather, after having deserted, abandoned, and betrayed him. but i say that any mention whatever of any provinces has been made at a most unseasonable time. for although your mind, o caius pausa, be ever so intent, as indeed it is, on effecting the liberation of the most true and illustrious of all men, still the nature of things would compel you inevitably sometimes to turn your thoughts to the idea of pursuing antonius, and to divert some portion of your care and attention to asia and syria. but if it were possible, i could wish you to have more minds than one, and yet to direct them all upon mutina. but since that is impossible, i do wish you, with that most virtuous and all accomplished mind which you have got, to think of nothing but brutus. and that indeed, is what you are doing; that is what you are especially striving at, but still no man can i will not say do two things, especially two most important things, at one time but he cannot even do entire justice to them both in his thoughts. it is our duty rather to spur on and inflame that excellent eagerness of yours, and not to transfer any portion of it to another object of care in a different direction. x. add to these considerations the way men talk, the way in which they nourish suspicion, the way in which they take dislikes. imitate me whom you have always praised; for i rejected a province fully appointed and provided by the senate, for the purpose of discarding all other thoughts, and devoting all my efforts to extinguishing the conflagration that threatened to consume my country. there was no one except me alone, to whom, indeed, you would, in consideration of our intimacy, have been sure to communicate anything which concerned your interests, who would believe that the province had been decreed to you against your will. i entreat you, check, as is due to your eminent wisdom, this report, and do not seem to be desirous of that which you do not in reality care about. and you should take the more care of this point, because your colleague, a most illustrious man, cannot fall under the same suspicion. he knows nothing of all that is going on here, he suspects nothing, he is conducting the war, he is standing in battle array, he is fighting for his blood and for his life, he will hear of the province being decreed to him before he could imagine that there had been time for such a proceeding. i am afraid that our armies too, which have devoted themselves to the republic, not from any compulsory levy, but of their own voluntary zeal, will be checked in their ardour, if they suppose that we are thinking of anything but instant war. but if provinces appear to the consuls as things to be desired, as they often have been desired by many illustrious men, first restore us brutus, the light and glory of the state, whom we ought to preserve like that statue which fell from heaven, and is guarded by the protection of vesta, which, as long as it is safe, ensures our safety also. then we will raise you, if it be possible, even to heaven on our shoulders, unquestionably we will select for you the most worthy provinces. but at present let us apply ourselves to the business before us. and the question is, whether we will live as freemen, or die, for death is certainly to be preferred to slavery. what more need i say? suppose that proposition causes delay in the pursuit of dolabella? for when will the consul arrive? are we waiting till there is not even a vestige of the towns and cities of asia left? "but they will send some one of their officers"--that will certainly be a step that i shall quite approve of, i who just now objected to giving any extraordinary military command to even so illustrious a man if he were only a private individual. "but they will send a man worthy of such a charge." will they send one more worthy than publius servilius? but the city has not such a man. what then he himself thinks ought to be given to no one, not even by the senate, can i approve of that being conferred by the decision of one man? we have need, o conscript fathers, of a man ready and prepared, and of one who has a military command legally conferred on him, and of one who, besides this, has authority, and a name, and an army, and a courage which has been already tried in his exertions for the deliverance of the republic. xi who then is that man? either marcus brutus, or caius cassius, or both of them. i would vote in plain words, as there are many precedents for, one consul or both, if we had not already hampered brutus sufficiently in greece, and if we had not preferred having his reinforcement approach nearer to italy rather than move further off towards asia, not so much in order to receive succour ourselves from that army, as to enable that army to receive aid across the water. besides, o conscript fathers, even now caius antonius is detaining marcus brutus, for he occupies apollonia, a large and important city, he occupies, as i believe, byllis, he occupies amantia, he is threatening epirus, he is pressing on illyricum, he has with him several cohorts, and he has cavalry. if brutus be transferred from this district to any other war, we shall at all events lose greece. we must also provide for the safety of brundusium and all that coast of italy. although i marvel that antonius delays so long, for he is accustomed usually to put on his marching dress and not to endure the fear of a siege for any length of time. but if brutus has finished that business, and perceives that he can better serve the republic by pursuing dolabella than by remaining in greece, he will act of his own head, as he has hitherto done, nor amid such a general conflagration will he wait for the orders of the senate when instant help is required. for both brutus and cassius have in many instances been a senate to themselves. for it is quite inevitable that in such a confusion and disturbance of all things men should be guided by the present emergency rather than by precedent. nor will this be the first time that either brutus or cassius has considered the safety and deliverance of his country his most holy law and his most excellent precedent. therefore, if there were no motion submitted to us about the pursuit of dolabella, still i should consider it equivalent to a decree, when there were men of such a character for virtue, authority, and the greatest nobleness, possessing armies, one of which is already known to us, and the other has been abundantly heard of. xii brutus then, you may be sure, has not waited for our decrees, as he was sure of our desires. for he is not gone to his own province of crete, he has flown to macedonia, which belonged to another, he has accounted everything his own which you have wished to be yours, he has enlisted new legions, he has received old ones, he has gained over to his own standard the cavalry of dolabella, and even before that man was polluted with such enormous parricide, he, of his own head, pronounced him his enemy. for if he were not one, by what right could he himself have tempted the cavalry to abandon the consul? what more need i say? did not caius cassius, a man endowed with equal greatness of mind and with equal wisdom, depart from italy with the deliberate object of preventing dolabella from obtaining possession of syria? by what law? by what right? by that which jupiter himself has sanctioned, that everything which was advantageous to the republic should be considered legal and just. for law is nothing but a correct principle drawn from the inspiration of the gods, commanding what is honest, and forbidding the contrary. cassius, therefore, obeyed this law when he went into syria, a province which belonged to another, if men were to abide by the written laws, but which, when these were trampled under foot, was his by the law of nature. but in order that they may be sanctioned by your authority also, i now give my vote, that, "as publius dolabella, and those who have been the ministers of and accomplices and assistants in his cruel and infamous crime, have been pronounced enemies of the roman people by the senate, and as the senate has voted that publius dolabella shall be pursued with war, in order that he who has violated all laws of men and gods by a new and unheard of and inexpiable wickedness and has committed the most infamous treason against his country, may suffer the punishment which is his due, and which he has well deserved at the hands of gods and men, the senate decrees that caius cassius, proconsul, shall have the government of syria as one appointed to that province with all due form, and that he shall receive their armies from quintus marcus crispus, proconsul, from lucius statius murcus, proconsul, from aulus allienus, lieutenant, and that they shall deliver them up to him, and that he, with these troops and with any more which he may have got from other quarters, shall pursue dolabella with war both by sea and land; that, for the sake of carrying on war, he shall have authority and power to buy ships, and sailors, and money, and whatever else may be necessary or useful for the carrying on of the war, in whatever places it seems fitting to him to do so, throughout syria, asia, bithynia, and pontus; and that, in whatever province he shall arrive for the purpose of carrying on that war, in that province as soon as caius cassius, proconsul, shall arrive in it, the power of caius cassius, proconsul, shall be superior to that of him who may be the regular governor of the province at the time. that king deiotarus the father, and also king deiotarus the son, if they assist caius cassius, proconsul, with their armies and treasures, as they have heretofore often assisted the generals of the roman people, will do a thing which will be grateful to the senate and people of rome; and that also, if the rest of the kings and tetrarchs and governors in those districts do the same, the senate and people of rome will not be forgetful of their loyalty and kindness; and that caius pansa and aulus hirtius the consuls, one or both of them, as it seems good to them, as soon as they have re-established the republic, shall at the earliest opportunity submit a motion to this order about the consular and praetorian provinces; and that, in the meantime, the provinces should continue to be governed by those officers by whom they are governed at present, until a successor be appointed to each by a resolution of the senate." xiii. by this resolution of the senate you will inflame the existing ardour of cassius, and you will give him additional arms; for you cannot be ignorant of his disposition, or of the resources which he has at present. his disposition is such as you see; his resources, which you have heard stated to you, are those of a gallant and resolute man, who, even while trebonius was alive, would not permit the piratical crew of dolabella to penetrate into syria. allienus, my intimate friend and connexion, who went thither after the death of trebonius, will not permit himself to be called the lieutenant of dolabella. the army of quintus caecilius bassus, a man indeed without any regular appointment, but a brave and eminent man, is vigorous and victorious. the army of deiotarus the king, both father and son, is very numerous, and equipped in our fashion. moreover, in the son there is the greatest hope, the greatest vigour of genius and a good disposition, and the most eminent valour. why need i speak of the father, whose good-will towards the roman people is coeval with his life; who has not only been the ally of our commanders in their wars, but has also served himself as the general of his own troops. what great things have sylla, and murena, and servilius, and lucullus said of that man; what complimentary, what honourable and dignified mention have they often made of him in the senate! why should i speak of cnaeus pompeius, who considered deiotarus the only friend and real well-wisher from his heart, the only really loyal man to the roman people in the whole world? we were generals, marcus bibulus and i, in neighbouring provinces bordering on his kingdom; and we were assisted by that same monarch both with cavalry and infantry. then followed this most miserable and disastrous civil war; in which i need not say what deiotarus ought to have done, or what would have been the most proper course which he could have adopted, especially as victory decided for the party opposed to the wishes of deiotarus. and if in that war he committed any error, he did so in common with the senate. if his judgment was the right one, then even though defeated it does not deserve to be blamed. to these resources other kings and other levies of troops will be added. nor will fleets be wanting to us; so greatly do the tyrians esteem cassius, so mighty is his name in syria and phoenicia. xiv. the republic, o conscript fathers, has a general ready against dolabella, in caius cassius, and not ready only, but also skilful and brave. he performed great exploits before the arrival of bibulus, a most illustrious man, when he defeated the most eminent generals of the parthians and their innumerable armies, and delivered syria from their most formidable invasion. i pass over his greatest and most extraordinary glory; for as the mention of it is not yet acceptable to every one, we had better preserve it in our recollection than by bearing testimony to it with our voice. i have noticed, o conscript fathers, that some people have said before now, that even brutus is too much extolled by me, that cassius is too much extolled; and that by this proposition of mine absolute power and quite a principality is conferred upon cassius. whom do i extol? those who are themselves the glory of the republic. what? have i not at all times extolled decimus brutus whenever i have delivered my opinion at all? do you then find fault with me? or should i rather praise the antonii, the disgrace and infamy not only of their own families, but of the roman name? or should i speak in favour of censorenus, an enemy in time of war, an assassin in time of peace? or should i collect all the other ruined men of that band of robbers? but i am so far from extolling those enemies of tranquility, of concord, of the laws, of the courts of justice, and of liberty, that i cannot avoid hating them as much as i love the republic. "beware," says one, "how you offend the veterans." for this is what i am most constantly told. but i certainly ought to protect the rights of the veterans; of those at least who are well disposed; but surely i ought not to fear them. and those veterans who have taken up arms in the cause of the republic, and have followed caius caesar, remembering the kindnesses which they received from his father, and who at this day are defending the republic to their own great personal danger,--those i ought not only to defend, but to seek to procure additional advantages for them. but those also who remain quiet, such as the sixth and eighth legion, i consider worthy of great glory and praise. but as for those companions of antonius, who after they have devoured the benefits of caesar, besiege the consul elect, threaten this city with fire and sword, and have given themselves up to saxa and capho, men born for crime and plunder, who is there who thinks that those men ought to be defended? therefore the veterans are either good men, whom we ought to load with distinctions, or quiet men, whom we ought to preserve, or impious ones, against whose frenzy we have declared war and taken up legitimate arms. xv. who then are the veterans whom we are to be fearful of offending? those who are desirous to deliver decimus brutus from siege? for how can those men, to whom the safety of brutus is dear, hate the name of cassius? or those men who abstain from taking arms on either side? i have no fear of any of those men who delight in tranquility becoming a mischievous citizen. but as for the third class, whom i call not veteran soldiers, but infamous enemies, i wish to inflict on them the most bitter pain. although, o conscript fathers, how long are we to deliver our opinions as it may please the veterans? why are we to yield so much to their haughtiness? why are we to make their arrogance of such importance as to choose our generals with reference to their pleasure? but i (for i must speak, o conscript fathers, what i feel,) think that we ought not so much to regard the veterans, as to look at what the young soldiers, the flower of italy--at what the new legions, most eager to effect the deliverance of their country--at what all italy will think of your wisdom. for there is nothing which flourishes for ever. age succeeds age. the legions of caesar have flourished for a long time; but now those who are flourishing are the legions of pansa, and the legions of hirtius, and the legions of the son of caesar, and the legions of plancus. they surpass the veterans in number, they have the advantage of youth, moreover, they surpass them also in authority. for they are engaged in waging that war which is approved of by all nations. therefore, rewards have been promised to these latter. to the former they have been already paid,--let them enjoy them. but let these others have those rewards given to them which we have promised them. for that is what i hope that the immortal gods will consider just. and as this is the case, i give my vote for the proposition which i have made to you, o conscript fathers, being adopted by you. the twelfth oration of m t cicero against marcus antonius. called also the twelfth philippic. the argument. decimus brutus was in such distress in mutina, that his friends began to be alarmed, fearing that, if he fell into the hands of antonius, he would be treated as trebonius had been. and, as the friends of antonius gave out that he was now more inclined to come to terms with the senate, a proposition was made and supported by pansa to send a second embassy to him. and even cicero at first consented to it, and allowed himself to be nominated with servilius and three other senators, all of consular rank, but on more mature reflection he was convinced that he had been guilty of a blunder, and that the object of antonius and his friends was only to gain time for ventidius to join him with his three legions. accordingly, at the next meeting of the senate, he delivered the following speech, retracting his former sanction of the proposed embassy. and he spoke so strongly against it, that the measure was abandoned and pansa soon afterwards marched with his army to join hirtius and octavius, with the intention of forcing antonius to a battle. i. although, o conscript fathers it seems very unbecoming for that man whose counsels you have so often adopted in the most important affairs, to be deceived and deluded, and to commit mistakes, yet i console myself, since i made the mistake in company with you, and in company also with a consul of the greatest wisdom. for when two men of consular rank had brought us hope of an honorable peace, they appeared as being friends and extremely intimate with marcus antonius, to be aware of some weak point about him with which we were unacquainted. his wife and children are in the house of one, the other is known every day to send letters to, to receive letters from, and openly to favour antonius. these men, then, appeared likely to have some reason for exhorting us to peace, which they had done for some time. the consul, too, added the weight of his exhortation, and what a consul! if we look for prudence, one who was not easily to be deceived; if for virtue and courage, one who would never admit of peace unless antonius submitted and confessed himself to be vanquished, if for greatness of mind, one who would prefer death to slavery. you, too, o conscript fathers, appeared to be induced to think not of accepting but of imposing conditions, not so much because you were forgetful of your most important and dignified resolutions, as because you had hopes suggested you of a surrender on the part of antonius, which his friends preferred to call peace. my own hopes, and i imagine yours also, were increased by the circumstance of my hearing that the family of antonius was overwhelmed with distress, and that his wife was incessantly lamenting. and in this assembly, too, i saw that the partisans, on whose countenance my eyes are always dwelling, looked more sorrowful than usual. and if that is not so, why on a sudden has mention been made of peace by piso and calenus of all people in the world, why at this particular moment, why so unexpectedly? piso declares that he knows nothing, that he has not heard anything. calenus declares that no news has been brought. and they make that statement now, after they think that we are involved in a pacific embassy. what need have we, then, of any new determination, if no new circumstances have arisen to call for one? ii. we have been deceived,--we have, i say, been deceived, o conscript fathers. it is the cause of antonius that has been pleaded by his friends, and not the cause of the public. and i did indeed see that, though through a sort of mist, the safety of decimus brutus had dazzled my eyesight. but if in war, substitutes were in the habit of being given, i would gladly allow myself to be hemmed in, so long as decimus brutus might be released. but we were caught by this expression of quintus fufius; "shall we not listen to antonius, even if he retires from mutina? shall we not, even if he declares that he will submit himself to the authority of the senate?" it seemed harsh to say that. thus it was that we were broken, we yielded. does he then retire from mutina? "i don't know." is he obeying the senate? "i think so" says calenus, "but so as to preserve his own dignity at the same time." you then, o conscript fathers, are to make great exertions for the express purpose of losing your own dignity, which is very great, and of preserving that of antonius, which neither has nor can have any existence, and of enabling him to recover that by your conduct, which he has lost by his own. "but, however, that matter is not open for consideration now, an embassy has been appointed." but what is there which is not open for consideration to a wise man, as long as it can be remodelled? any man is liable to a mistake; but no one but a downright fool will persist in error. for second thoughts, as people say, are best. the mist which i spoke of just now is dispelled, light has arisen, the case is plain--we see everything, and that not by our own acuteness, but we are warned by our friends. you heard just now what was the statement made by a most admirable man. i found, said he, his house, his wife, his children, all in great distress. good men marvelled at me, my friends blamed me for having been led by the hope of peace to undertake an embassy. and no wonder, o publius servilius. for by your own most true and most weighty arguments antonius was stripped, i do not say of all dignity, but of even every hope of safety. who would not wonder if you were to go as an ambassador to him? i judge by my own case, for with regard to myself i see how the same design as you conceived is found fault with. and are we the only people blamed? what? did that most gallant man speak so long and so precisely a little while ago without any reason? what was he labouring for, except to remove from himself a groundless suspicion of treachery? and whence did that suspicion arise? from his unexpected advocacy of peace, which he adopted all on a sudden, being taken in by the same error that we were. but if an error has been committed, o conscript fathers, owing to a groundless and fallacious hope, let us return into the right road. the best harbour for a penitent is a change of intention. iii. for what, in the name of the immortal gods! what good can our embassy do to the republic? what good, do i say? what will you say if it will even do us harm? _will_ do us harm? what if it already _has_ done us harm? do you suppose that that most energetic and fearless desire shown by the roman people for recovery of their liberty has been damped and weakened by hearing of this embassy for peace? what do you think the municipal towns feel? and the colonies? what do you think will be the feelings of all italy? do you suppose that it will continue to glow with the same zeal with which it burnt before to extinguish this common conflagration? do we not suppose that those men will repent of having professed and displayed so much hatred to antonius, who promised us money and arms, who devoted themselves wholly, body, heart, and soul, to the safety of the republic? how will capua, which at the present time feels like a second rome, approve of this design of yours? that city pronounced them impious citizens, cast them out, and kept them out. antonius was barely saved from the hands of that city, which made a most gallant attempt to crush him. need i say more? are we not by these proceedings cutting the sinews of our own legions, for what man can engage with ardour in a war, when the hope of peace is suggested to him? even that godlike and divine martial legion will grow languid at and be cowed by the receipt of this news, and will lose that most noble title of martial, their swords will fall to the ground, their weapons will drop from their hands. for, following the senate, it will not consider itself bound to feel more bitter hatred against antonius than the senate. i am ashamed for this legion, i am ashamed for the fourth legion, which, approving of our authority with equal virtue, abandoned antonius, not looking upon him as their consul and general, but as an enemy and attacker of their country. i am ashamed for that admirable army which is made up of two armies, which has now been reviewed, and which has started for mutina, and which, if it hears a word of peace, that is to say, of our fear, even if it does not return, will at all events halt. for who, when the senate recals him and sounds a retreat, will be eager to engage in battle?[ ] iv. for what can be more unreasonable than for us to pass resolutions about peace without the knowledge of those men who wage the war? and not only without their knowledge, but even against their will? do you think that aulus hirtius, that most illustrious consul, and that carus caesar, a man born by the especial kindness of the gods for this especial crisis, whose letters, announcing their hope of victory, i hold in my hand, are desirous of peace? leader; and still we cannot bear the countenances or support the language of those men who are left behind in the city out of their number. what do you think will be the result when such numbers force their way into the city at one time? when we have laid aside our arms and they have not laid aside theirs? must we not be defeated for everlasting, in consequence of our own counsels? place before your eyes marcus antonius, as a man of consular rank, add to him lucius, hoping to obtain the consulship, join to them all the rest, and those too not confined to our order, who are fixing then thoughts on honours and commands. do not despise the tiros, and the numisii, or the mustellae, or the seii. a peace made with those men will not be peace, but a covenant of slavery. that was in admirable expression of lucius piso, a most honourable man, and one which has been deservedly praised by you o pansa, not only in this order, but also in the assembly of the people. he said, that he would depart from italy, and leave his household gods and his native home, if (but might the gods avert such a disaster!) antonius overwhelmed the republic. vii. i ask, therefore, of you, o lucius piso, whether you would not think the republic overwhelmed if so many men of such impiety, of such audacity, and such guilt, were admitted into it? can you think that men whom we could hardly bear when they were not yet polluted with such parricidal treasons; will be able to be borne by the city now that they are immersed in every sort of wickedness? believe me, we must either adopt your plan, and retire, depart, embrace a life of indigence and wandering, or else we must offer our throats to those robbers, and perish in our country. what has become, o carus pansa, of those noble exhortations of yours, by which the senate was roused, and the roman people stimulated, not only hearing but also learning from you that there is nothing more disgraceful to a roman than slavery? was it for this that we assumed the garb of war, and took arms and roused up all the youth all over italy, in order that while we had a most flourishing and numerous army, we might send ambassadors to treat for peace? if that peace is to be received by others, why do we not wait to be entreated for it? if our ambassadors are to beg it, what is it that we are afraid of? shall i make one of this embassy, or shall i be mixed up with this design, in which, even if i should dissent from the rest of my colleagues, the roman people will not know it? the result will be that if anything be granted or conceded, it will be my danger if antonius commits any offences, since the power to commit them will seem to have been put in his hands by me. but even if it had been proper to entertain any idea of peace with the piratical crew of marcus antonius, still i was the last person who ought to have been selected to negotiate such a peace. i never voted for sending ambassadors. before the return of the last ambassadors i ventured to say, that peace itself, even if they did bring it, ought to be repudiated, since war would be concealed under the name of peace; i was the chief adviser of the adoption of the garb of war, i have invariably called that man a public enemy, when others have been calling him only an adversary, i have always pronounced this to be a war, while others have styled it only a tumult nor have i done this in the senate alone; i have always acted in the same way before the people. nor have i spoken against himself only, but also against the accomplices in and agents of his crimes, whether present here, or there with him. in short, i have at all times inveighed against the whole family and party of antonius. therefore, as those impious citizens began to congratulate one another the moment the hope of peace was presented to them, as if they had gained the victory, so also they abused me as unjust, they made complaints against me, they distrusted servilius also, they recollected that antonius had been damaged by his avowed opinions and propositions, they recollected that lucius caesar, though a brave and consistent senator, is still his uncle, that calenus is his agent, that piso is his intimate friend, they think that you yourself, o pansa, though a most vigorous and fearless consul, are now become more mercifully inclined. not that it really is so, or that it possibly can be so. but the fact of a mention of peace having been made by you, has given rise to a suspicion in the hearts of many, that you have changed your mind a little. the friends of antonius are annoyed at my being included among these persons, and we must no doubt yield to them, since we have once begun to be liberal. viii. let the ambassadors go, with all our good wishes, but let those men go at whom antonius may take no offence. but if you are not anxious about what he may think, at all events. o conscript fathers, you ought to have some regard for me. at least spare my eyes, and make some allowance for a just indignation. for with what countenance shall i be able to behold, (i do not say, the enemy of my country, for my hatred of him on that score i feel in common with you all,) but how shall i bear to look upon that man who is my own most bitter personal enemy, as his most furious harangues against me plainly declare him? do you think that i am so completely made of iron as to be able unmoved to meet him, or look at him? who lately, when in an assembly of the people he was making presents to those men who appeared to him the most audacious of his band of parricidal traitors, said that he gave my property to petissius of urbinum, a man who, after the shipwreck of a very splendid patrimony, was dashed against these rocks of antonius. shall i be able to bear the sight of lucius antonius? a man from whose cruelty i could not have escaped if i had not defended myself behind the walls and gates and by the zeal of my own municipal town. and this same asiatic gladiator, this plunderer of italy, this colleague of lenti and nucula, when he was giving some pieces of gold to aquila the centurion, said that he was giving him some of my property. for, if he had said he was giving him some of his own, he thought that the eagle itself would not have believed it. my eyes cannot--my eyes, i say, will not bear the sight of saxa, or capho, or the two praetors, or the tribune of the people, or the two tribunes elect, or bestia, or trebellius, or titus plancus. i cannot look with equanimity on so many, and those such foul, such wicked enemies; nor is that feeling caused by any fastidiousness of mine, but by my affection for the republic. but i will subdue my feelings, and keep my own inclinations under restraint. if i cannot eradicate my most just indignation, i will conceal it. what? do you not think, o conscript fathers, that i should have some regard for my own life? but that indeed has never been an object of much concern to me, especially since dolabella has acted in such a way that death is a desirable thing, provided it come without torments and tortures. but in your eyes and in those of the roman people my life ought not to appear of no consequence. for i am a man,--unless indeed i am deceived in my estimate of myself,--who by my vigilance, and anxiety, by the opinions which i have delivered, and by the dangers too of which i have encountered great numbers, by reason of the most bitter hatred which all impious men bear me, have at least, (not to seem to say anything too boastful,) conducted myself so as to be no injury to the republic. and as this is the case, do you think that i ought to have no consideration for my own danger? ix. even here, when i was in the city and at home, nevertheless many attempts were made against me, in a place where i have not only the fidelity of my friends but the eyes also of the entire city to guard me. what do you think will be the case when i have gone on a journey, and that too a long one? do you think that i shall have no occasion to fear plots then? there are three roads to mutina, a place which my mind longs to see, in order that i may behold as speedily as possible that pledge of freedom of the roman people decimus brutus, in whose embrace i would willingly yield up my parting breath, when all my actions for the last many months, and all my opinions and propositions have resulted in the end which i proposed to myself. there are, as i have said, three roads, the flaminian road, along the adriatic, the aurelian road, along the mediterranean coast, the midland road, which is called the cassian. now, take notice, i beg of you, whether my suspicion of danger to myself is at variance with a reasonable conjecture. the cassian road goes through etruria. do we not know then, o pansa, over what places the authority of lenti caesennius, as a septemvir, prevails at present? he certainly is not on our side either in mind or body. but if he is at home, or not far from home, he is certainly in etruria, that is, in my road. who, then, will undertake to me that lenti will be content with exacting one life alone? tell me besides, o pansa, where ventidius is,--a man to whom i have always been friendly before he became so openly an enemy to the republic and to all good men. i may avoid the cassian road, and take the flaminian. what if, as it is said, ventidius has arrived at ancona? shall i be able in that case to reach ariminum in safety? the aurelian road remains and here too i shall find a, protector, for on that road are the possessions of publius clodius. his whole household will come out to meet me, and will invite me to partake of their hospitality, on account of my notorious intimacy with their master? x. shall i then trust myself to those roads--i who lately, on the day of the feast of terminus, did not dare even to go into the suburbs and return by the same road on the same day? i can scarcely defend myself within the walls of my own house without the protection of my friends; therefore i remain in the city; and if i am allowed to do so i will remain. this is my proper place, this is my beat, this is my post as a sentinel, this is my station as a defender of the city. let others occupy camps and kingdoms, and engage in the conduct of the war; let them show the active hatred of the enemy; we, as we say, and as we have always hitherto done, will, in common with you, defend the city and the affairs of the city. nor do i shrink from this office; although i see the roman people shrink from it for me. no one is less timid than i am; no one more cautious. the facts speak for themselves. this is the twentieth year that i have been a mark for the attempts of all wicked men; therefore, they have paid to the republic (not to say to me) the penalty of their wickedness. as yet the republic has preserved me in safety for itself. i am almost afraid to say what i am going to say; for i know that any accident may happen to a man; but still, when i was once hemmed in by the united force of many most influential men, i yielded voluntarily, and fell in such a manner as to be able to rise again in the most honourable manner. can i, then, appear as cautious and as prudent as i ought to be if i commit myself to a journey so full of enemies and dangers to me? those men who are concerned in the government of the republic ought at their death to leave behind them glory, and not reproaches for their fault, or grounds for blaming their folly. what good man is there who does not mourn for the death of trebonius? who is there who does not grieve for the loss of such a citizen and such a man? but there are men who say, (hastily indeed, but still they do say so,) that he deserves to be grieved for less because he did not take precautions against a desperately wicked man. in truth, a man who professes to be himself a defender of many men, wise men say, ought in the first place to show himself able to protect his own life. i say, that when one is fenced round by the laws and by the fear of justice, a man is not bound to be afraid of everything, or to take precautions against all imaginable designs; for who would dare to attack a man in daylight, on a military road, or a man who was well attended, or an illustrious man? but these considerations have no bearing on the present time, nor in my case; for not only would a man who offered violence to me have no fear of punishment, but he would even hope to obtain glory and rewards from those bands of robbers. xi. these dangers i can guard against in the city; it is easy for me to look around and see where i am going out from, whither i am going, what there is on my right hand, and on my left. shall i be able to do the same on the roads of the apennines? in which, even if there should be no ambush, as there easily may be, still my mind will be kept in such a state of anxiety as not to be able to attend to the duties of an embassy. but suppose i have escaped all plots against me, and have passed over the apennines; still i have to encounter a meeting and conference with antonius. what place am i to select? if it is outside the camp, the rest may look to themselves,--i think that death would come upon me instantly. i know the frenzy of the man; i know his unbridled violence. the ferocity of his manners and the savageness of his nature is not usually softened even by wine. then, inflamed by anger and insanity, with his brother lucius, that foulest of beasts, at his side, he will never keep his sacrilegious and impious hands from me. i can recollect conferences with most bitter enemies, and with citizens in a state of the most bitter disagreement. cnaeus pompeius, the son of sextus, being consul, in my presence, when i was serving my first campaign in his army, had a conference with publius vettius scato, the general of the marsians, between the camps. and i recollect that sextus pompeius, the brother of the consul, a very learned and wise man, came thither from rome to the conference. and when scato had saluted him, "what," said he, "am i to call you?"--"call me," said he, "one who is by inclination a friend, by necessity an enemy." that conference was conducted with fairness; there was no fear, no suspicion; even their mutual hatred was not great; for the allies were not seeking to take our city from us, but to be themselves admitted to share the privileges of it. sylla and scipio, one attended by the flower of the nobility, the other by the allies, had a conference between cales and teanum, respecting the authority of the senate, the suffrages of the people, and the privileges of citizenship; and agreed upon conditions and stipulations. good faith was not strictly observed at that conference; but still there was no violence used, and no danger incurred. xii. but can we be equally safe among antonius's piratical crew? we cannot; or, even if the rest can, i do not believe that i can. what will be the case if we are not to confer out of the camp? what camp is to be chosen for the conference? he will never come into our camp:--much less will we go to his. it follows then, that all demands must be received and sent to and fro by means of letters. we then shall be in our respective camps. on all his demands i shall have but one opinion; and when i have stated it here, in your hearing, you may think that i have gone, and that i have come back again.--i shall have finished my embassy. as far as my sentiments can prevail i shall refer every demand which antonius makes to the senate. for, indeed, we have no power to do otherwise; nor have we received any commission from this assembly, such as, when a war is terminated, is usually, in accordance with the precedents of your ancestors, entrusted to the ambassadors. nor, in fact, have we received any particular commission from the senate at all. and, as i shall pursue this line of conduct in the council, where some, as i imagine, will oppose it, have i not reason to fear that the ignorant mob may think that peace is delayed by my means? suppose now that the new legions do not disapprove of my resolution. for i am quite sure that the martial legion and the fourth legion will not approve of anything which is contrary to dignity and honour. what then? have we no regard for the opinion of the veterans? for even they themselves do not wish to be feared by us.--still, how will they receive my severity? for they have heard many false statements concerning me; wicked men have circulated among them many calumnies against me. their advantage indeed, as you all are most perfect witnesses of, i have always promoted by my opinion, by my authority, and by my language. but they believe wicked men, they believe seditious men, they believe their own party. they are, indeed, brave men; but by reason of their exploits which they have performed in the cause of the freedom of the roman people and of the safety of the republic they are too ferocious and too much inclined to bring all our counsels under the sway of their own violence. their deliberate reflection i am not afraid of, but i confess i dread their impetuosity. if i escape all these great dangers too, do you think my return will be completely safe? for when i have, according to my usual custom, defended your authority, and have proved my good faith towards the republic, and my firmness; then i shall have to fear, not those men alone who hate me, but those also who envy me. let my life then be preserved for the republic, let it be kept for the service of my country as long as my dignity or nature will permit; and let death either be the necessity of fate, or, if it must be encountered earlier, let it be encountered with glory. this being the case, although the republic has no need (to say the least of it) of this embassy, still if it be possible for me to go on it in safety, i am willing to go. altogether, o conscript fathers, i shall regulate the whole of my conduct in this affair, not by any consideration of my own danger, but by the advantage of the republic. and, as i have plenty of time, i think that it behoves me to deliberate upon that over and over again, and to adopt that line of conduct which i shall judge to be most beneficial to the republic. the thirteenth oration of m.t. cicero against marcus antonius. called also the thirteenth philippic. the argument. antonius wrote a long letter to hirtius and to octavius, to persuade them that they were acting against their true interests and dignity in combining with the slayers of julius caesar against him. but they, instead of answering this letter, sent it to cicero at rome. at the same time lepidus wrote a public letter to the senate to exhort them to measures of peace; and to a reconciliation with antonius; and took no notice of the public honours which had been decreed to him in compliance with cicero's motion. the senate was much displeased at this. they agreed, however, to a proposal of servilius--to thank lepidus for his love of peace, but to desire him to leave that to them; as there could be no peace till antonius had laid down his arms. but antonius's friends were encouraged by lepidus's letter to renew their suggestions of a treaty; which caused cicero to deliver the following speech to the senate for the purpose of counteracting the influence of their arguments. i. from the first beginning, o conscript fathers, of this war which we have undertaken against those impious and wicked citizens, i have been afraid lest the insidious proposals of peace might damp our zeal for the recovery of our liberty. but the name of peace is sweet; and the thing itself not only pleasant but salutary. for a man seems to have no affection either for the private hearths of the citizens, nor for the public laws, nor for the rights of freedom, who is delighted with discord and the slaughter of his fellow-citizens, and with civil war; and such a man i think ought to be erased from the catalogue of men, and exterminated from all human society. therefore, if sylla, or marius, or both of them, or octavius, or cinna, or sylla for the second time, or the other marius and carbo, or if any one else has ever wished for civil war, i think that man a citizen born for the detestation of the republic. for why should i speak of the last man who stirred up such a war; a man whose acts, indeed, we defend, while we admit that the author of them was deservedly slain? nothing, then, is more infamous than such a citizen or such a man; if indeed he deserves to be considered either a citizen or a man, who is desirous of civil war. but the first thing that we have to consider, o conscript fathers, is whether peace can exist with all men, or whether there be any war incapable of reconciliation, in which any agreement of peace is only a covenant of slavery. whether sylla was making peace with scipio, or whether he was only pretending to do so, there was no reason to despair, if an agreement had been come to, that the city might have been in a tolerable state. if cinna had been willing to agree with octavius, the safety of the citizens might still have had an existence in the republic. in the last war, if pompeius had relaxed somewhat of his dignified firmness, and caesar a good deal of his ambition, we might have had both a lasting peace, and some considerable remainder of the republic. ii. but what is the state of things now? is it possible for there to be peace with antonius? with censorinus, and ventidius, and trebellius, and bestia, and nucula, and munatius, and lento, and saxa? i have just mentioned a few names as a specimen; you yourselves see the countless numbers and savage nature of the rest of the host. add, besides the wrecks of caesar's party, the barbae cassii, the barbatii, the pollios; add the companions and fellow-gamblers of antonius, eutrapelus, and mela, and coelius, and pontius, and crassicius, and tiro, and mustela, and petissius; i say nothing of the main body, i am only naming the leaders. to these are added the legionaries of the alauda and the rest of the veterans, the seminary of the judges of the third decury; who, having exhausted their own estates, and squandered all the fruits of caesar's kindness, have now set their hearts on our fortunes. oh that trustworthy right hand of antonius, with which he has murdered many citizens! oh that regularly ratified and solemn treaty which we made with the antonii! surely if marcus shall attempt to violate it, the conscientious piety of lucius will call him back from such wickedness. if there is any room allowed these men in this city, there will be no room for the city itself. place before your eyes, o conscript fathers, the countenances of those men, and especially the countenances of the antonii. mark their gait, their look, their face, their arrogance; mark those friends of theirs who walk by their side, who follow them, who precede them. what breath reeking of wine, what insolence, what threatening language do you not think there will be there? unless, indeed, the mere fact of peace is to soften them, and unless you expect that, especially when they come into this assembly, they will salute every one of us kindly, and address us courteously. iii. do you not recollect, in the name of the immortal gods! what resolutions you have given utterance to against those men? you have repealed the acts of marcus antonius; you have taken down his laws; you have voted that they were carried by violence, and with a disregard of the auspices; you have called out the levies throughout all italy; you have pronounced that colleague and ally of all wickedness a public enemy. what peace can there be with this man? even if he were a foreign enemy, still, after such actions as have taken place, it would be scarcely possible, by any means whatever, to have peace. though seas and mountains, and vast regions lay between you, still you would hate such a man without seeing him. but these men will stick to your eyes, and when they can, to your very throats; for what fences will be strong enough for us to restrain savage beasts?--oh, but the result of war is uncertain. it is at all events in the power of brave men, such as you ought to be, to display your valour, (for certainly brave men can do that,) and not to fear the caprice of fortune. but since it is not only courage but wisdom also which is expected from this order, (although these qualities appear scarcely possible to be separated, still let us separate them here,) courage bids us fight, inflames our just hatred, urges us to the conflict, summons us to danger. what says wisdom? she uses more cautious counsels, she is provident for the future, she is in every respect more on the defensive. what then does she think? for we must obey her, and we are bound to consider that the best thing which is arranged in the most prudent manner. if she enjoins me to think nothing of more consequence than my life, not to fight at the risk of my life, but to avoid all danger, i will then ask her whether i am also to become a slave when i have obeyed all these injunctions? if she says, yes, i for one will not listen to that wisdom, however learned she may be, but if the answer is, preserve your life and your safety, preserve your fortune, "preserve your estate, still, however, considering all these things of less value than liberty, therefore enjoy these things if you can do so consistently with the freedom of the republic, and do not abandon liberty for them, but sacrifice them for liberty, as proofs of the injury you have sustained,"--then i shall think that i really am listening to the voice of wisdom, and i will obey her as a god. therefore, if when we have received those men we can still be free, let us subdue our hatred to them, and endure peace, but if there can be no tranquillity while those men are in safety, then let us rejoice that an opportunity of fighting them is put in our power. for so, either (these men being conquered) we shall enjoy the republic victorious, or, if we be defeated (but may jupiter avert that disaster), we shall live, if not with an actual breath, at all events in the renown of our valour. iv. but marcus lepidus, having been a second time styled imperator, pontifex maximus, a man who deserved excellently well of the republic in the last civil war, exhorts us to peace. no one, o conscript fathers, has greater weight with me than marcus lepidus, both on account of his personal virtues and by reason of the dignity of his family. there are also private reasons which influence me, such as great services he has done me, and some kindnesses which i have done him. but the greatest of his services i consider to be his being of such a disposition as he is towards the republic, which has at all times been dearer to me than my life. for when by his influence he inclined magnus pompeius, a most admirable young man, the son of one of the greatest of men, to peace, and without arms released the republic from imminent danger of civil war, by so doing he laid me under as great obligations as it was in the power of any man to do. therefore i proposed to decree to him the most ample honours that were in my power, in which you agreed with me, nor have i ceased both to think and speak in the highest terms of him. the republic has marcus lepidus bound to it by many pledges. he is a man of the highest rank, of the greatest honours, he has the most honourable priesthood, and has received numberless distinctions in the city. there are monuments of himself, and of his brother, and of his ancestors; he has a most excellent wife, children such as any man might desire, an ample family estate, untainted with the blood of his fellow-citizens. no citizen has been injured by him; many have been delivered from misery by his kindness and pity. such a man and such a citizen may indeed err in his opinion, but it is quite impossible for him in inclination to be unfriendly to the republic. marcus lepidus is desirous of peace. he does well especially if he can make such a peace as he made lately, owing to which the republic will behold the son of cnaeus pompeius, and will receive him in her bosom and embrace; and will think, that not he alone, but that she also is restored to herself with him. this was the reason why you decreed to him a statue in the rostra with an honourable inscription, and why you voted him a triumph in his absence. for although he had performed great exploits in war, and such as well deserved a triumph, still for that he might not have had that given to him which was not given to lucius aemilius, nor to aemilianus scipio, nor to the former africanus, nor to marius, nor to pompeius, who had the conduct of greater wars than he had, but because he had put an end to a civil war in perfect silence, the first moment that it was in his power, on that account you conferred on him the greatest honours. v. do you think, then, o marcus lepidus, that the antonii will be to the republic such citizens as she will find pompeius? in the one there is modesty, gravity, moderation, integrity; in them (and when i speak of them, i do not mean to omit one of that band of pirates), there is lust, and wickedness, and savage audacity capable of every crime. i entreat of you, o conscript fathers, which of you fails to see this which fortune herself, who is called blind, sees? for, saving the acts of caesar, which we maintain for the sake of harmony, his own house will be open to pompeius, and he will redeem it for the same sum for which antonius bought it. yes, i say the son of cnaeus pompeius will buy back his house. o melancholy circumstance! but these things have been already lamented long and bitterly enough. you have voted a sum of money to cnaeus pompeius, equal to that which his conquering enemy had appropriated to himself of his father's property in the distribution of his booty. but i claim permission to manage this distribution myself, as due to my connexion and intimacy with his father. he will buy back the villas, the houses, and some of the estates in the city which antonius is in possession of. for as for the silver plate, the garments, the furniture, and the wine which that glutton has made away with, those things he will lose without forfeiting his equanimity. the alban and firmian villas he will recover from dolabella; the tusculan villa he will also recover from antonius. and these ansers who are joining in the attack on mutina and in the blockade of decimus brutus will be driven from his falernian villa. there are many others, perhaps, who will be made to disgorge their plunder, but their names escape my memory. i say, too, that those men who are not in the number of our enemies, will be made to restore the possessions of pompeius to his son for the price at which they bought them. it was the act of a sufficiently rash man, not to say an audacious one, to touch a single particle of that property; but who will have the face to endeavour to retain it, when its most illustrious owner is restored to his country? will not that man restore his plunder, who enfolding the patrimony of his master in his embrace, clinging to the treasure like a dragon, the slave of pompeius, the freedman of caesar, has seized upon his estates in the lucanian district? and as for those seven hundred millions of sesterces which you, o conscript fathers, promised to the young man, they will be recovered in such a manner that the son of cnaeus pompeius will appear to have been established by you in his patrimony. this is what the senate must do; the roman people will do the rest with respect to that family which was at one time one of the most honourable it ever saw. in the first place, it will invest him with his father's honour as an augur, for which rank i will nominate him and promote his election, in order that i may restore to the son what i received from the father. which of these men will the roman people most willingly sanction as the augur of the all-powerful and all-great jupiter, whose interpreters and messengers we have been appointed,--pompeius or antonius? it seems indeed, to me, that fortune has managed this by the divine aid of the immortal gods, that, leaving the acts of caesar firmly ratified, the son of cnaeus pompeius might still be able to recover the dignities and fortunes of his father. vi. and i think, o conscript fathers, that we ought not to pass over that fact either in silence,--that those illustrious men who are acting as ambassadors, lucius paullus, quintus thermus, and caius fannius, whose inclinations towards the republic you are thoroughly acquainted with, and also with the constancy and firmness of that favourable inclination, report that they turned aside to marseilles for the purpose of conferring with pompeius, and that they found him in a disposition very much inclined to go with his troops to mutina, if he had not been afraid of offending the minds of the veterans. but he is a true son of that father who did quite as many things wisely as he did bravely. therefore you perceive that his courage was quite ready, and that prudence was not wanting to him. and this, too, is what marcus lepidus ought to take care of,--not to appear to act in any respect with more arrogance than suits his character. for if he alarms us with his army, he is forgetting that that army belongs to the senate, and to the roman people, and to the whole republic, not to himself. "but he has the power to use it as if it were his own." what then? does it become virtuous men to do everything which it is in their power to do? suppose it be a base thing? suppose it be a mischievous thing? suppose it be absolutely unlawful to do it? but what can be more base, or more shameful, or more utterly unbecoming, than to lead an army against the senate, against one's fellow-citizens, against one's country? or what can deserve greater blame than doing that which is unlawful? but it is not lawful for any one to lead an army against his country? if indeed we say that that is lawful which is permitted by the laws or by the usages and established principles of our ancestors. for it does not follow that whatever a man has power to do is lawful for him to do; nor, if he be not hindered, is he on that account permitted to do so. for to you, o lepidus, as to your ancestors, your country has given an army to be employed in her cause. with this army you are to repel the enemy, you are to extend the boundaries of the empire, you are to obey the senate and people of rome, if by any chance they direct you to some other object. vii. if these are your thoughts, then are you really marcus lepidus the pontifex maximus, the great-grandson of marcus lepidus, pontifex maximus. if you judge that everything is lawful for men to do that they have the power to do, then beware lest you seem to prefer acting on precedents set by those who have no connexion with you, and these, too, modern precedents, to being guided by the ancient examples in your own family. but if you interpose your authority without having recourse to arms, in that case indeed i praise you more; but beware lest this thing itself be quite unnecessary. for although there is all the authority in you that there ought to be in a man of the highest rank, still the senate itself does not despise itself; nor was it ever more wise, more firm, more courageous. we are all hurried on with the most eager zeal to recover our freedom. such a general ardour on the part of the senate and people of rome cannot be extinguished by the authority of any one: we hate a man who would extinguish it; we are angry with him, and resist him; our arms cannot be wrested from our hands; we are deaf to all signals for retreat, to all recal from the combat. we hope for the happiest success; we will prefer enduring the bitterest disaster to being slaves. caesar has collected an invincible army. two perfectly brave consuls are present with their forces. the various and considerable reinforcements of lucius plancus, consul elect, are not wanting. the contest is for the safety of decimus brutus. one furious gladiator, with a band of most infamous robbers, is waging war against his country, against our household gods, against our altars and our hearths, against four consuls. shall we yield to him? shall we listen to the conditions which he proposes? shall we believe it possible for peace to be made with him? viii. but there is danger of our being overwhelmed. i have no fear that the man who cannot enjoy his own most abundant fortunes, unless all the good men are saved, will betray his own safety. it is nature which first makes good citizens, and then fortune assists them. for it is for the advantage of all good men that the republic should be safe; but that advantage appears more clearly in the case of those who are fortunate. who is more fortunate than lentulus, as i said before, and who is more sensible? the roman people saw his sorrow and his tears at the lupercal festival. they saw how miserable, how overwhelmed he was when antonius placed a diadem on caesar's head and preferred being his slave to being his colleague. and even if he had been able to abstain from his other crimes and wickednesses, still on account of that one single action i should think him worthy of all punishment. for even if he himself was calculated to be a slave, why should he impose a master on us? and if his childhood had borne the lusts of those men who were tyrants over him, was he on that account to prepare a master and a tyrant to lord it over our children? therefore since that man was slain, he himself has behaved to all others in the same manner as he wished him to behave to us. for in what country of barbarians was there ever so foul and cruel a tyrant as antonius, escorted by the arms of barbarians, has proved in this city? when caesar was exercising the supreme power, we used to come into the senate, if not with freedom, at all events with safety. but under this arch-pirate, (for why should i say tyrant?) these benches were occupied by itureans. on a sudden he hastened to brundusium, in order to come against this city from thence with a regular army. he deluged suessa, a most beautiful town, now of municipal citizens, formerly of most honourable colonists, with the blood of the bravest soldiers. at brundusium he massacred the chosen centurions of the martial legion in the lap of his wife, who was not only most avaricious but also most cruel. after that with what fury, with what eagerness did he hurry on to the city, that is to say, to the slaughter of every virtuous man! but at that time the immortal gods brought to us a protector whom we had never seen nor expected. ix. for the incredible and godlike virtue of caesar checked the cruel and frantic onslaught of that robber, whom then that madman believed that he was injuring with his edicts, ignorant that all the charges which he was falsely alleging against that most righteous young man, were all very appropriate to the recollections of his own childhood. he entered the city, with what an escort, or rather with what a troop! when on the right hand and on the left, amid the groans of the roman people, he was threatening the owners of property, taking notes of the houses, and openly promising to divide the city among his followers. he returned to his soldiers; then came that mischievous assembly at tibur. from thence he hurried to the city; the senate was convened at the capitol. a decree with the authority of the consuls was prepared for proscribing the young man; when all on a sudden (for he was aware that the martial legion had encamped at alba) news is brought him of the proceedings of the fourth legion. alarmed at that, he abandoned his intention of submitting a motion to the senate respecting caesar. he departed not by the regular roads, but by the by-lanes, in the robe of a general; and on that very self-same day he trumped up a countless number of resolutions of the senate; all of which he published even before they were drawn up. from thence it was not a journey, but a race and flight into gaul. he thought that caesar was pursuing him with the fourth legion, with the martial legion, with the veterans, whose very name he could not endure for fright. then, as he was making his way into gaul, decimus brutus opposed him; who preferred being himself surrounded by the waves of the whole war, to allowing him either to retreat or advance; and who put mutina on him as a sort of bridle to his exultation. and when he had blockaded that city with his works and fortifications, and when the dignity of a most flourishing colony, and the majesty of a consul elect, were both insufficient to deter him from his parricidal treason, then, (i call you, and the roman people, and all the gods who preside over this city, to witness,) against my will, and in spite of my resistance and remonstrance, three ambassadors of consular rank were sent to that robber, to that leader of gladiators, marcus antonius. who ever was such a barbarian? who was ever so savage? so brutal? he would not listen to them; he gave them no answer; and he not only despised and showed that he considered of no importance those men who were with him, but still more us, by whom these men had been sent. and afterwards what wickedness, or what crime was there which that traitor abstained from? he blockaded your colonists, and the army of the roman people, and your general, and your consul elect. he lays waste the lands of a nation of most excellent citizens. like a most inhuman enemy he threatens all virtuous men with crosses and tortures. x. now what peace, o marcus lepidus, can exist with this man? when it does not seem that there is even any punishment which the roman people can think adequate to his crimes? but if any one has hitherto been able to doubt the fact, that there can be nothing whatever in common between this order and the roman people and that most detestable beast, let him at least cease to entertain such a doubt, when he becomes acquainted with this letter which i have just received, it having been sent to me by hirtius the consul. while i read it, and while i briefly discuss each paragraph, i beg, o conscript fathers, that you will listen to me most attentively, as you have hitherto done. "antonius to hirtius and caesar." he does not call himself imperator, nor hirtius consul, nor caesar pro-praetor. this is cunningly done enough. he preferred laying aside a title to which he had no right himself, to giving them their proper style. "when i heard of the death of caius trebonius, i was not more rejoiced than grieved." take notice why he says he rejoiced, why he says that he was grieved; and then you will be more easily able to decide the question of peace. "it was a matter of proper rejoicing that a wicked man had paid the penalty due to the bones and ashes of a most illustrious man, and that the divine power of the gods had shown itself before the end of the current year, by showing the chastisement of that parricide already inflicted in some cases, and impending in others." o you spartacus! for what name is more fit for you? you whose abominable wickedness is such as to make even catiline seem tolerable. have you dared to write that it is a matter of rejoicing that trebonius has suffered punishment? that trebonius was wicked? what was his crime, except that on the ides of march he withdrew you from the destruction which you had deserved? come; you rejoice at this; let us see what it is that excites your indignation. "that dolabella should at this time have been pronounced a public enemy because he has slain an assassin; and that the son of a buffoon should appear dearer to the roman people than caius caesar, the father of his country, are circumstances to be lamented." why should you be sad because dolabella has been pronounced a public enemy? why? are you not aware that you yourself--by the fact of an enlistment having taken place all over italy, and of the consuls being sent forth to war, and of caesar having received great honours, and of the garb of war having been assumed--have also been pronounced an enemy? and what reason is there, o you wicked man, for lamenting that dolabella has been declared an enemy by the senate? a body which you indeed think of no consequence at all; but you make it your main object in waging war utterly to destroy the senate, and to make all the rest of those who are either virtuous or wealthy follow the fate of the highest order of all. but he calls him the son of a buffoon. as if that noble roman knight the father of trebonius were unknown to us. and does he venture to look down on any one because of the meanness of his birth, when he has himself children by fadia? xl "but it is the bitterest thing of all that you, o aulus hirtius, who have been distinguished by caesar's kindness, and who have been left by him in a condition which you yourself marvel at. [lacuna]" i cannot indeed deny that aulus hirtius was distinguished by caesar, but such distinctions are only of value when conferred on virtue and industry. but you, who cannot deny that you also were distinguished by caesar, what would you have been if he had not showered so many kindnesses on you? where would your own good qualities have borne you? where would your birth have conducted you? you would have spent the whole period of your manhood in brothels, and cookshops, and in gambling and drinking, as you used to do when you were always burying your brains and your beard in the laps of actresses. "and you too, o boy--" he calls him a boy whom he has not only experienced and shall again experience to be a man, but one of the bravest of men. it is indeed the name appropriate to his age; but he is the last man in the world who ought to use it, when it is his own madness that has opened to this boy the path to glory. "you who owe everything to his name--" he does indeed owe everything, and nobly is he paying it. for if he was the father of his country, as you call him, (i will see hereafter what my opinion of that matter is,) why is not this youth still more truly our father, to whom it certainly is owing that we are now enjoying life, saved out of your most guilty hands! "are taking pains to have dolabella legally condemned." a base action, truly! by which the authority of this most honourable order is defended against the insanity of a most inhuman gladiator. "and to effect the release of this poisoner from blockade." do you dare to call that man a poisoner who has found a remedy against your own poisoning tricks? and whom you are besieging in such a manner, o you new hannibal, (or if there was ever any abler general than he,) as to blockade yourself, and to be unable to extricate yourself from your present position, should you be ever so desirous to do so? suppose you retreat; they will all pursue you from all sides. suppose you stay where you are; you will be caught. you are very right, certainly, to call him a poisoner, by whom you see that your present disastrous condition has been brought about. "in order that cassius and brutus may become as powerful as possible." would you suppose that he is speaking of censorinus, or of ventidius, or of the antonii themselves. but why should they be unwilling that those men should become powerful, who are not only most excellent and nobly born men, but who are also united with them in the defence of the republic? "in fact, you look upon the existing circumstances as you did on the former ones." what can he mean? "you used to call the camp of pompeius the senate." xii. should we rather call your camp the senate? in which you are the only man of consular rank, you whose whole consulship is effaced from every monument and register; and two praetors, who are afraid that they will lose something by us,--a groundless fear. for we are maintaining all the grants made by caesar; and men of praetorian rank, philadelphus annius, and that innocent gallius; and men of aedilitian rank, he on whom i have spent so much of my lungs and voice, bestia, and that patron of good faith and cheater of his creditors, trebellius, and that bankrupt and ruined man quintus caelius, and that support of the friends of antonius cotyla varius, whom antonius for his amusement caused at a banquet to be flogged with thongs by the public slaves. men of septemviral rank, lento and nucula, and then that delight and darling of the roman people, lucius antonius. and for tribunes, first of all two tribunes elect, tullus hostilius, who was so full of his privileges as to write up his name on the gate of rome; and who, when he found himself unable to betray his general, deserted him. the other tribune elect is a man of the name of viseius; i know nothing about him; but i hear that he is (as they say) a bold robber; who, however, they say was once a bathing man at pisaurum, and a very good hand at mixing the water. then there are others too, of tribunitian rank: in the first place, titus plancus; a man who, if he had had any affection for the senate, would never have burnt the senate-house. having been condemned for which wickedness, he returned to that city by force of arms from which he was driven by the power of the law. but, however, this is a case common to him and to many others who are very unlike him. but this is quite true which men are in the habit of saying of this plancus in a proverbial way, that it is quite impossible for him to die unless his legs are broken.[ ] they are broken, and still he lives. but this, like many others, is a service that has been done us by aquila. xiii. there is also in that camp decius, descended, as i believe, from the great decius mus; accordingly he gained[ ] the gifts of caesar. and so after a long interval the recollection of the decii is renewed by this illustrious man. and how can i pass over saxa decidius, a fellow imported from the most distant nations, in order that we might see that man tribune of the people whom we had never beheld as a citizen? there is also one of the sasernae; but all of them have such a resemblance to one another, that i may make a mistake as to their first names. nor must i omit exitius, the brother of philadelphus the quaestor; lest, if i were to be silent about that most illustrious young man, i should seem to be envying antonius. there is also a gentleman of the name of asinius, a voluntary senator, having been elected by himself. he saw the senate-house open after the death of caesar, he changed his shoes, and in a moment became a conscript father. sextus albedius i do not know, but still i have not fallen in with any one so fond of evil-speaking, as to deny that he is worthy of a place in the senate of antonius. i dare say that i have passed over some names; but still i could not refrain from mentioning those who did occur to me. relying then on this senate, he looks down on the senate which supported pompeius, in which ten of us were men of consular rank; and if they were all alive now this war would never have arisen at all. audacity would have succumbed to authority. but what great protection there would have been in the rest may be understood from this, that i, when left alone of all that band, with your assistance crushed and broke the audacity of that triumphant robber. xiv. but if fortune had not taken from us not only servius sulpicius, and before him, his colleague marcus marcellus,--what citizens! what men! if the republic had been able to retain the two consuls, men most devoted to their country, who were driven together out of italy; and lucius afranius, that consummate general; and publius lentulus, a citizen who displayed his extraordinary virtue on other occasions, and especially in the securing my safe return; and bibulus, whose constant and firm attachment to the republic has at all times been deservedly praised; and lucius domitius, that most excellent citizen; and appius claudius, a man equally distinguished for nobleness of birth and for attachment to the state; and publius scipio, a most illustrious man, closely resembling his ancestors. certainly with these men of consular rank,[ ] the senate which supported pompeius was not to be despised. which, then, was more just, which was more advantageous for the republic, that cnaeus pompeius, or that antonius the brother who bought all pompeius's property, should live? and then what men of praetorian rank were there with us! the chief of whom was marcus cato, being indeed the chief man of any nation in the world for virtue. why need i speak of the other most illustrious men? you know them all. i am more afraid lest you should think me tedious for enumerating so many, than ungrateful for passing over any one. and what men of aedilitian rank! and of tribunitian rank! and of quaestorian rank! why need i make a long story of it, so great was the dignity of the senators of our party, so great too were their numbers, that those men have need of some very valid excuse who did not join that camp. now listen to the rest of the letter. xv. "you have the defeated cicero for your general." i am the more glad to hear that word "general," because he certainly uses it against his will, for as for his saying "defeated," i do not mind that, for it is my fate that i can neither be victorious nor defeated without the republic being so at the same time. "you are fortifying macedonia with armies". yes, indeed, and we have wrested one from your brother, who does not in the least degenerate from you. "you have entrusted africa to varus, who has been twice taken prisoner". here he thinks that he is making out a case against his own brother lucius. "you have sent capius into syria". do you not see then, o antonius, that the whole world is open to our party, but that you have no spot out of your own fortifications, where you can set your foot? "you have allowed casca to discharge the office of tribune". what then? were we to remove a man, as if he had been marullus,[ ] or caesetius, to whom we own it, that this and many other things like this can never happen for the future? "you have taken away from the luperci the revenues which julius caesar assigned to them." does he dare to make mention of the luperci? does he not shudder at the recollection of that day on which, smelling of wine, reeking with perfumes, and naked, he dared to exhort the indignant roman people to embrace slavery? "you, by a resolution of the senate, have removed the colonies of the veterans which had been legally settled". have we removed them, or have we rather ratified a law which was passed in the comitia centunata? see, rather, whether it is not you who have ruined these veterans (those at least who are ruined,) and settled them in a place from which they themselves now feel that they shall never be able to make their escape. "you are promising to restore to the people of marseilles what has been taken from them by the laws of war." i am not going to discuss the laws of war. it is a discussion far more easy to begin than necessary. but take notice of this, o conscript fathers, what a born enemy to the republic antonius is, who is so violent in his hatred of that city which he knows to have been at all times most firmly attached to this republic. xvi. "[do you not know] that no one of the party of pompeius, who is still alive, can, by the hirtian law, possess any rank?" what, i should like to know, is the object of now making mention of the hirtian law?--a law of which i believe the framer himself repents no less than those against whom it was passed. according to my opinion, it is utterly wrong to call it a law at all; and, even if it be a law, we ought not to think it a law of hirtius. "you have furnished brutus with money belonging to apuleius." well? suppose the republic had furnished that excellent man with all its treasures and resources, what good man would have disapproved of it? for without money he could not have supported an army, nor without an army could he have taken your brother prisoner. "you have praised the execution of paetus and menedemus, men who had been presented with the freedom of the city, and who were united by ties of hospitality to caesar." we do not praise what we have never even heard of; we were very likely, in such a state of confusion, and such a critical period of the republic, to busy our minds about two worthless greeklings! "you took no notice of theopompus having been stripped, and driven out by trebonius, and compelled to flee to alexandria." the senate has indeed been very guilty! we have taken no notice of that great man theopompus! why, who on earth knows or cares where he is, or what he is doing; or, indeed, whether he is alive or dead? "you endure the sight of sergius galba in your camp, armed with the same dagger with which he slew caesar." i shall make you no reply at all about galba; a most gallant and courageous citizen. he will meet you face to face; and he being present, and that dagger which you reproach him with, shall give you your answer. "you have enlisted my soldiers, and many veterans, under the pretence of intending the destruction of those men who slew caesar; and then, when they expected no such step, you have led them on to attack their quaestor, their general, and their former comrades!" no doubt we deceived them; we humbugged them completely! no doubt the martial legion, the fourth legion, and the veterans had no idea what was going on! they were not following the authority of the senate, or the liberty of the roman people.--they were anxious to avenge the death of caesar, which they all regarded as an act of destiny! no doubt you were the person whom they were anxious to see safe, and happy, and flourishing! xvii. oh miserable man, not only in fact, but also in the circumstance of not perceiving yourself how miserable you are! but listen to the most serious charge of all. "in fact, what have you not sanctioned,--what have you not done? what would be done if he were to come to life again, by?--" by whom? for i suppose he means to bring forward some instance of a very wicked man. "cnaeus pompeius himself?" oh how base must we be, if indeed we have been imitating cnaeus pompeius! "or his son, if he could be at home?" he soon will be at home, believe me; for in a very few days he will enter on his home, and on his father's villas. "lastly, you declare that peace cannot be made unless i either allow brutus to quit mutina, or supply him with corn." it is others who say that: i say, that even if you were to do so, there never could be peace between this city and you. "what? is this the opinion of those veteran soldiers, to whom as yet either course is open?" i do not see that there is any course so open to them, as now to begin and attack that general whom they previously were so zealous and unanimous in defending.[ ] "since you yourselves have sold yourselves for flatteries and poisoned gifts". are those men depraved and corrupted, who have been persuaded to pursue a most detestable enemy with most righteous war? "but you say, you are bringing assistance to troops who are hemmed in. i have no objection to their being saved, and departing wherever you wish, if they only allow that man to be put to death who has deserved it." how very kind of him! the soldiers availing themselves of the liberality of antonius have deserted their general, and have fled in alarm to his enemy, and if it had not been for them, dolabella, in offering the sacrifice which he did to the shade of his general, would not have been beforehand with antonius in propitiating the spirit of his colleague by a similar offering. "you write me word that there has been mention of peace made in the senate, and that five ambassadors of consular rank have been appointed. it is hard to believe that those men, who drove me in haste from the city, when i offered the fairest conditions, and when i was even thinking of relaxing somewhat of them, should now think of acting with moderation or humanity. and it is hardly probable, that those men who have pronounced dolabella a public enemy for a most righteous action, should bring themselves to spare us who are influenced by the same sentiments as he". does it appear a trifling matter, that he confesses himself a partner with dolabella in all his atrocities? do you not see that all these crimes flow from one source? he himself confesses, shrewdly and correctly enough, that those who have pronounced dolabella a public enemy for a most righteous action (for so it appears to antonius), cannot possibly spare him who agrees with dolabella in opinion. xviii. what can you do with a man who puts on paper and records the fact, that his agreement with dolabella is so complete, that he would kill trebonius, and, if he could, brutus and cassius too, with every circumstance of torture; and inflict the same punishment on us also? certainly, a man who makes so pious and fair a treaty is a citizen to be taken care of! he, also, complains that the conditions which he offered, those reasonable and modest conditions, were rejected; namely, that he was to have the further gaul,--the province the most suitable of all for renewing and carrying on the war; that the legionaries of the alauda should be judges in the third decury; that is to say, that there shall be an asylum for all crimes, to the indelible disgrace of the republic; that his own acts should be ratified, his,--when not one trace of his consulship has been allowed to remain! he showed his regard also for the interests of lucius antonius, who had been a most equitable surveyor of private and public domains, with nucula and lento for his colleagues. "consider then, both of you, whether it is more becoming and more advantageous for your party, for you to seek to avenge the death of trebonius, or that of caesar; and whether it is more reasonable for you and me to meet in battle, in order that the cause of the pompeians, which has so frequently had its throat cut, may the more easily revive; or to agree together, so as not to be a laughing-stock to our enemies." if its throat had been cut, it never could revive. "which," says he, "is more becoming." in this war he talks of what is becoming! "and more advantageous for your party."--"parties," you senseless man, is a suitable expression for the forum, or the senate house. you have declared a wicked war against your country; you are attacking mutina; you are besieging the consul elect; two consuls are carrying on war against you; and with them, caesar, the propraetor; all italy is armed against you; and then do you call yours "a party," instead of a revolt from the republic? "to seek to avenge the death of trebonius, or that of caesar." we have avenged trebonius sufficiently by pronouncing dolabella a public enemy. the death of caesar is best defended by oblivion and silence. but take notice what his object is.--when he thinks that the death of caesar ought to be revenged, he is threatening with death, not those only who perpetrated that action, but those also who were not indignant at it. xix. "men who will count the destruction of either you or me gain to them. a spectacle which as yet fortune herself has taken care to avoid, unwilling to see two armies which belong to one body fighting, with cicero acting as master of the show; a fellow who is so far happy that he has cajoled you both with the same compliments as those with which he boasted that he had deceived caesar." he proceeds in his abuse of me, as if he had been very fortunate in all his former reproaches of me; but i will brand him with the most thoroughly deserved marks of infamy, and pillory him for the everlasting recollection of posterity. i a "master of the show of gladiators!" indeed he is not wholly wrong, for i do wish to see the worst party slain, and the best victorious. he writes that "whichever of them are destroyed we shall count as so much gain." admirable gain, when, if you, o antonius, are victorious, (may the gods avert such a disaster!) the death of those men who depart from life untortured will be accounted happy! he says that hirtius and caesar "have been cajoled by me by the same compliments." i should like to know what compliment has been as yet paid to hirtius by me; for still more and greater ones than have been paid him already are due to caesar. but do you, o antonius, dare to say that caesar, the father, was deceived by me? you, it was you, i say, who really slew him at the lupercal games. why, o most ungrateful of men, have you abandoned your office of priest to him? but remark now the admirable wisdom and consistency of this great and illustrious man. "i am quite resolved to brook no insult either to myself or to my friends; nor to desert that party which pompeius hated, nor to allow the veterans to be removed from their abodes; nor to allow individuals to be dragged out to torture, nor to violate the faith which i pledged to dolabella." i say nothing of the rest of this sentence, "the faith pledged to dolabella," to that most holy man, this pious gentleman will by no means violate. what faith? was it a pledge to murder every virtuous citizen, to partition the city and italy, to distribute the provinces among, and to hand them over to be plundered by, their followers? for what else was there which could have been ratified by treaty and mutual pledges between antonius and dolabella, those foul and parricidal traitors? "nor to violate my treaty of alliance with lepidus, the most conscientious of men." you have any alliance with lepidus or with any (i will not say virtuous citizen, as he is, but with any) man in his senses! your object is to make lepidus appear either an impious man, or a madman. but you are doing no good, (although it is a hard matter to speak positively of another,) especially with a man like lepidus, whom i will never fear, but i shall hope good things of him unless i am prevented from doing so. lepidus wished to recal you from your frenzy, not to be the assistant of your insanity. but you seek your friends not only among conscientious men, but among _most_ conscientious men. and you actually, so godlike is your piety, invent a new word to express it which has no existence in the latin language. "nor to betray plancus, the partner of my counsels." plancus, the partner of your counsels? he, whose ever memorable and divine virtue brings a light to the republic: (unless, mayhap, you think that it is as a reinforcement to you that he has come with those most gallant legions, and with a numerous gallic force of both cavalry and infantry); and who, if before his arrival you have not by your punishment made atonement to the republic for your wickedness, will be chief leader in this war. for although the first succours that arrive are more useful to the republic, yet the last are the more acceptable. xx. however, at last he recollects himself and begins to philosophize. "if the immortal gods assist me, as i trust that they will, going on my way with proper feelings, i shall live happily; but if another fate awaits me, i have already a foretaste of joy in the certainty of your punishment. for if the pompeians when defeated are so insolent, you will be sure to experience what they will be when victorious." you are very welcome to your foretaste of joy. for you are at war not only with the pompeians, but with the entire republic. every one, gods and men, the highest rank, the middle class, the lowest dregs of the people, citizens and foreigners, men and women, free men and slaves, all hate you. we saw this the other day on some false news that came; but we shall soon see it from the way in which true news is received. and if you ponder these things with yourself a little, you will die with more equanimity, and greater comfort. "lastly, this is the sum of my opinion and determination; i will bear with the insults offered me by my friends, if they themselves are willing to forget that they have offered them; or if they are prepared to unite with me in avenging caesar's death." now that they know this resolution of antonius, do you think that aulus hirtius and caius pansa, the consuls, can hesitate to pass over to antonius? to besiege brutus? to be eager to attack mutina? why do i say hirtius and pansa? will caesar, that young man of singular piety, be able to restrain himself from seeking to avenge the injuries of his father in the blood of decimus brutus? therefore, as soon as they had read this letter, the course which they adopted was to approach nearer to the fortifications. and on this account we ought to consider caesar a still more admirable young man; and that a still greater kindness of the immortal gods which gave him to the republic, as he has never been misled by the specious use of his father's name; nor by any false idea of piety and affection. he sees clearly that the greatest piety consists in the salvation of one's country. but if it were a contest between parties, the name of which is utterly extinct, then would antonius and ventidius be the proper persons to uphold the party of caesar, rather than in the first place, caesar, a young man full of the greatest piety and the most affectionate recollection of his parent? and next to him pansa and hirtius, who held, (if i may use such an expression,) the two horns of caesar, at the time when that deserved to be called a party. but what parties are these, when the one proposes to itself to uphold the authority of the senate, the liberty of the roman people, and the safety of the republic, while the other fixes its eyes on the slaughter of all good men, and on the partition of the city and of italy. xxi. let us come at last to the end. "i do not believe that ambassadors are coming--". he knows me well. "to a place where war exists." especially with the example of dolabella before our eyes. ambassadors, i should think, will have privileges more respected than two consuls against whom he is bearing arms; or than caesar, whose father's priest he is; or than the consul elect, whom he is attacking; or than mutina, which he is besieging; or than his country, which he is threatening with fire and sword. "when they do come i shall see what they demand." plagues and tortures seize you! will any one come to you, unless he be a man like ventidius? we sent men of the very highest character to extinguish the rising conflagration; you rejected them. shall we now send men when the fire has become so large and has risen to such a height, and when you have left yourself no possible room, not only for peace, but not even for a surrender? i have read you this letter, o conscript fathers, not because i thought it worth reading, but in order to let you see all his parricidal treasons revealed by his own confessions. would marcus lepidus, that man so richly endowed with all the gifts of virtue and fortune, if he saw this letter, either wish for peace with this man, or even think it possible that peace should be made? "sooner shall fire and water mingle" as some poet or other says; sooner shall anything in the world happen than either the republic become reconciled to the antonii, or the antonii to the republic. those men are monsters, prodigies, portentous pests of the republic. it would be better for this city to be uplifted from its foundations and transported, if such a thing were possible, into other regions, where it should never hear of the actions or the name of the antonii, than for it to see those men, driven out by the valour of caesar, and hemmed in by the courage of brutus, inside these walls. the most desirable thing is victory; the next best thing is to think no disaster too great to bear in defence of the dignity and freedom of one's country. the remaining alternative, i will not call it the third, but the lowest of all, is to undergo the greatest disgrace from a desire of life. since, then, this is the case, as to the letters and messages of marcus lepidus, that most illustrious man, i agree with servilius. and i further give my vote, that magnus pompeius, the son of cnaeus, has acted as might have been expected from the affection and zeal of his father and forefathers towards the republic, and from his own previous virtue and industry and loyal principles in promising to the senate and people of rome his own assistance, and that of those men whom he had with him; and that that conduct of his is grateful and acceptable to the senate and people of rome, and that it shall tend to his own honour and dignity. this may either be added to the resolution of the senate which is before us, or it may be separated from it and drawn up by itself, so as to let pompeius be seen to be extolled in a distinct resolution of the senate. * * * * * the fourteenth (and last) oration of m.t. cicero against marcus antonius. called also the fourteenth philippic. * * * * * the argument. after the last speech was delivered, brutus gained great advantages in macedonia over caius antonius, and took him prisoner. he treated him with great lenity, so much so as to displease cicero, who remonstrated with him strongly on his design of setting him at liberty. he was also under some apprehension as to the steadiness of plancus's loyalty to the senate; but on his writing to that body to assure them of his obedience, cicero procured a vote of some extraordinary honours to him. cassius also about the same time was very successful in syria, of which he wrote cicero a full account. meantime reports were being spread in the city by the partizans of antonius, of his success before mutina; and even of his having gained over the consuls. cicero too was personally much annoyed at a report which they spread of his having formed the design of making himself master of the city and assuming the title of dictator; but when apuleius, one of his friends, and a tribune of the people, proceeded to make a speech to the people in cicero's justification, the people all cried out that he had never done anything which was not for the advantage of the republic. about the same time news arrived of a victory gained over antonius at mutina. pansa was now on the point of joining hirtius with four new legions, and antonius endeavoured to surprise him on the road before he could effect that junction. a severe battle ensued, in which hirtius came to pansa's aid, and antonius was defeated with great loss. on the receipt of the news the populace assembled about cicero's house, and carried him in triumph to the capitol. the next day marcus cornutus, the praetor, summoned the senate to deliberate on the letters received from the consuls and octavius, giving an account of the victory. servilius declared his opinion that the citizens should relinquish the _sagum_, or robe of war; and that a supplication should be decreed in honour of the consuls and octavius. cicero rose next and delivered the following speech, objecting to the relinquishment of the robe of war, and blaming servilius for not calling antonius an enemy. the measures which he himself proposed were carried. i. if, o conscript fathers, while i learnt from the letters which have been read that the army of our most wicked enemies had been defeated and routed, i had also learnt what we all wish for above all things, and which we do suppose has resulted from that victory which has been achieved,--namely, that decimus brutus had already quitted mutina,--then i should without any hesitation give my vote for our returning to our usual dress out of joy at the safety of that citizen on account of whose danger it was that we adopted the robe of war. but before any news of that event which the city looks for with the greatest eagerness arrives, we have sufficient reason indeed for joy at this most important and most illustrious battle; but reserve, i beg you, your return to your usual dress for the time of complete victory. but the completion of this war is the safety of decimus brutus. but what is the meaning of this proposal that our dress shall be changed just for to-day, and that to-morrow we should again come forth in the garb of war? rather when we have once returned to that dress which we wish and desire to assume, let us strive to retain it for ever; for this is not only discreditable, but it is displeasing also to the immortal gods, to leave their altars, which we have approached in the attire of peace, for the purpose of assuming the garb of war. and i notice, o conscript fathers, that there are some who favour this proposal: whose intention and design is, as they see that that will be a most glorious day for decimus brutus on which we return to our usual dress out of joy for his safety, to deprive him of this great reward, so that it may not be handed down to the recollection of posterity that the roman people had recourse to the garb of war on account of the danger of one single citizen, and then returned to then gowns of peace on account of his safety. take away this reason, and you will find no other for so absurd a proposal. but do you, o conscript fathers, preserve your authority, adhere to your own opinions, preserve in your recollection, what you have often declared, that the whole result of this entire war depends on the life of one most brave and excellent man. ii. for the purpose of effecting the liberation of decimus brutus, the chief men of the state were sent as ambassadors, to give notice to that enemy and parricidal traitor to retire from mutina; for the sake of preserving that same decimus brutus, aulus hirtius, the consul, went by lot to conduct the war, a man the weakness of whose bodily health was made up for by the strength of his courage, and encouraged by the hope of victory. caesar, too, after he, with an army levied by his own resources and on his own authority, had delivered the republic from the first dangers that assailed it, in order to prevent any subsequent wicked attempts from being originated, departed to assist in the deliverance of the same brutus, and subdued some family vexation which he may have felt by his attachment to his country. what other object had caius pansa in holding the levies which he did, and in collecting money, and in carrying the most severe resolutions of the senate against antonius, and in exhorting us, and in inviting the roman people to embrace the cause of liberty, except to ensure the deliverance of decimus brutus? for the roman people in crowds demanded at his hands the safety of decimus brutus with such unanimous outcries, that he was compelled to prefer it not only to any consideration of his own personal advantage, but even to his own necessities. and that end we now, o conscript fathers, are entitled to hope is either at the point of being achieved, or is actually gained, but it is right for the reward of our hopes to be reserved for the issue and event of the business, lest we should appear either to have anticipated the kindness of the gods by our over precipitation, or to have despised the bounty of fortune through our own folly. but since the manner of your behaviour shows plainly enough what you think of this matter, i will come to the letters which have arrived from the consuls and the propraetor, after i have said a few words relating to the letters themselves. iii. the swords, o conscript fathers, of our legions and armies have been stained with, or rather, i should say, dipped deep in blood in two battles which have taken place under the consuls, and a third, which has been fought under the command of caesar. if it was the blood of enemies, then great is the piety of the soldiers; but it is nefarious wickedness if it was the blood of citizens. how long, then, is that man, who has surpassed all enemies in wickedness, to be spared the name of enemy? unless you wish to see the very swords of our soldiers trembling in their hands while they doubt whether they are piercing a citizen or an enemy. you vote a supplication; you do not call antonius an enemy. very pleasing indeed to the immortal gods will our thanksgivings be, very pleasing too the victims, after a multitude of our citizens has been slain! "for the victory," says the proposer of the supplication, "over wicked and audacious men." for that is what this most illustrious man calls them; expressions of blame suited to lawsuits carried on in the city, not denunciations of searing infamy such as deserved by internecine war. i suppose they are forging wills, or trespassing on their neighbours, or cheating some young men; for it is men implicated in these and similar practices that we are in the habit of terming wicked and audacious. one man, the foulest of all banditti, is waging an irreconcileable war against four consuls. he is at the same time carrying on war against the senate and people of rome. he is (although he is himself hastening to destruction, through the disasters which he has met with) threatening all of us with destruction, and devastation, and torments, and tortures. he declares that that inhuman and savage act of dolabella's, which no nation of barbarians would have owned, was done by his advice; and what he himself would do in this city, if this very jupiter, who now looks down upon us assembled in his temple, had not repelled him from this temple and from these walls, he showed, in the miseries of those inhabitants of parma, whom, virtuous and honourable men as they were, and most intimately connected with the authority of this order, and with the dignity of the roman people, that villain and monster, lucius antonius, that object of the extraordinary detestation of all men, and (if the gods hate those whom they ought) of all the gods also, murdered with every circumstance of cruelty. my mind shudders at the recollection, o conscript fathers, and shrinks from relating the cruelties which lucius antonius perpetrated on the children and wives of the citizens of parma. for whatever infamy the antonii have willingly undergone in their own persons to their own infamy, they triumph in the fact of having inflicted on others by violence. but it is a miserable violence which they offered to them; most unholy lust, such as the whole life of the antonii is polluted with. iv. is there then any one who is afraid to call those men enemies, whose wickedness he admits to have surpassed even the inhumanity of the carthaginians? for in what city, when taken by storm, did hannibal even behave with such ferocity as antonius did in parma, which he filched by surprise? unless, mayhap, antonius is not to be considered the enemy of this colony, and of the others towards which he is animated with the same feelings. but if he is beyond all question the enemy of the colonies and municipal towns, then what do you consider him with respect to this city which he is so eager for, to satiate the indigence of his band of robbers? which that skilful and experienced surveyor of his, saxa, has already marked out with his rule. recollect, i entreat you, in the name of the immortal gods, o conscript fathers, what we have been fearing for the last two days, in consequence of infamous rumours carefully disseminated by enemies within the walls. who has been able to look upon his children or upon his wife without weeping? who has been able to bear the sight of his home, of his house, and his household gods? already all of us were expecting a most ignominious death, or meditating a miserable flight. and shall we hesitate to call the men at whose hands we feared all these things enemies? if any one should propose a more severe designation i will willingly agree to it; i am hardly content with this ordinary one, and will certainly not employ a more moderate one. therefore, as we are bound to vote, and as servilius has already proposed a most just supplication for those letters which have been read to you; i will propose altogether to increase the number of the days which it is to last, especially as it is to be decreed in honour of three generals conjointly. but first of all i will insist on styling those men imperator by whose valour, and wisdom, and good fortune we have been released from the most imminent danger of slavery and death. indeed, who is there within the last twenty years who has had a supplication decreed to him without being himself styled imperator, though he may have performed the most insignificant exploits, or even almost none at all. wherefore, the senator who spoke before me ought either not to have moved for a supplication at all, or he ought to have paid the usual and established compliment to those men to whom even new and extraordinary honours are justly due. v. shall the senate, according to this custom which has now obtained, style a man imperator if he has slain a thousand or two of spaniards, or gauls, or thracians; and now that so many legions have been routed, now that such a multitude of enemies has been slain,--aye, enemies, i say, although our enemies within the city do not fancy this expression,--shall we pay to our most illustrious generals the honour of a supplication, and refuse them the name of imperator? for with what great honour, and joy, and exultation ought the deliverers of this city themselves to enter into this temple, when yesterday, on account of the exploits which they have performed, the roman people carried me in an ovation, almost in a triumph from my house to the capitol, and back again from the capitol to my own house? that is indeed in my opinion a just and genuine triumph, when men who have deserved well of the republic receive public testimony to their merits from the unanimous consent of the senate. for if, at a time of general rejoicing on the part of the roman people, they addressed their congratulations to one individual, that is a great proof of their opinion of him; if they gave him thanks, that is a greater still; if they did both, then nothing more honourable to him can be possibly imagined. are you saying all this of yourself? some one will ask. it is indeed against my will that i do so; but my indignation at injustice makes me boastful, contrary to my usual habit. is it not sufficient that thanks should not be given to men who have well earned them, by men who are ignorant of the very nature of virtue? and shall accusations and odium be attempted to be excited against those men who devote all their thoughts to ensuring the safety of the republic? for you well know that there has been a common report for the last few days, that the day before the wine feast,[ ] that is to say, on this very day, i was intending to come forth with the fasces as dictator. one would think that this story was invented against some gladiator, or robber, or catiline, and not against a man who had prevented any such step from ever being taken in the republic. was i, who defeated and overthrew and crushed catiline, when he was attempting such wickedness, a likely man myself all on a sudden to turn out catiline? under what auspices could i, an augur, take those fasces? how long should i have been likely to keep them? to whom was i to deliver them as my successor? the idea of any one having been so wicked as to invent such a tale! or so mad as to believe it! in what could such a suspicion, or rather such gossip, have originated? vi. when, as you know, during the last three or four days a report of bad news from mutina has been creeping abroad, the disloyal part of the citizens, inflated with exultation and insolence, began to collect in one place, at that senate-house which has been more fatal to their party than to the republic. there, while they were forming a plan to massacre us, and were distributing the different duties among one another, and settling who was to seize on the capitol, who on the rostra, who on the gates of the city, they thought that all the citizens would flock to me. and in order to bring me into unpopularity, and even into danger of my life, they spread abroad this report about the fasces. they themselves had some idea of bringing the fasces to my house; and then, on pretence of that having been done by my wish, they had prepared a band of hired ruffians to make an attack on me as on a tyrant, and a massacre of all of you was intended to follow. the fact is already notorious, o conscript fathers, but the origin of all this wickedness will be revealed in its fitting time. therefore publius apuleius, a tribune of the people, who ever since my consulship has been the witness and partaker of, and my assistant in all my designs and all my dangers could not endure the grief of witnessing my indignation. he convened a numerous assembly, as the whole roman people were animated with one feeling on the subject. and when in the harangue which he then made, he, as was natural from our great intimacy and friendship, was going to exculpate me from all suspicion in the matter of the fasces, the whole assembly cried out with one voice, that i had never had any intentions with regard to the republic which were not excellent. after this assembly was over, within two or three hours, these most welcome messengers and letters arrived; so that the same day not only delivered me from a most unjust odium, but increased my credit by that most extraordinary act with which the roman people distinguished me. i have made this digression, o conscript fathers, not so much for the sake of speaking of myself, (for i should be in a sorry plight if i were not sufficiently acquitted in your eyes without the necessity of making a formal defence,) as with the view of warning some men of too grovelling and narrow minds, to adopt the line of conduct which i myself have always pursued, and to think the virtue of excellent citizens worthy of imitation, not of envy. there is a great field in the republic, as crassus used very wisely to say; the road to glory is open to many. vii. would that those great men were still alive, who, after my consulship, when i myself was willing to yield to them, were themselves desirous to see me in the post of leader. but at the present moment, when there is such a dearth of wise and fearless men of consular rank, how great do you not suppose must be my grief and indignation, when i see some men absolutely disaffected to the republic, others wholly indifferent to everything, others incapable of persevering with any firmness in the cause which they have espoused; and regulating their opinions not always by the advantage of the republic, but sometimes by hope, and sometimes by fear. but if any one is anxious and inclined to struggle for the leadership--though struggle there ought to be none--he acts very foolishly, if he proposes to combat virtue with vices. for as speed is only outstripped by speed, so among brave men virtue is only surpassed by virtue. will you, if i am full of excellent sentiments with respect to the republic, adopt the worst possible sentiments yourself for the purpose of excelling me? or if you see a race taking place for the acquisition of honours, will you summon all the wicked men you can find to your banner? i should be sorry for you to do so; first of all, for the sake of the republic, and secondly, for that of your own dignity. but if the leadership of the state were at stake, which i have never coveted, what could be more desirable for me than such conduct on your part? for it is impossible that i should be defeated by wicked sentiments and measures,--by good ones perhaps i might be, and i willingly would be. some people are vexed that the roman people should see, and take notice of, and form their opinion on these matters. was it possible for men not to form their opinion of each individual as he deserved? for as the roman people forms a most correct judgment of the entire senate, thinking that at no period in the history of the republic was this order ever more firm or more courageous; so also they all inquire diligently concerning every individual among us; and especially in the case of those among us who deliver our sentiments at length in this place, they are anxious to know what those sentiments are; and in that way they judge of each one of us, as they think that he deserves. they recollect that on the nineteenth of december i was the main cause of recovering our freedom; that from the first of january to this hour i have never ceased watching over the republic; that day and night my house and my ears have been open to the instruction and admonition of every one; that it has been by my letters, and my messengers, and my exhortations, that all men in every part of the empire have been roused to the protection of our country; that it is owing to the open declaration of my opinion ever since the first of january, that no ambassadors have been ever sent to antonius; that i have always called him a public enemy, and this a war; so that i, who on every occasion have been the adviser of genuine peace have been a determined enemy to this pretence of fatal peace. have not i also at all times pronounced ventidius an enemy, when others wished to call him a tribune of the people? if the consuls had chosen to divide the senate on my opinion, their arms would long since have been wrested from the hands of all those robbers by the positive authority of the senate. viii. but what could not be done then, o conscript fathers, at present not only can be, but even must be done. i mean, those men who are in reality enemies must be branded in plain language, must be declared enemies by our formal resolution. formerly, when i used the words war or enemy, men more than once objected to record my proposition among the other propositions. but that cannot be done on the present occasion. for in consequence of the letters of caius pansa and aulus hirtius, the consuls, and of caius caesar, propraetor, we have all voted that honours be paid to the immortal gods. the very man who lately proposed and carried a vote for a supplication, without intending it pronounced those men enemies; for a supplication has never been decreed for success in civil war. decreed, do i say? it has never even been asked for in the letters of the conqueror. sylla as consul carried on a civil war; he led his legions into the city and expelled whomsoever he chose; he slew those whom he had in his power: there was no mention made of any supplication. the violent war with octavius followed. cinna the conqueror had no supplication voted to him. sylla as imperator revenged the victory of cinna, still no supplication was decreed by the senate. i ask you yourself, o publius servilius, did your colleague send you any letters concerning that most lamentable battle of pharsalia? did he wish you to make any motion about a supplication? certainly not. but he did afterwards when he took alexandria; when he defeated pharnaces; but for the battle of pharsalia he did not even celebrate a triumph. for that battle had destroyed those citizens whose, i will not say lives, but even whose victory might have been quite compatible with the safety and prosperity of the state. and the same thing had happened in the previous civil wars. for though a supplication was decreed in my honour when i was consul, though no arms had been had recourse to at all, still that was voted by a new and wholly unprecedented kind of decree, not for the slaughter of enemies, but for the preservation of the citizens. wherefore, a supplication on account of the affairs of the republic having been successfully conducted must, o conscript fathers, be refused by you even though your generals demand it; a stigma which has never been affixed on any one except gabinius; or else, by the mere fact of decreeing a supplication, it is quite inevitable that you must pronounce those men, for whose defeat you do decree it, enemies of the state. ix. what then servilius did in effect, i do in express terms, when i style those men imperators. by using this name, i pronounce those who have been already defeated, and those who still remain, enemies in calling their conquerors imperators. for what title can i more suitably bestow on pansa? though he has, indeed, the title of the highest honour in the republic. what, too, shall i call hirtius? he, indeed, is consul; but this latter title is indicative of the kindness of the roman people; the other of valour and victory. what? shall i hesitate to call caesar imperator, a man born for the republic by the express kindness of the gods? he who was the first man who turned aside the savage and disgraceful cruelty of antonius, not only from our throats, but from our limbs and bowels? what numerous and what important virtues, o ye immortal gods, were displayed on that single day. for pansa was the leader of all in engaging in battle and in combating with antonius; o general worthy of the martial legion, legion worthy of its general! indeed, if he had been able to restrain its irresistible impetuosity, the whole war would have been terminated by that one battle. but as the legion, eager for liberty, had rushed with too much precipitation against the enemy's line of battle, and as pansa himself was fighting in the front ranks, he received two dangerous wounds, and was borne out of the battle, to preserve his life for the republic. but i pronounce him not only imperator, but a most illustrious imperator; who, as he had pledged himself to discharge his duty to the republic either by death or by victory, has fulfilled one half of his promise; may the immortal gods prevent the fulfilment of the other half! x. why need i speak of hirtius? who, the moment he heard of what was going on, with incredible promptness and courage led forth two legions out of the camp; that noble fourth legion, which, having deserted antonius, formerly united itself to the martial legion; and the seventh, which, consisting wholly of veterans, gave proof in that battle that the name of the senate and people of rome was dear to those soldiers who preserved the recollection of the kindness of caesar. with these twenty cohorts, with no cavalry, while hirtius himself was bearing the eagle of the fourth legion,--and we never heard of a more noble office being assumed by any general,--he fought with the three legions of antonius and with his cavalry, and overthrew, and routed, and put to the sword those impious men who were the real enemies to this temple of the all-good and all-powerful jupiter, and to the rest of the temples of the immortal gods, and the houses of the city, and the freedom of the roman people, and our lives and actual existence; so that that chief and leader of robbers fled away with a very few followers, concealed by the darkness of night, and frightened out of all his senses. oh what a most blessed day was that, which, while the carcases of those parricidal traitors were strewed about everywhere, beheld antonius flying with a few followers, before he reached his place of concealment. but will any one hesitate to call caesar imperator? most certainly his age will not deter any one from agreeing to this proposition, since he has gone beyond his age in virtue. and to me, indeed, the services of caius caesar have always appeared the more thankworthy, in proportion as they were less to have been expected from a man of his age. for when we conferred military command on him, we were in fact encouraging the hope with which his name inspired us; and now that he has fulfilled those hopes, he has sanctioned the authority of our decree by his exploits. this young man of great mind, as hirtius most truly calls him in his letters, with a few cohorts defended the camp of many legions, and fought a successful battle. and in this manner the republic has on one day been preserved in many places by the valour, and wisdom, and good fortune of three imperators of the roman people. xi. i therefore propose supplications of fifty days in the joint names of the three. the reasons i will embrace in the words of the resolution, using the most honourable language that i can devise. but it becomes our good faith and our piety to show plainly to our most gallant soldiers how mindful of their services and how grateful for them we are; and accordingly i give my vote that our promises, and those pledges too which we promised to bestow on the legions when the war was finished, be repeated in the resolution which we are going to pass this day. for it is quite fair that the honour of the soldiers, especially of such soldiers as those, should be united with that of their commanders. and i wish, o conscript fathers, that it was lawful for us to dispense rewards to all the citizens; although we will give those which we have promised with the most careful usury. but that remains, as i well hope, to the conquerors, to whom the faith of the senate is pledged; and, as they have adhered to it at a most critical period of the republic, we are bound to take care that they never have cause to repent of their conduct. but it is easy for us to deal fairly by those men whose very services, though mute, appear to demand our liberality. this is a much more praiseworthy and more important duty, to pay a proper tribute of grateful recollection to the valour of those men who have shed their blood in the cause of their country. and i wish more suggestions could occur to me in the way of doing honour to those men. the two ideas which principally do occur to me, i will at all events not pass over; the one of which has reference to the everlasting glory of those bravest of men; the other may tend to mitigate the sorrow and mourning of their relations. xii. i therefore give my vote, o conscript fathers, that the most honourable monument possible be erected to the soldiers of the martial legion, and to those soldiers also who died fighting by their side. great and incredible are the services done by this legion to the republic. this was the first legion to tear itself from the piratical band of antonius; this was the legion which encamped at alba; this was the legion that went over to caesar; and it was in imitation of the conduct of this legion that the fourth legion has earned almost equal glory for its virtue. the fourth is victorious without having lost a man; some of the martial legion fell in the very moment of victory. oh happy death, which, due to nature, has been paid in the cause of one's country! but i consider you men born for your country; you whose very name is derived from mars, so that the same god who begot this city for the advantage of the nations, appears to have begotten you for the advantage of this city. death in flight is infamous; in victory glorious. in truth, mars himself seems to select all the bravest men from the battle array. those impious men whom you slew, shall even in the shades below pay the penalty of their parricidal treason. but you, who have poured forth your latest breath in victory, have earned an abode and place among the pious. a brief life has been allotted to us by nature; but the memory of a well-spent life is imperishable. and if that memory were no longer than this life, who would be so senseless as to strive to attain even the highest praise and glory by the most enormous labours and dangers? you then have fared most admirably, being the bravest of soldiers while you lived, and now the most holy of warriors, because it will be impossible for your virtue to be buried, either through the forgetfulness of the men of the present age, or the silence of posterity, since the senate and roman people will have raised to you an imperishable monument, i may almost say with their own hands. many armies at various times have been great and illustrious in the punic, and gallic, and italian wars; but to none of them have honours been paid of the description which are now conferred on you. and i wish that we could pay you even greater honours, since we have received from you the greatest possible services. you it was who turned aside the furious antonius from this city; you it was who repelled him when endeavouring to return. there shall therefore be a vast monument erected with the most sumptuous work, and an inscription engraved upon it, as the everlasting witness of your god-like virtue. and never shall the most grateful language of all who either see or hear of your monument cease to be heard. and in this manner you, in exchange for your mortal condition of life, have attained immortality. xiii. but since, o conscript fathers, the gift of glory is conferred on these most excellent and gallant citizens by the honour of a monument, let us comfort their relations, to whom this indeed is the best consolation. the greatest comfort for their parents is the reflection that they have produced sons who have been such bulwarks of the republic; for their children, that they will have such examples of virtue in their family; for their wives, that the husbands whom they have lost are men whom it is a credit to praise, and to have a right to mourn for; and for their brothers, that they may trust that, as they resemble them in their persons, so they do also in their virtues. would that we were able by the expression of our sentiments and by our votes to wipe away the tears of all these persons; or that any such oration as this could be publicly addressed to them, to cause them to lay aside their grief and mourning, and to rejoice rather, that, while many various kinds of death impend over men, the most honourable kind of all has fallen to the lot of their friends; and that they are not unburied, nor deserted; though even that fate, when incurred for one's country, is not accounted miserable; nor burnt with equable obsequies in scattered graves, but entombed in honourable sepulchres, and honoured with public offerings; and with a building which will be an altar of their valour to ensure the recollection of eternal ages. wherefore it will be the greatest possible comfort to their relations, that by the same monument are clearly displayed the valour of their kinsmen, and also their piety, and the good faith of the senate, and the memory of this most inhuman war, in which, if the valour of the soldiers had been less conspicuous, the very name of the roman people would have perished by the parricidal treason of marcus antonius. and i think also, o conscript fathers, that those rewards which we promised to bestow on the soldiers when we had recovered the republic, we should give with abundant usury to those who are alive and victorious when the time comes; and that in the case of the men to whom those rewards were promised, but who have died in the defence of their country, i think those same rewards should be given to their parents or children, or wives or brothers. xiv. but that i may reduce my sentiments into a formal motion, i give my vote that: "as caius pansa, consul, imperator, set the example of fighting with the enemy in a battle in which the martial legion defended the freedom of the roman people with admirable and incredible valour, and the legions of the recruits behaved equally well; and as caius pansa, consul, imperator, while engaged in the middle of the ranks of the enemy received wounds; and as aulus hirtius, consul, imperator, the moment that he heard of the battle, and knew what was going on, with a most gallant and loyal soul, led his army out of his camp and attacked marcus antonius and his army, and put his troops to the sword, with so little injury to his own army that he did not lose one single man; and as caius caesar, propraetor, imperator, with great prudence and energy defended the camp successfully, and routed and put to the sword the forces of the enemy which had come near the camp: "on these accounts the senate thinks and declares that the roman people has been released from the most disgraceful and cruel slavery by the valour, and military skill, and prudence, and firmness, and perseverance, and greatness of mind and good fortune of these their generals. and decrees that, as they have preserved the republic, the city, the temples of the immortal gods, the property and fortunes and families of all the citizens, by their own exertions in battle, and at the risk of their own lives; on account of these virtuous and gallant and successful achievements, caius pansa and aulus hirtius, the consuls, imperators, one or both of them, or, in their absence, marcus cornutus, the city praetor, shall appoint a supplication at all the altars for fifty days. and as the valour of the legions has shown itself worthy of their most illustrious generals, the senate will with great eagerness, now that the republic is recovered, bestow on our legions and armies all the rewards which it formerly promised them. and as the martial legion was the first to engage with the enemy, and fought in such a manner against superior numbers as to slay many and take some prisoners; and as they shed their blood for their country without any shrinking; and as the soldiers of the other legions encountered death with similar valour in defence of the safety and freedom of the roman people;--the senate does decree that caius pansa and aulus hirtius, the consuls, imperators, one or both of them if it seems good to them, shall see to the issuing of a contract for, and to the erecting, the most honourable possible monument to those men who shed their blood for the lives and liberties and fortunes of the roman people, and for the city and temples of the immortal gods; that for that purpose they shall order the city quaestors to furnish and pay money, in order that it may be a witness for the everlasting recollection of posterity of the wickedness of our most cruel enemies, and the god-like valour of our soldiers. and that the rewards which the senate previously appointed for the soldiers, be paid to the parents or children, or wives or brothers of those men who in this war have fallen in defence of their country; and that all honours be bestowed on them which should have been bestowed on the soldiers themselves if those men had lived who gained the victory by their death." the two books which remain of the treatise by m.t. cicero on rhetorical invention. * * * * * book i. * * * * * these essays on rhetoric were composed by cicero when he was about one and twenty years of age, and he mentions them afterwards in his more elaborate treatise _de oratore_, (lib. i. c. ,) as unworthy of his more mature age, and more extended experiences. quintilian also (iii. c. ,) mentions them as works which cicero condemned by subsequent writings. this treatise originally consisted of four books, of which only two have come down to us. i. i have often and deeply resolved this question in my mind, whether fluency of language has been beneficial or injurious to men and to cities, with reference to the cultivation of the highest order of eloquence. for when i consider the disasters of our own republic, and when i call to mind also the ancient calamities of the most important states, i see that it is by no means the most insignificant portion of their distresses which has originated from the conduct of the most eloquent men. but, at the same time, when i set myself to trace back, by the aid of written memorials and documents, affairs which, by reason of their antiquity, are removed back out of the reach of any personal recollection, i perceive also that many cities have been established, many wars extinguished, many most enduring alliances and most holy friendships have been cemented by deliberate wisdom much assisted and facilitated by eloquence. and as i have been, as i say, considering all this for some time, reason itself especially induces me to think that wisdom without eloquence is but of little advantage to states, but that eloquence without wisdom is often most mischievous, and is never advantageous to them. if then any one, neglecting all the most virtuous and honourable considerations of wisdom and duty, devotes his whole attention to the practice of speaking, that man is training himself to become useless to himself, and a citizen mischievous to his country; but a man who arms himself with eloquence in such a manner as not to oppose the advantage of his country, but to be able to contend in behalf of them, he appears to me to be one who both as a man and a citizen will be of the greatest service to his own and the general interests, and most devoted to his country. and if we are inclined to consider the origin of this thing which is called eloquence, whether it be a study, or an art, or some peculiar sort of training or some faculty given us by nature, we shall find that it has arisen from most honourable causes, and that it proceeds on the most excellent principles. ii. for there was a time when men wandered at random over the fields, after the fashion of beasts, and supported life on the food of beasts; nor did they do anything by means of the reasoning powers of the mind; but almost everything by bodily strength. no attention was as yet paid to any considerations of the religious reverence due to the gods, or of the duties which are owed to mankind: no one had ever seen any legitimate marriages, no one had beheld any children whose parentage was indubitable; nor had any one any idea what great advantage there might be in a system of equal law. and so, owing to error and ignorance, cupidity, that blind and rash sovereign of the mind, abused its bodily strength, that most pernicious of servants, for the purpose of gratifying itself. at this time then a man,[ ] a great and a wise man truly was he, perceived what materials there were, and what great fitness there was in the minds of men for the most important affairs, if any one could only draw it out, and improve it by education. he, laying down a regular system, collected men, who were previously dispersed over the fields and hidden in habitations in the woods into one place, and united them, and leading them on to every useful and honourable pursuit, though, at first, from not being used to it they raised an outcry against it; he gradually, as they became more eager to listen to him on account of his wisdom and eloquence, made them gentle and civilized from having been savage and brutal. and it certainly seems to me that no wisdom which was silent and destitute of skill in speaking could have had such power as to turn men on a sudden from their previous customs, and to lead them to the adoption of a different system of life. and, moreover, after cities had been established how could men possibly have been induced to learn to cultivate integrity, and to maintain justice, and to be accustomed willingly to obey others, and to think it right not only to encounter toil for the sake of the general advantage, but even to run the risk of losing their lives, if men had not been able to persuade them by eloquence of the truth of those principles which they had discovered by philosophy? undoubtedly no one, if it had not been that he was influenced by dignified and sweet eloquence, would ever have chosen to condescend to appeal to law without violence, when he was the most powerful party of the two as far as strength went; so as to allow himself now to be put on a level with those men among whom he might have been preeminent, and of his own free will to abandon a custom most pleasant to him, and one which by reason of its antiquity had almost the force of nature. and this is how eloquence appears to have originated at first, and to have advanced to greater perfection; and also, afterwards, to have become concerned in the most important transactions of peace and war, to the greatest advantage of mankind? but after that a certain sort of complaisance, a false copyist of virtue, without any consideration for real duty, arrived at some fluency of language, then wickedness, relying on ability, began to overturn cities, and to undermine the principles of human life. iii. and, since we have mentioned the origin, of the good done by eloquence, let us explain also the beginning of this evil. it appears exceedingly probable to me that was a time when men who were destitute of eloquence and wisdom, were not accustomed to meddle with affairs of state, and when also great and eloquent men were not used to concern themselves about private causes; but, while the most important transactions were managed by the most eminent and able men, i think that there were others also, and those not very incompetent, who attended to the trifling disputes of private individuals; and as in these disputes it often happened that men had recourse to lies, and tried by such means to oppose the truth, constant practice in speaking encouraged audacity, so that it became unavoidable that those other more eminent men should, on account of the injuries sustained by the citizens, resist the audacious and come to the assistance of their own individual friends. therefore, as that man had often appeared equal in speaking, and sometimes even superior, who having neglected the study of wisdom, had laboured to acquire nothing except eloquence, it happened that in the judgment of the multitude he appeared a man worthy to conduct even the affairs of the state. and hence it arose, and it is no wonder that it did, when rash and audacious men had seized on the helm of the republic, that great and terrible disasters occurred. owing to which circumstances, eloquence fell under so much odium and unpopularity that the ablest men, (like men who seek a harbour to escape from some violent tempest) devoted themselves to any quiet pursuit, as a refuge from a life of sedition and tumult. so that other virtuous and honourable pursuits appear to me to have become popular subsequently, from having been cultivated in tranquillity by excellent men; but that this pursuit having been abandoned by most of them, grew out of fashion and obsolete at the very time when it should have been more eagerly retained and more anxiously encouraged and strengthened. for the more scandalously the temerity and audacity of foolish and worthless men was violating a most honourable and virtuous system, to the excessive injury of the republic, the more studiously did it become others to resist them, and to consult the welfare of the republic. iv. and this principle which i have just laid down did not escape the notice of cato, nor of laelus, nor of their pupil, as i may fairly call him, africanus, nor of the gracchi the grandson of africanus; men in whom there was consummate virtue and authority increased by their consummate virtue and eloquence, which might serve as an ornament to these qualities, and as a protection to the republic. wherefore, in my opinion at least, men ought not the less to devote themselves to eloquence, although some men both in private and public affairs misuse it in a perverse manner; but i think rather that they should apply themselves to it with the more eagerness, in order to prevent wicked men from getting the greatest power to the exceeding injury of the good, and the common calamity of all men; especially as this is the only thing which is of the greatest influence on all affairs both public and private; and as it is by this same quality that life is rendered safe, and honourable, and illustrious, and pleasant. for it is from this source that the most numerous advantages accrue to the republic, if only it be accompanied by wisdom, that governor of all human affairs. from this source it is that praise and honour and dignity flow towards all those who have acquired it; from this source it is that the most certain and the safest defence is provided for their friends. and, indeed, it appears to me, that it is on this particular that men, who in many points are weaker and lower than the beasts, are especially superior to them, namely, in being able to speak. wherefore, that man appears to me to have acquired an excellent endowment, who is superior to other men in that very thing in which men are superior to beasts. and if this art is acquired not by nature only, not by mere practice, but also by a sort of regular system of education, it appears to me not foreign to our purpose to consider what those men say who have left us some precepts on the subject of the attainment of it. but, before we begin to speak of oratorical precepts, i think we must say something of the nature of the art itself; of its duty, of its end, of its materials, and of its divisions. for when we have ascertained those points, then each man's mind will, with the more ease and readiness, be able to comprehend the system itself, and the path which leads to excellence in it. v. there is a certain political science which is made up of many and important particulars. a very great and extensive portion of it is artificial eloquence, which men call rhetoric. for we do not agree with those men who think that the knowledge of political science is in no need of and has no connexion with eloquence; and we most widely disagree with those, on the other hand, who think that all political ability is comprehended under the skill and power of a rhetorician. on which account we will place this oratorical ability in such a class as to assert that it is a part of political science. but the duty of this faculty appears to be to speak in a manner suitable to persuading men; the end of it is to persuade by language. and there is difference between the duty of this faculty and its end; that with respect to the duty we consider what ought to be done; with respect to the end we consider what is suitable to the duty. just as we say, that it is the duty of a physician to prescribe for a patient in a way calculated to cure him; and that his end is to cure him by his prescriptions. and so we shall understand what we are to call the duty of an orator, and also what we are to call his end; since we shall call that his duty which he ought to do, and we shall term that his end for the sake of which he is bound to do his duty. we shall call that the material of the art, on which the whole art, and all that ability which is derived from art, turns. just as if we were to call diseases and wounds the material of medicine, because it is about them that all medical science is concerned. and in like manner, we call those subjects with which oratorical science and ability is conversant the materials of the art of rhetoric. and these subjects some have considered more numerous, and others less so. for gorgias the leontine, who is almost the oldest of all rhetoricians, considered that an orator was able to speak in the most excellent manner of all men on every subject. and when he says this he seems to be supplying an infinite and boundless stock of materials to this art. but aristotle, who of all men has supplied the greatest number of aids and ornaments to this art, thought that the duty of the rhetorician was conversant with three kinds of subjects; with the demonstrative, and the deliberative, and the judicial. the demonstrative is that which concerns itself with the praise or blame of some particular individual; the deliberative is that which, having its place in discussion and in political debate, comprises a deliberate statement of one's opinion; the judicial is that which, having its place in judicial proceedings, comprehends the topics of accusation and defence; or of demand and refusal. and, as our own opinion at least inclines, the art and ability of the orator must be understood to be conversant with these tripartite materials. vi for hermagoras, indeed, appears neither to attend to what he is saying, nor to understand what he is promising, for he divides the materials of an orator into the cause, and the examination. the cause he defines to be a thing which has in itself a controversy of language united with the interposition of certain characters. and that part, we too say, is assigned to the orator, for we give him those three parts which we have already mentioned,--the judicial, the deliberative, and the demonstrative. but the examination he defines to be that thing which has in itself a controversy of language, without the interposition of any particular characters, in this way--"whether there is anything good besides honesty?"--"whether the senses may be trusted?"--"what is the shape of the world?"--"what is the size of the sun?" but i imagine that all men can easily see that all such questions are far removed from the business of an orator, for it appears the excess of insanity to attribute those subjects, in which we know that the most sublime genius of philosophers has been exhausted with infinite labour, as if they were inconsiderable matters, to a rhetorician or an orator. but if hermagoras himself had had any great acquaintance with these subjects, acquired with long study and training, then it would be supposed that he, from relying on his own knowledge, had laid down some false principles respecting the duty of an orator, and had explained not what his art could effect, but what he himself could do. but as it is, the character of the man is such, that any one would be much more inclined to deny him any knowledge of rhetoric, than to grant him any acquaintance with philosophy. nor do i say this because the book on the art which he published appears to me to have been written with any particular incorrectness, (for, indeed, he appears to me to have shown very tolerable ingenuity and diligence in arranging topics which he had collected from ancient writings on the subject, and also to have advanced some new theories himself,) but it is the least part of the business of an orator to speak concerning his art, which is what he has done: his business is rather to speak from his art, which is what we all see that this hermagoras was very little able to do. and so that, indeed, appears to us to be the proper materials of rhetoric, which we have said appeared to be such to aristotle. vii. and these are the divisions of it, as numerous writers have laid them down: invention; arrangement; elocution; memory; delivery. invention, is the conceiving of topics either true or probable, which may make one's cause appear probable; arrangement, is the distribution of the topics which have been thus conceived with regular order; elocution, is the adaptation of suitable words and sentences to the topics so conceived; memory, is the lasting sense in the mind of the matters and words corresponding to the reception of these topics. delivery, is a regulating of the voice and body in a manner suitable to the dignity of the subjects spoken of and of the language employed. now, that these matters have been briefly defined, we may postpone to another time those considerations by which we may be able to elucidate the character and the duty and the object of this art; for they would require a very long argument, and they have no very intimate connexion with the definition of the art and the delivery of precepts relating to it. but we consider that the man who writes a treatise on the art of rhetoric ought to write about two other subjects also; namely, about the materials of the art, and about its divisions. and it seems, indeed, that we ought to treat of the materials and divisions of this art at the same time. wherefore, let us first consider what sort of quality invention ought to be, which is the most important of all the divisions, and which applies to every description of cause in which an orator can be engaged. viii. every subject which contains in itself any controversy existing either in language or in disputation, contains a question either about a fact, or about a name, or about a class, or about an action. therefore, that investigation out of which a cause arises we call a stating of a case. a stating of a case is the first conflict of causes arising from a repulse of an accusation; in this way. "you did so and so;"--"i did not do so;"--or, "it was lawful for me to do so." when there is a dispute as to the fact, since the cause is confirmed by conjectures, it is called a conjectural statement. but when it is a dispute as to a name, because the force of a name is to be defined by words, it is then styled a definitive statement. but when the thing which is sought to be ascertained is what is the character of the matter under consideration, because it is a dispute about violence, and about the character of the affair, it is called a general statement. but when the cause depends on this circumstance, either that that man does not seem to plead who ought to plead, or that he does not plead with that man with whom he ought to plead, or that he does not plead before the proper people, at the proper time, in accordance with the proper law, urging the proper charge, and demanding the infliction of the proper penalty, then it is called a statement by way of demurrer; because the arguing of the case appears to stand in need of a demurrer and also of some alteration. and some one or other of these sorts of statement must of necessity be incidental to every cause. for if there be any one to which it is not incidental, in that there can be no dispute at all; on which account it has no right even to be considered a cause at all. and a dispute as to fact may be distributed over every sort of time. for as to what has been done, an inquiry can be instituted in this way--"whether ulysses slew ajax;" and as to what is being done, in this way--"whether the people of tregellae are well affected towards the roman people;" and as to what is going to happen, in this way--"if we leave carthage uninjured, whether any inconvenience will accrue to the republic." it is a dispute about a name, when parties are agreed as to the fact, and when the question is by what name that which has been done is to be designated. in which class of dispute it is inevitable on that account that there should be a dispute as to the name; not because the parties are not agreed about the fact, not because the fact is not notorious, but because that which has been done appears in a different light to different people, and on that account one calls it by one name and another by another. wherefore, in disputes of this kind the matter must be defined by words, and described briefly; as, for instance, if any one has stolen any sacred vessel from a private place, whether he is to be considered a sacrilegious person, or a simple thief. for when that is inquired into, it is necessary to define both points--what is a thief, and what is a sacrilegious person,--and to show by one's own description that the matter which is under discussion ought to be called by a different name from that which the opposite party apply to it. ix. the dispute about kind is, when it is agreed both what has been done, and when there is no question as to the name by which it ought to be designated; and nevertheless there is a question of what importance the matter is, and of what sort it is, and altogether of what character it is; in this way,--whether it be just or unjust; whether it be useful or useless; and as to all other circumstances with reference to which there is any question what is the character of that which has been done, without there being any dispute as to its name. humagoras assigned four divisions to this sort of dispute: the deliberative, the demonstrative, the judicial, and the one relating to facts. and, as it seems to us, this was no ordinary blunder of his, and one which it is incumbent on us to reprove; though we may do so briefly, lest, if we were to pass it over in silence, we might be thought to have had no good reason for abandoning his guidance; or if we were to dwell too long on this point, we might appear to have interposed a delay and an obstacle to the other precepts which we wish to lay down. if deliberation and demonstration are kinds of causes, then the divisions of any one kind cannot rightly be considered causes; for the same matter may appear to be a class to one person, and a division to another; but it cannot appear both a class and a division to the same person. but deliberation and demonstration are kinds of argument; for either there is no kind of argument at all, or there is the judicial kind alone, or there are all three kinds, the judicial and the demonstrative and the deliberative. now, to say there is no kind of argument at the same time that he says that there are many arguments, and is giving precepts for them, is foolishness. how, too, is it possible that there should be one kind only, namely the judicial, when deliberation and demonstration in the first place do not resemble one another, and are exceedingly different from the judicial kind, and have each their separate object to which they ought to be referred. it follows, then, that there are three kinds of arguments. deliberation and demonstration cannot properly be considered divisions of any kind of argument. he was wrong, therefore, when he said that they were divisions of a general statement of the case. x. but if they cannot properly be considered divisions of a kind of argument, much less can they properly be considered divisions of a division of an argument. but all statement of the case is a division of an argument. for the argument is not adapted to the statement of the case, but the statement of the case is adapted to the argument. but demonstration and deliberation cannot be properly considered divisions of a kind of argument, because they are separate kinds of arguments themselves. much less can they properly be considered divisions of that division, as he calls them. in the next place, if the statement of the case, both itself as a whole; and also any portion of that statement, is a repelling of an accusation, then that which is not a repelling of an accusation is neither a statement of a case, nor a portion of a statement of a case; but if that which is not a repelling of an attack is not a statement of a case, nor a portion of a statement of a case, then deliberation and demonstration are neither a statement of a case, nor a portion of a statement of a case. if, therefore, a statement of a case, whether it be the whole statement or some portion of it, be a repelling of an accusation, then deliberation and demonstration are neither a statement of a case, nor any portion of such statement. but he himself asserts that it is a repelling of an accusation. he must therefore assert also that demonstration and deliberation are neither a statement of a case, nor a portion of such a statement. and he will be pressed by the same argument whether he calls the statement of a case the original assertion of his cause by the accuser, or the first speech in answer to such accusation by the advocate of the defence. for all the same difficulties will attend him in either case. in the next place a conjectural argument cannot, as to the same portion of it, be at the same time both a conjectural one and a definitive one. again, a definitive argument cannot, as to the same portion of it, be at the same time both a definitive argument and one in the form and character of a demurrer. and altogether, no statement of a case, and no portion of such a statement, can at one and the same time both have its own proper force and also contain the force of another kind of argument. because each kind of argument is considered simply by its own merits, and according to its own nature; and if any other kind be united with it, then it is the number of statements of a case that is doubled, and not the power of the statement that is increased. but a deliberative argument, both as to the same portion of it and also at the same time, very frequently has a statement of its case both conjectural, and general, and definitive, and in the nature of a demurrer; and at times it contains only one statement, and at times it contains many such. therefore it is not itself a statement of the case, nor a division of such statement: and the same thing must be the case with respect to demonstration. these, then, as i have said before, must be considered kinds of argument, and not divisions of any statement of the subject. xi. this statement of the case then, which we call the general one, appears to us to have two divisions,--one judicial and one relating to matters of fact. the judicial one is that in which the nature of right and wrong, or the principles of reward and punishment, are inquired into. the one relating to matters of fact is that in which the thing taken into consideration is what is the law according to civil precedent, and according to equity; and that is the department in which lawyers are considered by us to be especially concerned. and the judicial kind is itself also distributed under two divisions,--one absolute, and one which takes in something besides as an addition, and which may be called assumptive. the absolute division is that which of itself contains in itself an inquiry into right and wrong. the assumptive one is that which of itself supplies no firm ground for objection, but which takes to itself some topics for defence derived from extraneous circumstances. and its divisions are four,--concession, removal of the accusation from oneself, a retorting of the accusation, and comparison. concession when the person on his trial does not defend the deed that has been done, but entreats to be pardoned for it: and this again is divided into two parts,--purgation and deprecation. purgation is when the fact is admitted, but when the guilt of the fact is sought to be done away. and this may be on three grounds,--of ignorance, of accident, or of necessity. deprecation is when the person on his trial confesses that he has done wrong, and that he has done wrong on purpose, and nevertheless entreats to be pardoned. but this kind of address can be used but very rarely. removal of the accusation from oneself is when the person on his trial endeavours by force of argument and by influence to remove the charge which is brought against him from himself to another, so that it may not fix him himself with any guilt at all. and that can be done in two ways,--if either the cause of the deed, or the deed itself, is attributed to another. the cause is attributed to another when it is said that the deed was done in consequence of the power and influence of another; but the deed itself is attributed to another when it is said that another either might have done it, or ought to have done it. the retorting of an accusation takes place when what is done is said to have been lawfully done because another had previously provoked the doer wrongfully. comparison is, when it is argued that some other action has been a right or an advantageous one, and then it is contended that this deed which is now impeached was committed in order to facilitate the accomplishment of that useful action. in the fourth kind of statement of a case, which we call the one which assumes the character of a demurrer, that sort of statement contains a dispute, in which an inquiry is opened who ought to be the accuser or pleader, or against whom, or in what manner, or before whom, or under what law, or at what time the accusation ought to be brought forward; or when something is urged generally tending to alter the nature of, or to invalidate the whole accusation. of this kind of statement of a case hermagoras is considered the inventor: not that many of the ancient orators have not frequently employed it, but because former writers on the subject have not taken any notice of it, and have not entered it among the number of statements of cases. but since it has been thus invented by hermagoras, many people have found fault with it, whom we considered not so much to be deceived by ignorance (for indeed the matter is plain enough) as to be hindered from admitting the truth by some envy or fondness for detraction. xii. we have now then mentioned the different kinds of statements of cases, and their several divisions. but we think that we shall be able more conveniently to give instances of each kind, when we are furnishing a store of arguments for each kind. for so the system of arguing will be more clear, when it can be at once applied both to the general classification and to the particular instance. when the statement of the case is once ascertained, then it is proper at once to consider whether the argument be a simple or a complex one, and if it be a complex one, whether it is made up of many subjects of inquiry, or of some comparison. that is a simple statement which contains in itself one plain question, in this way--"shall we declare war against the corinthians, or not?" that is a complex statement consisting of several questions in which many inquiries are made, in this way.--"whether carthage shall be destroyed, or whether it shall be restored to the carthaginians, or whether a colony shall be led thither." comparison is a statement in which inquiry is raised in the way of contest, which course is more preferable, or which is the most preferable course of all, in this way.--"whether we had better send an army into macedonia against philip, to serve as an assistance to our allies, or whether we had better retain it in italy, in order that we may have as numerous forces as possible to oppose to hannibal." in the next place, we must consider whether the dispute turns on general reasoning, or on written documents, for a controversy with respect to written documents, is one which arises out of the nature of the writing. xiii and of that there are five kinds which have been separated from statements of cases. for when the language of the writing appears to be at variance with the intention of the writer, then two laws or more seem to differ from one another, and then, too, that which has been written appears to signify two things or more. then also, from that which is written, something else appears to be discovered also, which is not written, and also the effect of the expressions used is inquired into, as if it were in the definitive statement of the case, in which it has been placed. wherefore, the first kind is that concerning the written document and the intention of it; the second arises from the laws which are contrary to one another, the third is ambiguous, the fourth is argumentative, the fifth we call definitive. but reason applies when the whole of the inquiry does not turn on the writing, but on some arguing concerning the writing. but, then, when the kind of argument has been duly considered, and when the statement of the case has been fully understood; when you have become aware whether it is simple or complex, and when you have ascertained whether the question turns on the letter of the writing or on general reasoning; then it is necessary to see what is the question, what is the reasoning, what is the system of examining into the excuses alleged, what means there are of establishing one's own allegations; and all these topics must be derived from the original statement of the case. what i call "the question" is the dispute which arises from the conflict of the two statements in this way. "you have not done this lawfully;" "i have done it lawfully." and this is the conflict of arguments, and on this the statement of the case hinges. it arises, therefore, from that kind of dispute which we call "the question," in this way:--"whether he did so and so lawfully." the reasoning is that which embraces the whole cause; and if that be taken away, then there is no dispute remaining behind in the cause. in this way, in order that for the sake of explaining myself more clearly, i may content myself with an easy and often quoted instance. if orestes be accused of matricide, unless he says this, "i did it rightfully, for she had murdered my father," he has no defence at all. and if his defence be taken away, then all dispute is taken away also. the principle of his argument then is that she murdered agamemnon. the examination of this defence is then a dispute which arises out of the attempts to invalidate or to establish this argument. for the argument itself may be considered sufficiently explained, since we dwelt upon it a little while ago. "for she," says he, "had murdered my father." "but," says the adversary, "for all that it was not right for your mother to be put to death by you who were her son; for her act might have been punished without your being guilty of wickedness." xiv. from this mode of bringing forward evidence, arises that last kind of dispute which we call the judication, or examination of the excuses alleged. and that is of this kind: whether it was right that his mother should be put to death by orestes, because she had put to death orestes's father? now proof by testimony is the firmest sort of reasoning that can be used by an advocate in defence, and it is also the best adapted for the examination of any excuse which may be alleged. for instance, if orestes were inclined to say that the disposition of his mother had been such towards his father, towards himself and his sisters, towards the kingdom, and towards the reputation of his race and family, that her children were of all people in the world the most bound to inflict punishment upon her. and in all other statements or cases, examinations of excuses alleged are found to be carried on in this manner. but in a conjectural statement of a case, because there is no express evidence, for the fact is not admitted at all, the examination of the defence put forward cannot arise from the bringing forward of evidence. wherefore, it is inevitable that in this case the question and the judication must be the same thing. as "it was done," "it was not done." the question is whether it was done. but it must invariably happen that there will be the same number of questions, and arguments, and examinations, and evidences employed in a cause, as there are statements of the case or divisions of such statements. when all these things are found in a cause, then at length each separate division of the whole cause must be considered. for it does not seem that those points are necessarily to be first noticed, which have been the first stated; because you must often deduce those arguments which are stated first, at least if you wish them to be exceedingly coherent with one another and to be consistent with the cause, from those arguments which are to be stated subsequently. wherefore, when the examination of the excuses alleged, and all those arguments which require to be found out for the purpose of such examination have been diligently found out by the rules of art, and handled with due care and deliberation, then at length we may proceed to arrange the remaining portions of our speech. and these portions appear to us to be in all six; the exordium, the relation of the fact, the division of the different circumstances and topics, the bringing forward of evidence, the finding fault with the action which has been done, and the peroration. at present, since the exordium ought to be the main thing of all, we too will first of all give some precepts to lead to a system of opening a case properly. xv. an exordium is an address bringing the mind of the hearer into a suitable state to receive the rest of the speech, and that will be effected if it has rendered him well disposed towards the speaker, attentive, and willing to receive information. wherefore, a man who is desirous to open a cause well, must of necessity be beforehand thoroughly acquainted with the nature and kind of cause which he has to conduct. now the kinds of causes are five; one honourable, one astonishing, one low, one doubtful, one obscure. the kind of cause which is called honourable, is such an one as the disposition of the hearer favours at once, without waiting to hear our speech. the kind that is astonishing, is that from which the mind of those who are about to hear us has been alienated. the kind which is low, is one which is disregarded by the hearer, or which does not seem likely to be carefully attended to. the kind which is doubtful, is that in which either the examination into the excuses alleged is doubtful, or the cause itself, being partly honourable and partly discreditable; so as to produce partly good-will and partly disinclination. the kind which is obscure, is that in which either the hearers are slow, or in which the cause itself is entangled in a multitude of circumstances hard to be thoroughly acquainted with. wherefore, since there are so many kinds of causes, it is necessary to open one's case on a very different system in each separate kind. therefore, the exordium is divided into two portions, first of all a beginning, and secondly language calculated to enable the orator to work his way into the good graces of his hearers. the beginning is an address, in plain words, immediately rendering the hearer well disposed towards one, or inclined to receive information, or attentive. the language calculated to enable the orator to work his way into the good graces of his hearers, is an address which employs a certain dissimulation, and which by a circuitous route as it were obscurely creeps into the affections of the hearer. in the kind of cause which we have called astonishing, if the hearers be not positively hostile, it will be allowable by the beginning of the speech to endeavour to secure their good-will. but if they be excessively alienated from one, then it will be necessary to have recourse to endeavours to insinuate oneself into their good graces. for if peace and good-will be openly sought for from those who are enemies to one, they not only are not obtained, but the hatred which they bear one is even inflamed and increased. but in the kind of cause which i have called low, for the sake of removing his contempt it will be indispensable to render the hearer attentive. the kind of cause which has been styled doubtful, if it embraces an examination into the excuses alleged, which is also doubtful, must derive its exordium from that very examination; but if it have some things in it of a creditable nature, and some of a discreditable character, then it will be expedient to try and secure the good-will of the hearer, so that the cause may change its appearance, and seem to be an honourable one. but when the kind of cause is the honourable kind, then the exordium may either be passed over altogether, or if it be convenient, we may begin either with a relation of the business in question, or with a statement of the law, or with any other argument which must be brought forward in the course of our speech, and on which we most greatly rely; or if we choose to employ an exordium, then we must avail ourselves of the good-will already existing towards us, in order that that which does exist may be strengthened. xvi. in the kind of cause which i have called obscure, it will be advisable to render the hearers inclined to receive instruction by a carefully prepared exordium. now, since it has been already explained what effect is to be sought to be produced by the exordium, it remains for us to show by what arguments all such effects may be produced. good-will is produced by dwelling on four topics:--on one derived from our own character, from that of our adversaries, from that of the judges, and from the cause itself. from our own character, if we manage so as to speak of our own actions and services without arrogance; if we refute the charges which have been brought against us, and any other suspicions in the least, discreditable which it may be endeavoured to attach to us; if we dilate upon the inconveniences which have already befallen us, or the difficulties which are still impending over us; if we have recourse to prayers and to humble and suppliant entreaty. from the character of our adversaries, if we are able to bring them either into hatred, or into unpopularity, or into contempt. they will be brought into hatred, if any action of theirs can be adduced which has been lascivious, or arrogant, or cruel, or malignant. they will be made unpopular, if we can dilate upon their violent behaviour, their power, their riches, their numerous kinsmen, their wealth, and their arrogant and intolerable use of all these sources of influence; so that they may appear rather to trust to these circumstances than to the merits of their cause. they will be brought into contempt, if sloth, or negligence, or idleness, or indolent pursuits, or luxurious tranquillity can be alleged against them. good-will will be procured, derived from the character of the hearers themselves, if exploits are mentioned which have been performed by them with bravery, or wisdom, or humanity; so that no excessive flattery shall appear to be addressed to them; and if it is plainly shown how high and honourable their reputation is, and how anxious is the expectation with which men look for their decision and authority. or from the circumstances themselves, if we extol our own cause with praises, and disparage that of the opposite party by contemptuous allusions. but we shall make our hearers attentive, if we show that the things which we are going to say and to speak of are important, and unusual, and incredible; and that they concern either all men, or those who are our present hearers, or some illustrious men, or the immortal gods, or the general interests of the republic. and if we promise that we will in a very short time prove our own cause; and if we explain the whole of the examination into the excuses alleged, or the different examinations, if there be more than one. we shall render our hearers willing to receive information, if we explain the sum total of the cause with plainness and brevity, that is to say, the point on which the dispute hinges. for when you wish to make a hearer inclined to receive information you must also render him attentive. for he is above all men willing to receive information who is prepared to listen with the greatest attention. xvii. the next thing which it seems requisite to speak of, is, how topics intended to enable the orator to work his way into the good graces of his hearers ought to be handled. we must then use such a sort of address as that when the kind of cause which we are conducting is that which i have called astonishing; that is to say, as i have stated before, when the disposition of the hearer is adverse to one. and that generally arises from one of three causes: either if there be anything discreditable in the cause itself, or if any such belief appears to have been already instilled into the hearer by those who have spoken previously; or if one is appointed to speak at a time when those who have got to listen to one are wearied with hearing others. for sometimes when one is speaking, the mind of the hearer is alienated from one no less by this circumstance than by the two former. if the discreditable nature of one's cause excites the ill-will of one's hearers, or if it be desirable to substitute for the man on whom they look unfavourably another man to whom they are attached; or, for the matter they regard with dislike, another matter of which they approve; or if it be desirable to substitute a person for a thing, or a thing for a person, in order that the mind of the hearer may be led away from that which he hates to that which he loves; and if your object is to conceal from view the fact that you are about to defend that person or action which you are supposed to be going to defend; and then, when the hearer has been rendered more propitious, to enter gradually on the defence, and to say that those things at which the opposite party is indignant appear scandalous to you also; and then, when you have propitiated him who is to listen to you, to show that none of all those things at all concern you, and to deny that you are going to say anything whatever respecting the opposite party whether it be good or bad; so as not openly to attack those men who are loved by your hearers, and yet doing it secretly as far as you can to alienate from them the favourable disposition of your hearers; and at the same time to mention the judgment of some other judges in a similar case, or to quote the authority of some others as worthy of imitation; and then to show that it is the very same point, or one very like it, or one of greater or less importance, (as the case may make it expedient,) which is in question at present. if the speech of your adversaries appears to have made an impression on your hearers, which is a thing which will be very easily ascertained by a man who understands what are the topics by which an impression is made; then it is requisite to promise that you will speak first of all on that point which the opposite party consider their especial stronghold, or else to begin with a reference to what has been said by the adversary, and especially to what he said last; or else to appear to doubt, and to feel some perplexity and astonishment as to what you had best say first, or what argument it is desirable to reply to first--for when a hearer sees the man whom the opposite party believe to be thrown into perplexity by their speech prepared with unshaken firmness to reply to it, he is generally apt to think that he has assented to what has been said without sufficient consideration, rather than that the present speaker is confident without due grounds. but if fatigue has alienated the mind of the hearer from your cause, then it is advantageous to promise to speak more briefly than you had been prepared to speak; and that you will not imitate your adversary. if the case admit of it, it is not disadvantageous to begin with some new topic, or with some one which may excite laughter; or with some argument which has arisen from the present moment; of which kind are any sudden noise or exclamation; or with something which you have already prepared, which may embrace some apologue, or fable, or other laughable circumstance. or, if the dignity of the subject shall seem inconsistent with jesting, in that case it is not disadvantageous to throw in something sad, or novel, or terrible. for as satiety of food and disgust is either relieved by some rather bitter taste, or is at times appeased by a sweet taste; so a mind weary with listening is either reinstated in its strength by astonishment, or else is refreshed by laughter. xviii. and these are pretty nearly the main things which it appeared desirable to say separately concerning the exordium of a speech, and the topics which an orator should use for the purpose of insinuating himself into the good grace of his hearers. and now it seems desirable to lay down some brief rules which may apply to both in common. an exordium ought to have a great deal of sententiousness and gravity in it, and altogether to embrace all things which have a reference to dignity; because that is the most desirable effect to be produced which in the greatest degree recommends the speaker to his hearer. it should contain very little brilliancy, or wit, or elegance of expression, because from these qualities there always arises a suspicion of preparation and artificial diligence: and that is an idea which, above all others takes away credit from a speech, and authority from a speaker. but the following are the most ordinary faults to be found in an exordium, and those it is above all things desirable to avoid. it must not be vulgar, common, easily changed, long, unconnected, borrowed, nor must it violate received rules. what i mean by vulgar, is one which may be so adapted to numerous causes as to appear to suit them all. that is common, which appears to be able to be adapted no less to one side of the argument than to the other. that is easily changed, which with a slight alteration may be advanced by the adversary on the other side of the question. that is long, which is spun out by a superfluity of words or sentences far beyond what is necessary. that is unconnected, which is not derived from the cause itself, and is not joined to the whole speech as a limb is to the body. that is borrowed, which effects some other end than that which the kind of cause under discussion requires; as if a man were to occupy himself in rendering his hearer inclined to receive information, when the cause requires him only to be well disposed towards the speaker: or, if a man uses a formal beginning of a speech, when what the subject requires is an address by which the speaker may insinuate himself into the good graces of his hearer. that is contrary to received rules, which effects no one of those objects for the sake of which the rules concerning exordiums have been handed down. this is the sort of blunder which renders him who hears it neither well disposed to one, nor inclined to receive information, nor attentive; or (and that indeed is the most disastrous effect of all) renders him of a totally contrary disposition. and now we have said enough about the exordium. xix. narration is an explanation of acts that have been done, or of acts as if they have been done. there are three kinds of narration. one kind is that in which the cause itself and the whole principle of the dispute is contained. another is that in which some digression, unconnected with the immediate argument, is interposed, either for the sake of criminating another, or of instituting a comparison, or of provoking some mirth not altogether unsuitable to the business under discussion, or else for the sake of amplification. the third kind is altogether foreign to civil causes, and is uttered or written for the sake of entertainment, combined with its giving practice, which is not altogether useless. of this last there are two divisions, the one of which is chiefly conversant about things, and the other about persons. that which is concerned in the discussion and explanation of things has three parts, fable, history, and argument. fable is that in which statements are expressed which are neither true nor probable, as is this-- "huge winged snakes, join'd by one common yoke." history is an account of exploits which have been performed, removed from the recollection of our own age; of which sort is the statement, "appius declared war against the carthaginians." argument is an imaginary case, which still might have happened. such is this in terence-- "for after sosia became a man." but that sort of narration which is conversant about persons, is of such a sort that in it not only the facts themselves, but also the conversations of the persons concerned and their very minds can be thoroughly seen, in this way-- "and oft he came to me with mournful voice, what is your aim, your conduct what? oh why do you this youth with these sad arts destroy? why does he fall in love? why seeks he wine, and why do you from time to time supply the means for such excess? you study dress and folly of all kinds; while he, if left to his own natural bent, is stern and strict, almost beyond the claims of virtue." in this kind of narration there ought to be a great deal of cheerfulness wrought up out of the variety of circumstances; out of the dissimilarity of dispositions; out of gravity, lenity, hope, fear, suspicion, regret, dissimulation, error, pity, the changes of fortune, unexpected disaster, sudden joy, and happy results. but these embellishments may be derived from the precepts which will hereafter be laid down about elocution. at present it seems best to speak of that kind of narration which contains an explanation of the cause under discussion. xx. it is desirable then that it should have three qualities; that it should be brief, open, and probable. it will be brief, if the beginning of it is derived from the quarter from which it ought to be; and if it is not endeavoured to be extracted from what has been last said, and if the speaker forbears to enumerate all the parts of a subject of which it is quite sufficient to state the total result;--for it is often sufficient to say what has been done, and there is no necessity for his relating how it was done;--and if the speaker does not in his narration go on at a greater length than there is any occasion for, as far as the mere imparting of knowledge is concerned; and if he does not make a digression to any other topic; and if he states his case in such a way, that sometimes that which has not been said may be understood from that which has been said; and if he passes over not only such topics as may be injurious, but those too which are neither injurious nor profitable; and if he repeats nothing more than once; and if he does not at once begin with that topic which was last mentioned;--and the imitation of brevity takes in many people, so that, when they think that they are being brief, they are exceedingly prolix, while they are taking pains to say many things with brevity, not absolutely to say but few things and no more than are necessary. for to many men a man appears to speak with brevity who says, "i went to the house; i called out the servant; he answered me; i asked for his master; he said that he was not at home." here, although he could not have enumerated so many particulars more concisely, yet, because it would have been enough to say, "he said that he was not at home," he is prolix on account of the multitude of circumstances which he mentions. wherefore, in this kind of narration also it is necessary to avoid the imitation of brevity, and we must no less carefully avoid a heap of unnecessary circumstances than a multitude of words. but a narration will be able to be open, if those actions are explained first which have been done first, and if the order of transactions and times is preserved, so that the things are related as they have been done, or as it shall seem that they may have been done. and in framing this narration it will be proper to take care that nothing be said in a confused or distorted manner; that no digression be made to any other subject; that the affair may not be traced too far back, nor carried too far forward; that nothing be passed over which is connected with the business in hand; and altogether the precepts which have been laid down about brevity, must be attended to in this particular also. for it often happens that the truth is but little understood, more by reason of the prolixity of the speaker, than of the obscurity of the statement. and it is desirable to use clear language, which is a point to be dwelt upon when we come to precepts for elocution. xxi. a narration will be probable, if in it those characteristics are visible which are usually apparent in truth; if the dignity of the persons mentioned is preserved; if the causes of the actions performed are made plain; if it shall appear that there were facilities for performing them; if the time was suitable; if there was plenty of room; if the place is shown to have been suitable for the transaction which is the subject of the narration; if the whole business, in short, be adapted to the nature of those who plead, and to the reports bruited about among the common people, and to the preconceived opinions of those who hear. and if these principles be observed, the narration will appear like the truth. but besides all this, it will be necessary to take care that such a narration be not introduced when it will be a hindrance, or when it will be of no advantage; and that it be not related in an unseasonable place, or in a manner which the cause does not require. it is a hindrance, when the very narration of what has been done comes at a time that the hearer has conceived great displeasure at something, which it will be expedient to mitigate by argument, and by pleading the whole cause carefully. and when this is the case, it will be desirable rather to scatter the different portions of the transactions limb by limb as it were over the cause, and, as promptly as may be, to adapt them to each separate argument, in order that there may be a remedy at hand for the wound, and that the defence advanced may at once mitigate the hatred which has arisen. again, a narration is of no advantage when, after our case has once been set forth by the opposite party, it is of no importance to relate it a second time or in another manner; or when the whole affair is so clearly comprehended by the hearers, as they believe at least that it can do us no good to give them information respecting it in another fashion. and when this is the case, it is best to abstain from any narration altogether. it is uttered in an unseasonable place, when it is not arranged in that part of the speech in which the case requires it, and concerning this kind of blunder we will speak when we come to mention the arrangement of the speech. for it is the general arrangement of the whole that this affects. it is not related in the manner which the cause requires, when either that point which is advantageous to the opposite party is explained in a clear and elegant manner, or when that which may be of benefit to the speaker is stated in an obscure or careless way. wherefore, in order that this fault may be avoided, everything ought to be converted by the speaker to the advantage of his own cause by passing over all things which make against it which can be passed over, by touching lightly on those points which are beneficial to the adversary, and by relating those which are advantageous to himself carefully and clearly. and now we seem to have said enough about narration. let us now pass on in regular order to the arrangement of the different topics. xxii an arrangement of the subjects to be mentioned in an argument, when properly made, renders the whole oration clear and intelligible. there are two parts in such a division, each of which is especially connected with the opening of the cause, and with the arrangement of the whole discussion. one part is that which points out what are the particulars as to which one is in agreement with the opposite party, and also what remains in dispute; and from this there is a certain definite thing pointed out to the hearer, as that to which he should direct his attention. the other part is that in which the explanation of those matters on which we are about to speak, is briefly arranged and pointed out. and this causes the hearer to retain certain things in his mind, so as to understand that when they have been discussed the speech will be ended. at present it seems desirable to mention briefly how it is proper to use each kind of arrangement. and this arrangement points out what is suitable and what is not suitable; its duty is to turn that which is suitable to the advantage of its own side, in this way--"i agree with the opposite party as to the fact, that a mother has been put to death by her son." again, on the other side.--"we are both agreed that agamemnon was slain by clytaemnestra" for in saying this each speaker has laid down that proposition which was suitable, and nevertheless has consulted the advantage of his own side. in the next place, what the matter in dispute is must be explained, when we come to mention the examination into the excuses which are alleged. and how that is managed has been already stated. but the arrangement which embraces the properly distributed explanation of the facts, ought to have brevity, completeness, conciseness. brevity is when no word is introduced which is not necessary. this is useful in this sort of speaking, because it is desirable to arrest the attention of the hearer by the facts themselves and the real divisions of the case, and not by words or extraneous embellishments of diction. completeness is that quality by which we embrace every sort of argument which can have any connexion with the case concerning which we have got to speak, and in this division we must take care not to omit any useful topic, not to introduce any such too late, out of its natural place, for that is the most pernicious and discreditable error of all. conciseness in arrangement is preserved if the general classes of facts are clearly laid down, and are not entangled in a promiscuous manner with the subordinate divisions. for a class is that which embraces many subordinate divisions as, "an animal." a subordinate division is that which is contained in the class as "a horse." but very often the same thing may be a class to one person, and a subordinate division to another. for "man" is a subordinate division of "animal," but a class as to "theban," or "trojan." xxiii and i have been more careful in laying down this definition, in order that after it has been clearly comprehended with reference to the general arrangement, a conciseness as to classes or genera may be preserved throughout the arrangement. for he who arranges his oration in this manner--"i will prove that by means of the covetousness and audacity and avarice of our adversaries, all sorts of evils have fallen on the republic," fails to perceive that in this arrangement of his, when he intended to mention only classes, he has joined also a mention of a subordinate division. for covetousness is the general class under which all desires are comprehended, and beyond all question avarice is a subordinate division of that class. we must therefore avoid, after having mentioned a universal class, then, in the same arrangement, to mention along with it any one of its subordinate divisions, as if it were something different and dissimilar. and if there are many subordinate divisions to any particular class, after that has been simply explained in the first arrangement of the oration, it will be more easily and conveniently arranged when we come to the subsequent explanation in the general statement of the case after the division. and this, too, concerns the subject of conciseness, that we should not undertake to prove more things than there is any occasion for, in this way--"i will prove that the opposite party were able to do what we accuse them of, and had the inclination to do it, and did it." it is quite enough to prove that they did it. or when there is no natural division at all in a cause, and when it is a simple question that is under discussion, though that is a thing which cannot be of frequent occurrence, still we must use careful arrangement. and these other precepts also, with respect to the division of subjects which have no such great connexion with the practice of orators, precepts which come into use in treatises in philosophy, from which we have transferred, hither those which appeared to be suitable to our purpose, of which we found nothing in the other arts. and in all these precepts about the division of our subjects, it will throughout our whole speech be found that every portion of them must be discussed in the same order as that in which it has been originally stated, and then, when everything has been properly explained, let the whole be summed up, and summed up so that nothing be introduced subsequently besides the conclusion. the old man in the andria of terence arranges briefly and conveniently the subjects with which he wishes his freedman to become acquainted-- "and thus the life and habits of my son and my designs respecting his career, and what i wish your course towards both to be, will be quite plain to you." and accordingly, as he has proposed in his original arrangement, he proceeds to relate, first the life of his son-- "for when, o sosia, he became a man, he was allow'd more liberty" then comes his own design-- "and now i take great care" after that, what he wishes sosia to do; that he put last in his original arrangement he now mentions last-- "and now the part is yours" ... as, therefore, in this instance, he came first to the portion which he had mentioned first, and so, when he had discussed them all, made an end of speaking, we too ought to advance to each separate portion of our subject, and when we had finished every part, to sum up. now it appears desirable to proceed in regular order to lay down some precepts concerning the confirmation of our arguments, as the regular order of the subject requires. xxiv confirmation is that by means of which our speech proceeding in argument adds belief, and authority, and corroboration to our cause. as to this part there are certain fixed rules which will be divided among each separate class of causes. but it appeals to be not an inconvenient course to disentangle what is not unlike a wood, or a vast promiscuous miss of materials all jumbled together, and after that to point out how it may be suitable to corroborate each separate kind of cause, after we have drawn all our principles of argumentation from this source. all statements are confirmed by some argument or other, either by that which is derived from persons, or by that which is deduced from circumstances. now we consider that these different things belong to persons, a name, nature, a way of life, fortune, custom, affection, pursuits, intentions, actions, accidents, orations. a name is that which is given to each separate person, so that each is called by his own proper and fixed appellation. to define nature itself is difficult, but to enumerate those parts of it which we require for the laying down of these precepts is more easy. and these refer partly to that portion of things which is divine, and partly to that which is mortal. now of things which are mortal one part is classed among the race of men, and one among the race of brutes: and the race of men is distinguished by sex, whether they be male or female and with respect to their nation, and country, and kindred, and age, with respect to their nation, whether a man be a greek or a barbarian; with respect to their country, whether a man be an athenian or a lacedaemonian; with respect to their kindred, from what ancestors a man is descended, and who are his relations; with respect to his age, whether he is a boy, or a youth, or a full grown man, or an old man. besides these things, those advantages or disadvantages which come to a man by nature, whether in respect of his mind or his body, are taken into consideration, in this manner:--whether he be strong or weak; whether he be tall or short; whether he be handsome or ugly; whether he be quick in his motions or slow; whether he be clever or stupid; whether he have a good memory, or whether he be forgetful; whether he be courteous, fond of doing kindnesses, modest, patient, or the contrary. and altogether all these things which are considered to be qualities conferred by nature on men's minds or bodies, must be taken into consideration when defining nature. for those qualities which are acquired by industry relate to a man's condition, concerning which we must speak hereafter. xxv. with reference to a man's way of life it is proper to consider among what men, and in what manner, and according to whose direction he has been brought up; what teachers of the liberal sciences he has had; what admonitors to encourage him to a proper course of life; with what friends he is intimate; in what business, or employment, or gainful pursuit he is occupied; in what manner he manages his estate, and what are his domestic habits. with reference to his fortune we inquire whether he is a slave or a free man; whether he is wealthy or poor; whether he is a private individual or a man in office; if he be in office, whether he has become so properly or improperly; whether he is prosperous, illustrious, or the contrary; what sort of children he has. and if we are inquiring about one who is no longer alive, then we must consider also by what death he died. but when we speak of a man's habitual condition, we mean his constant and absolute completeness of mind or body, in some particular point--as for instance, his perception of virtue, or of some art, or else some science or other. and we include also some personal advantages not given to him by nature, but procured by study and industry. by affection, we mean a sudden alteration of mind or body, arising from some particular cause, as joy, desire, fear, annoyance, illness, weakness and other things which are found under the same class. but study is the assiduous and earnest application of the mind, applied to some particular object with great good-will, as to philosophy, poetry, geometry, or literature. by counsel, we mean a carefully considered resolution to do or not to do something. but actions, and accidents, and speeches will be considered with reference to three different times; what a man has done, what has happened to him, or what he has said; or what he is doing, or what is happening to him, or what he is saying; or what he is going to do, what is about to happen to him, or what speech he is about to deliver. and all these things appear to be attributable to persons. xxvi. but of the considerations which belong to things, some are connected with the thing itself which is the subject of discussion; some are considered in the performance of the thing; some are united with the thing itself; some follow in the accomplishment of the thing. those things are connected with the thing itself which appear always to be attached to the thing and which cannot be separated from it. the first of such things is a brief exposition of the whole business, which contains the sum of the entire matter, in this way--"the slaying of a parent;" "the betrayal of a country." then comes the cause of this general fact; and we inquire by what means, and in what manner, and with what view such and such a thing has been done. after that we inquire what was done before this action under consideration was done, and all the steps which preceded this action. after that, what was done in the very execution of this action. and last of all, what has been done since. but with reference to the performance of an action, which was the second topic of those which were attributed to things, the place, and the time, and the manner, and the opportunity, and the facilities will be inquired into. the place is taken into consideration in which the thing was done; with reference to the opportunity which the doer seems to have had of executing the business; and that opportunity is measured by the importance of the action, by the interval which has elapsed, by the distance, by the nearness, by the solitude of the place, or by the frequented character of it, by the nature of the spot itself and by the neighbourhood of the whole region. and it is estimated also with reference to these characteristics, whether the place be sacred or not, public or private, whether it belongs or has belonged to some one else, or to the man whose conduct is under consideration. but the time is, that, i mean, which we are speaking of at the present moment, (for it is difficult to define it in a general view of it with any exactness,) a certain portion of eternity with some fixed limitation of annual or monthly, or daily or nightly space. in reference to this we take into consideration the things which are passed, and those things which, by reason of the time which has elapsed since, have become so obsolete as to be considered incredible, and to be already classed among the number of fables, and those things also which, having been performed a long time ago and at a time remote from our recollection, still affect us with a belief that they have been handed down truly, because certain memorials of those facts are extant in written documents, and those things which have been done lately, so that most people are able to be acquainted with them. and also those things which exist at the present moment, and which are actually taking place now, and which are the consequences of former actions. and with reference to those things it is open to us to consider which will happen sooner, and which later. and also generally in considering questions of time, the distance or proximity of the time is to be taken into account: for it is often proper to measure the business done with the time occupied in doing it, and to consider whether a business of such and such magnitude, or whether such and such a multitude of things, can be performed in that time. and we should take into consideration the time of year, and of the month, and of the day, and of the night, and the watches, and the hours, and each separate portion of any one of these times. xxvii. an occasion is a portion of time having in it a suitable opportunity for doing or avoiding to do some particular thing. wherefore there is this difference between it and time. for, as to genus, indeed, they are both understood to be identical; but in time some space is expressed in some manner or other, which is regarded with reference to years, or to a year, or to some portion of a year, but in an occasion, besides the space of time implied in the word, there is indicated an especial opportunity of doing something. as therefore the two are identical in genus it is some portion and species as it were, in which the one differs, as we have said, from the other. now occasion is distributed into three classes, public, common and singular. that is a public occasion, which the whole city avails itself of for some particular cause, as games, a day of festival, or war. that is a common occasion which happens to all men at nearly the same time, as the harvest, the vintage, summer, or winter. that is a singular occasion, which, on account of some special cause, happens at times to some private individuals, as for instance, a wedding, a sacrifice, a funeral, a feast, sleep. but the manner, also, is inquired into, in what manner, how, and with what design the action was done? its parts are, the doer knowing what he was about, and not knowing. but the degree of his knowledge is measured by these circumstances whether the doer did his action secretly, openly, under compulsion or through persuasion. the fact of the absence of knowledge is brought forward as an excuse, and its parts are actual ignorance, accident, necessity. it is also attributed to agitation of mind, that is, to annoyance, to passion to love, and to other feelings of a similar class. facilities, are those circumstances owing to which a thing is done more easily, or without which a thing cannot be done at all. xxviii. and it is understood that there is added to the general consideration of the whole matter, the consideration what is greater than and what is less than, and what is like the affair which is under discussion, and what is equally important with it, and what is contrary to it, and what is negatively opposed to it, and the whole classification of the affair, and the divisions of it, and the ultimate result. the cases of greater, and less and equally important, are considered with reference to the power, and number and form of the business, as if we were regarding the stature of a human body. now what is similar arises out of a species admitting of comparisons. now what admits of comparisons is estimated by a nature which may be compared with it, and likened to it. what is contrary, is what is placed in a different class and is as distant as possible from that thing to which it is called contrary, as cold is from heat and death from life. but that is negatively opposed to a thing which is separated from the thing by an opposition which is limited to a denial of the quality; in this way, "to be wise," and "not to be wise." that is a genus which embraces several species, as "cupidity." that is a species which is subordinate to a genus, as "love," "avarice." the result is the ultimate termination of any business; in which it is a common inquiry, what has resulted from each separate fact; what is resulting from it; what is likely to result from it. wherefore, in order that that which is likely to happen may be more conveniently comprehended in the mind with respect to this genus, we ought first to consider what is accustomed to result from every separate circumstance; in this manner:--from arrogance, hatred usually results; and from insolence, arrogance. the fourth division is a natural consequence from those qualities, which we said were usually attributed to things in distinction from persons. and with respect to this, those circumstances are sought for which ensue from a thing being done. in the first place, by what name it is proper that that which has been done should be called. in the next place, who have been the chief agents in, or originators of that action; and last of all, who have been the approvers and the imitators of that precedent and of that discovery. in the next place, whether there is any regular usage established with regard to that case, or whether there is any regular rule bearing on that case, or any regular course of proceeding, any formal decision, any science reduced to rules, any artificial system. in the next place, whether its nature is in the habit of being ordinarily displayed, or whether it is so very rarely, and whether it is quite unaccustomed to be so. after that, whether men are accustomed to approve of such a case with their authority, or to be offended at such actions; and with what eyes they look upon the other circumstances which are in the habit of following any similar conduct, either immediately or after an interval. and in the very last place, we must take notice whether any of those circumstances which are rightly classed under honesty or utility ensue. but as to these matters it will be necessary to speak more clearly when we come to mention the deliberative kind of argument. and the circumstances which we have now mentioned are those which are usually attributed to things as opposed to persons. xxix. but all argumentation, which can be derived from those topics which we have mentioned, ought to be either probable or unavoidable. indeed, to define it in a few words, argumentation appears to be an invention of some sort, which either shows something or other in a probable manner, or demonstrates it in an irrefutable one. those things are demonstrated irrefutably which can neither be done nor proved in any other manner whatever than that in which they are stated; in this manner:--"if she has had a child, she has lain with a man." this sort of arguing, which is conversant with irrefutable demonstration, is especially used in speaking in the way of dilemma, or enumeration, or simple inference. dilemma is a case in which, whichever admission you make, you are found fault with. for example:--"if he is a worthless fellow, why are you intimate with him? if he is an excellent man, why do you accuse him?" enumeration is a statement in which, when many matters have been stated and all other arguments invalidated, the one which remains is inevitably proved; in this manner:--"it is quite plain that he was slain by this man, either because of his enmity to him, or some fear, or hope, which he had conceived, or in order to gratify some friend of his; or, if none of these alternatives are true, then that he was not slain by him at all; for a great crime cannot be undertaken without a motive. but he had no quarrel with him, nor fear of him, nor hope of any advantage to be gained by his death, nor did his death in the least concern any friend of his. it remains, therefore, that he was not slain by him at all." but a simple inference is declared from a necessary consequence, in this way:--"if you say that i did that at that time, at that time i was beyond the sea; it follows, that i not only did not do what you say i did, but that it was not even possible for me to have done it." and it will be desirable to look to this very carefully, in order that this sort of inference may not be refuted in any manner, so that the proof may not only have some sort of argument in it, and some resemblance to an unavoidable conclusion, but that the very argument itself may proceed on irrefutable reasons. but that is probable which is accustomed generally to take place, or which depends upon the opinion of men, or which contains some resemblance to these properties, whether it be false or true. in that description of subject the most usual probable argument is something of this sort:--"if she is his mother, she loves her son." "if he is an avaricious man, he neglects his oath." but in the case which depends mainly on opinion, probable arguments are such as this: "that there are punishments prepared in the shades below for impious men."--"that those men who give their attention to philosophy do not think that there are gods." xxx. but resemblance is chiefly seen in things which are contrary to one another, or equal to one another, and in those things which fall under the same principle. in things contrary to one another, in this manner:--"for if it is right that those men should be pardoned who have injured me unintentionally, it is also fitting that one should feel no gratitude towards those who have benefited me because they could not help it." in things equal to one another, in this way:--"for as a place without a harbour cannot be safe for ships, so a mind without integrity cannot be trustworthy for a man's friends." in those things which fall under the same principle a probable argument is considered in this way:--"for if it be not discreditable to the rhodians to let out their port dues, then it is not discreditable even to hermacreon to rent them." then these arguments are true, in this manner:--"since there is a scar, there has been a wound." then they are probable, in in this way:--"if there was a great deal of dust on his shoes, he must have come off a journey." but (in order that we may arrange this matter in certain definite divisions) every probable argument which is assumed for the purpose of discussion, is either a proof, or something credible, or something already determined; or something which may be compared with something else. that is a proof which falls under some particular sense, and which indicates something which appears to have proceeded from it, which either existed previously, or was in the thing itself, or has ensued since, and, nevertheless, requires the evidence of testimony, and a more authoritative confirmation,--as blood, flight, dust, paleness, and other tokens like these. that is a credible statement which, without any witness being heard, is confirmed in the opinion of the hearer; in this way:--there is no one who does not wish his children to be free from injury, and happy. a case decided beforehand, is a matter approved of by the assent, or authority, or judgment of some person or persons. it is seen in three kinds of decision;--the religious one, the common one, the one depending on sanction. that is a religious one, which men on their oaths have decided in accordance with the laws. that is a common one, which all men have almost in a body approved of and adopted; in this manner:--"that all men should rise up on the appearance of their elders; that all men should pity suppliants." that depends on sanction, which, as it was a doubtful point what ought to be considered its character, men have established of their own authority; as, for instance, the conduct of the father of gracchus, whom the roman people made consul after his censorship, because he had done nothing in his censorship without the knowledge of his colleague. but that is a decision admitting of comparisons, which in a multitude of different circumstances contains some principle which is alike in all. its parts are three,--representation, collation, example. a representation is a statement demonstrating some resemblance of bodies or natures; collation is a statement comparing one thing with another, because of their likeness to one another; example is that which confirms or invalidates a case by some authority, or by what has happened to some man, or under some especial circumstances. instances of these things, and descriptions of them, will be given amid the precepts for oratory. and the source of all confirmations has been already explained as occasion offered, and has been demonstrated no less clearly than the nature of the case required. but how each separate statement, and each part of a statement, and every dispute ought to be handled,--whether we refer to verbal discussion or to writings,--and what arguments are suitable for each kind of discussion, we will mention, speaking separately of each kind, in the second book. at present we have only dropped hints about the numbers, and moods, and parts of arguing in an irregular and promiscuous manner; hereafter we will digest (making careful distinctions between and selections from each kind of cause) what is suitable for each kind of discussion, culling it out of this abundance which we have already displayed. and indeed every sort of argument can be discovered from among these topics; and that, when discovered, it should be embellished, and separated in certain divisions, is very agreeable, and highly necessary, and is also a thing which has been greatly neglected by writers on this art. wherefore at this present time it is desirable for us to speak of that sort of instruction, in order that perfection of arguing may be added to the discovery of proper arguments. and all this topic requires to be considered with great care and diligence, because there is not only great usefulness in this matter, but there is also extreme difficulty in giving precepts. xxxi. all argumentation, therefore, is to be carried on either by induction, or by ratiocination. induction is a manner of speaking which, by means of facts which are not doubtful, forces the assent of the person to whom it is addressed. by which assent it causes him even to approve of some points which are doubtful, on account of their resemblance to those things to which he has assented; as in the aeschines of socrates, socrates shows that aspasia used to argue with xenophon's wife, and with xenophon himself. "tell me, i beg of you, o you wife of xenophon, if your neighbour has better gold than you have, whether you prefer her gold or your own?" "hers," says she. "suppose she has dresses and other ornaments suited to women, of more value than those which you have, should you prefer your own or hers?" "hers, to be sure," answered she. "come, then," says aspasia, "suppose she has a better husband than you have, should you then prefer your own husband or hers?" on this the woman blushed. but aspasia began a discourse with xenophon himself. "i ask you, o xenophon," says she, "if your neighbour has a better horse than yours is, whether you would prefer your own horse or his?" "his," says he. "suppose he has a better farm than you have, which farm, i should like to know, would you prefer to possess?" "beyond all doubt," says he, "that which is the best." "suppose he has a better wife than you have, would you prefer his wife?" and on this xenophon himself was silent. then spake aspasia,--"since each of you avoids answering me that question alone which was the only one which i wished to have answered, i will tell you what each of you are thinking of; for both you, o woman, wish to have the best husband, and you, o xenophon, most exceedingly desire to have the most excellent wife. wherefore, unless you both so contrive matters that there shall not be on the whole earth a more excellent man or a more admirable woman, then in truth you will at all times desire above all things that which you think to be the best thing in the world, namely, that you, o xenophon, may be the husband of the best possible wife; and you, o woman, that you may be married to the most excellent husband possible." after they had declared their assent to these far from doubtful propositions, it followed, on account of the resemblance of the cases, that if any one had separately asked them about some doubtful point, that also would have been admitted as certain, on account of the method employed in putting the question. this was a method of instruction which socrates used to a great extent, because he himself preferred bringing forward no arguments for the purpose of persuasion, but wished rather that the person with whom he was disputing should form his own conclusions from arguments with which he had furnished himself, and which he was unavoidably compelled to approve of from the grounds which he had already assented to. xxxii. and with reference to this kind of persuasion, it appears to me desirable to lay down a rule, in the first place, that the argument which we bring forward by way of simile, should be such that it is impossible to avoid admitting it. for the premiss on account of which we intend to demand that that point which is doubtful shall be conceded to us, ought not to be doubtful itself. in the next place, we must take care that that point, for the sake of establishing which the induction is made, shall be really like those things which we have adduced before as matters admitting of no question. for it will be of no service to us that something has been already admitted, if that for the sake of which we were desirous to get that statement admitted be unlike it; so that the hearer may not understand what is the use of those original inductions, or to what result they tend. for the man who sees that, if he is correct in giving his assent to the thing about which he is first asked, that thing also to which he does not agree must unavoidably be admitted by him, very often will not allow the examination to proceed any further, either by not answering at all, or by answering wrongly. wherefore it is necessary that he should, by the method in which the inquiry is conducted, be led on without perceiving it, from the admissions which he has already made, to admit that which he is not inclined to admit, and at last he must either decline to give an answer, or he must admit what is wanted, or he must deny it. if the proposition be denied, then we must either show its resemblance to those things which have been already admitted or we must employ some other induction. if it be granted, then the argumentation may be brought to a close. if he keeps silence, then an answer must be extracted, or, since silence is very like a confession, it may be as well to bring the discussion to a close, taking the silence to be equivalent to an admission. and so this kind of argumentation is threefold. the first part consists of one simile, or of several, the second, of that which we desire to have admitted, for the sake of which the similes have been employed, the third proceeds from the conclusion which either establishes the admissions which have been made or points out what may be established from it. xxxiii but because it will not appear to some people to have been explained with sufficient clearness, unless we submit some instance taken from the civil class of causes, it seems desirable to employ some example of this sort, not because the rules to be laid down differ, or because it is expedient to employ such differently in this sort of discussion from what we should in ordinary discourse, but in order to satisfy the desire of those men, who, though they may have seen something in one place, are unable to recognise it in another unless it be proved. therefore in this cause which is very notorious among the greeks, that of epaminondas, the general of the thebans, who did not give up his army to the magistrate who succeeded him in due course of law, and when he himself had retained his army a few days contrary to law, he utterly defeated the lacedaemonians, the accuser might employ an argumentation by means of induction, while defending the letter of the law in opposition to its spirit, in this way:-- "if, o judges, the framer of the law had added to his law what epaminondas says that he intended, and had subjoined the exception 'except where any one has omitted to deliver up his army for the advantage of the republic,' would you have endured it? i think not. and if you yourselves, (though, such a proceeding is very far from your religious habits and from your wisdom,) for the sake of doing honour to this man, were to order the same exception to be subjoined to the law, would the theban people endure that such a thing should be done? beyond all question it would not endure it. can it possibly then appear to you that that which would be scandalous if it were added to a law, should be proper to be done just as if it had been added to the law? i know your acuteness well; it cannot seem so to you, o judges. but if the intention of the framer of the law cannot be altered as to its expressions either by him or by you, then beware lest it should be a much more scandalous thing that that should be altered in fact, and by your decision, which cannot be altered in one single word." and we seem now to have said enough for the present respecting induction. next, let us consider the power and nature of ratiocination. xxxiv. ratiocination is a sort of speaking, eliciting something probable from the fact under consideration itself, which being explained and known of itself, confirms itself by its own power and principles. those who have thought it profitable to pay diligent attention to this kind of reasoning, have differed a little in the manner in which they have laid down rules, though they were aiming at the same end as far as the practice of speaking went. for some of them have said that there are five divisions of it, and some have thought that it had no more parts than could be arranged under three divisions. and it would seem not useless to explain the dispute which exists between these parties, with the reasons which each allege for it; for it is a short one, and not such that either party appears to be talking nonsense. and this topic also appears to us to be one that it is not at all right to omit in speaking. those who think that it ought to be arranged in five divisions, say that first of all it is desirable to explain the sum of the discussion, in this way:--those things are better managed which are done on some deliberate plan, than those which are conducted without any steady design. this they call the first division. and then they think it right that it should be further proved by various arguments, and by as copious statements as possible; in this way:--"that house which is governed by reason is better appointed in all things, and more completely furnished, than that which is conducted at random, and on no settled plan;--that army which is commanded by a wise and skilful general, is governed more suitably in all particulars than that which is managed by the folly and rashness of any one. the same principle prevails with respect to sailing; for that ship performs its voyage best which has the most experienced pilot." when the proposition has been proved in this manner, and when two parts of the ratiocination have proceeded, they say in the third part, that it is desirable to assume, from the mere intrinsic force of the proposition, what you wish to prove; in this way:--"but none of all those things is managed better than the entire world." in the fourth division they adduce besides another argument in proof of this assumption, in this manner:--"for both the rising and setting of the stars preserve some definite order, and their annual commutations do not only always take place in the same manner by some express necessity, but they are also adapted to the service of everything, and their daily and nightly changes have never injured anything in any particular from being altered capriciously." and all these things are a token that the nature of the world has been arranged by no ordinary wisdom. in the fifth division they bring forward that sort of statement, which either adduces that sort of fact alone which is compelled in every possible manner, in this way:--"the world, therefore, is governed on some settled plan;" or else, when it has briefly united both the proposition and the assumption, it adds this which is derived from both of them together, in this way:--"but if those things are managed better which are conducted on a settled plan, than those which are conducted without such settled plan; and if nothing whatever is managed better than the entire world; therefore it follows that the world is managed on a settled plan." and in this way they think that such argumentation has five divisions. xxxv. but those who affirm that it has only three divisions, do not think that the argumentation ought to be conducted in any other way, but they find fault with this arrangement of the divisions. for they say that neither the proposition nor the assumption ought to be separated from their proofs; and that a proposition does not appear to be complete, nor an assumption perfect, which is not corroborated by proof. therefore, they say that what those other men divide into two parts, proposition and proof, appears to them one part only, namely proposition. for if it be not proved, the proposition has no business to make part of the argumentation. in the same way they say that that which those other men call the assumption, and the proof of the assumption, appears to them to be assumption only. and the result is, that the whole argumentation being treated in the same way, appears to some susceptible of five divisions, and to others of only three; so that the difference does not so much affect the practice of speaking, as the principles on which the rules are to be laid down. but to us that arrangement appears to be more convenient which divides it under five heads; and that is the one which all those who come from the school of aristotle, or of theophrastus, have chiefly followed. for as it is chiefly socrates and the disciples of socrates who have employed that former sort of argumentation which goes on induction, so this which is wrought up by ratiocination has been exceedingly practised by aristotle, and the peripatetics, and theophrastus; and after them by those rhetoricians who are accounted the most elegant and the most skilful. and it seems desirable to explain why that arrangement is more approved of by us, that we may not appear to have adopted it capriciously; at the same time we must be brief in the explanation, that we may not appear to dwell on such subjects longer than the general manner of laying down rules requires. xxxvi. if in any sort of argumentation it is sufficient to use a proposition by itself, and if it is not requisite to add proof to the proposition; but if in any sort of argumentation a proposition is of no power unless proof be added to it; then proof is something distinct from the proposition. for that which can be joined to a thing or separated from it, cannot possibly be the same thing with that to which it is joined or from which it is separated. but there is a certain kind of argumentation in which the proposition does not require confirmatory proof, and also another kind in which it is of no use at all without such proof, as we shall show. proof, then, is a thing different from a proposition. and we will demonstrate that point which we have promised to show in this way:--the proposition which contains in itself something manifest, because it is unavoidable that that should be admitted by all men, has no necessity for our desiring to prove and corroborate it. it is a sort of statement like this:--"if on the day on which that murder was committed at rome, i was at athens, i could not have been present at that murder." because this is manifestly true, there is no need to adduce proof of it; wherefore, it is proper at once to assume the fact, in this way:--"but i was at athens on that day." if this is not notorious, it requires proof; and when the proof is furnished the conclusion must follow:--"therefore i could not have been present at the murder." there is, therefore, a certain kind of proposition which does not require proof. for why need one waste time in proving that there is a kind which does require proof; for that is easily visible to all men. and if this be the case, from this fact, and from that statement which we have established, it follows that proof is something distinct from a proposition. and if it is so, it is evidently false that argumentation is susceptible of only three divisions. in the same manner it is plain that there is another sort of proof also which is distinct from assumption. for if in some sort of argumentation it is sufficient to use assumption, and if it is not requisite to add proof to the assumption; and if, again, in some sort of argumentation assumption is invalid unless proof be added to it; then proof is something separate and distinct from assumption. but there is a kind of argumentation in which assumption does not require proof; and a certain other kind in which it is of no use without proof; as we shall show. proof, then, is a thing distinct from assumption. and we will demonstrate that which we have promised to in this manner. that assumption which contains a truth evident to all men has no need of proof. that is an assumption of this sort:--"if it be desirable to be wise, it is proper to pay attention to philosophy." this proposition requires proof. for it is not self-evident. nor is it notorious to all men, because many think that philosophy is of no service at all, and some think that it is even a disservice. a self-evident assumption is such as this:--"but it is desirable to be wise." and because this is of itself evident from the simple fact, and is at once perceived to be true, there is no need that it be proved. wherefore, the argumentation may be at once terminated:--"therefore it is proper to pay attention to philosophy." there is, therefore, a certain kind of assumption which does not stand in need of proof; for it is evident that is a kind which does. therefore, it is false that argumentation is susceptible of only a threefold division. xxxvii. and from these considerations that also is evident, that there is a certain kind of argumentation in which neither proposition nor assumption stands in need of proof, of this sort, that we may adduce something undoubted and concise, for the sake of example. "if wisdom is above all things to be desired, then folly is above all things to be avoided; but wisdom is to be desired above all things, therefore folly is above all things to be avoided." here both the assumption and the proposition are self-evident, on which account neither of them stands in need of proof. and from all these facts it is manifest that proof is at times added, and at times is not added. from which it is palpable that proof is not contained in a proposition, nor in an assumption, but that each being placed in its proper place, has its own peculiar force fixed and belonging to itself. and if that is the case, then those men have made a convenient arrangement who have divided argumentation into five parts. are there five parts of that argumentation which is carried on by ratiocination? first of all, proposition, by which that topic is briefly explained from which all the force of the ratiocination ought to proceed. then the proof of the proposition, by which that which has been briefly set forth being corroborated by reasons, is made more probable and evident. then assumption, by which that is assumed which, proceeding from the proposition, has its effect on proving the case. then the proof of the assumption, by which that which has been assumed is confirmed by reasons. lastly, the summing up, in which that which results from the entire argumentation is briefly explained. so the argumentation which has the greatest number of divisions consists of these five parts. the second sort of argumentation has four divisions; the third has three. then there is one which has two; which, however, is a disputed point. and about each separate division it is possible that some people may think that there is room for a discussion. xxxviii. let us then bring forward some examples of those matters which are agreed upon. and in favour of those which are doubtful, let us bring forward some reasons. now the argumentation which is divided into five divisions is of this sort:--it is desirable, o judges, to refer all laws to the advantage of the republic, and to interpret them with reference to the general advantage, and according to the strict wording according to which they are drawn up. for our ancestors were men of such virtue and such wisdom, that when they were drawing up laws, they proposed to themselves no other object than the safety and advantage of the republic; for they were neither willing themselves to draw up any law which could be injurious; and if they had drawn up one of such a character, they were sure that it would be rejected when its tendency was perceived. for no one wishes to preserve the laws for the sake of the laws, but for the sake of the republic; because all men believe that the republic is best managed by means of laws. it is desirable, therefore, to interpret all written laws with reference to that cause for the sake of which it is desirable that the laws should be preserved. that is to say, since we are servants of the republic, let us interpret the laws with reference to the advantage and benefit of the republic. for as it is not right to think that anything results from medicine except what has reference to the advantage of the body, since it is for the sake of the body that the science of medicine has been established; so it is desirable to think that nothing proceeds from the laws except what is for the advantage of the republic, since it is for the sake of the republic that laws were instituted. therefore, while deciding on this point, cease to inquire about the strict letter of the law, and consider the law (as it is reasonable to do) with reference to the advantage of the republic. for what was more advantageous for the thebans than for the lacedaemonians to be put down? what object was epaminondas, the theban general, more bound to aim at than the victory of the thebans? what had he any right to consider more precious or more dear to him, than the great glory then acquired by the thebans, than such an illustrious and magnificent trophy? surely, disregarding the letter of the law, it became him to consider the intention of the framer of the law. and this now has been sufficiently insisted on, namely, that no law has ever been drawn up by any one, that had not for its object the benefit of the commonwealth. he then thought that it was the very extremity of madness, not to interpret with reference to the advantage of the republic, that which had been framed for the sake of the safety of the republic. and it is right to interpret all laws with reference to the safety of the republic; and if he was a great instrument of the safety of the republic, certainly it is quite impossible that he by one and the same action should have consulted the general welfare, and yet should have violated the laws. xxxix. but argumentation consists of four parts, when we either advance a proposition, or claim an assumption without proof. that it is proper to do when either the proposition is understood by its own merits, or when the assumption is self-evident and is in need of no proof. if we pass over the proof of the proposition, the argumentation then consists of four parts, and is conducted in this manner:--"o judges, you who are deciding on your oaths, in accordance with the law, ought to obey the laws; but you cannot obey the laws unless you follow that which is written in the law. for what more certain evidence of his intention could the framer of a law leave behind him, than that which he himself wrote with great care and diligence? but if there were no written documents, then we should be very anxious for them, in order that the intention of the framer of the law might be ascertained; nor should we permit epaminondas, not even if he were beyond the power of this tribunal, to interpret to us the meaning of the law; much less will we now permit him, when, the law is at hand, to interpret the intention of the lawgiver, not from that which is most clearly written, but from that which is convenient for his own cause. but if you, o judges, are bound to obey the laws, and if you are unable to do so unless you follow what is written in the law; what can hinder your deciding that he has acted contrary to the laws?" but if we pass over the proof of the assumption, again the argumentation will be arranged under four heads, in this manner:--"when men have repeatedly deceived us, having pledged their faith to us, we ought not to give credit to anything that they say for if we receive any injury; in consequence of their perfidy, there will be no one except ourselves whom we shall have any right to accuse. and in the first place, it is inconvenient to be deceived, in the next place, it is foolish, thirdly, it is disgraceful. but the carthaginians have before this deceived us over and over again. it is therefore the greatest insanity to rest any hopes on their good faith, when you have been so often deceived by their treachery." when the proof both of the proposition and of the assumption is passed over, the argumentation becomes threefold only, in this way--"we must either live in fear of the carthaginians if we leave them with their power undiminished, or we must destroy their city. and certainly it is not desirable to live in fear of them. the only remaining alternative then is to destroy their city." xl but some people think that it is both possible and advisable at times to pass over the summing up altogether, when it is quite evident what is effected by ratiocination. and then if that be done they consider that the argumentation is limited to two divisions, in this way--"if she has had a child she is not a virgin. but she has had a child." in this case they say it is quite sufficient to state the proposition and assumption, since it is quite plain that the matter which is here stated is such as does not stand in need of summing up. but to us it seems that all ratiocination ought to be terminated in proper form and that that defect which offends them is above all things to be avoided namely, that of introducing what is self evident into the summing up. but this will be possible to be effected if we come to a right understanding of the different kinds of summing up. for we shall either sum up in such a way as to unite together the proposition and the assumption, in this way--"but if it is right for all laws to be referred to the general advantage of the republic, and if this man ensured the safety of the republic, undoubtedly he cannot by one and the same action have consulted the general safety and yet have violated the laws,"--or thus, in order that the opinion we advocate may be established by arguments drawn from contraries, in this manner--"it is then the very greatest madness to build hopes on the good faith of those men by whose treachery you have been so repeatedly deceived,"--or so that that inference alone be drawn which is already announced, in this manner--"let us then destroy their city,"--or so that the conclusion which is desired must necessarily follow from the assertion which has been established, in this way--"if she has had a child, she has laid with a man. but she has had a child." this then is established. "therefore she has lain with a man." if you are unwilling to draw this inference, and prefer inferring what follows, "therefore she has committed incest," you will have terminated your argumentation but you will have missed an evident and natural summing up. wherefore in long argumentations it is often desirable to draw influences from combinations of circumstances, or from contraries. and briefly to explain that point alone which is established, and in those in which the result is evident, to employ arguments drawn from consequences. but if there are any people who think that argumentation ever consists of one part alone they will be able to say that it is often sufficient to carry-on an argumentation in this way.--"since she has had a child, she has lain with a man." for they say that this assertion requires no proof, nor assumption, nor proof of an assumption, nor summing up. but it seems to us that they are misled by the ambiguity of the name. for argumentation signifies two things under one name, because any discussion respecting anything which is either probable or necessary is called argumentation, and so also is the systematic polishing of such a discussion. when then they bring forward any statement of this kind,--"since she has had a child, she has lain, with a man," they bring forward a plain assertion, not a highly worked up argument, but we are speaking of the parts of a highly worked up argument. xli. that principle then has nothing to do with this matter. and with the help of this distinction we will remove other obstacles which seem to be in the way of this classification, if any people think that it is possible that at times the assumption may be omitted, and at other times the proposition, and if this idea has in it anything probable or necessary, it is quite inevitable that it must affect the hearer in some great degree. and if it were the only object in view, and if it made no difference in what manner that argument which had been projected was handled, it would be a great mistake to suppose that there is such a vast difference between the greatest orators and ordinary ones. but it will be exceedingly desirable to infuse variety into our speech, for in all cases sameness is the mother of satiety. that will be able to be managed if we not always enter upon our argumentation in a similar manner. for in the first place it is desirable to distinguish our orations as to their kinds, that is to say, at one time to employ induction, and at another ratiocination. in the next place, in the argumentation itself, it is best not always to begin with the proposition, nor in every case to employ all the five divisions, nor always to work up the different parts in the same manner, but it is permissible sometimes to begin with the assumption, sometimes with one or other of the proofs, sometimes with both, sometimes to employ one kind of summing up, and sometimes another. and in order that this variety may be seen, let us either write, or in any example whatever let us exercise this same principle with respect to those things which we endeavour to prove, that our task may be as easy as possible. and concerning the parts of the argumentation it seems to us that enough has been said. but we wish to have it understood that we hold the doctrine that argumentations are handled in philosophy in many other manners, and those too at times obscure ones, concerning which, however, there is still some definite system laid down. but still those methods appear to us to be inconsistent with the practice of an orator. but as to those things which we think belong to orators, we do not indeed undertake to say that we have attended to them more carefully than others have, but we do assert that we have written on them with more accuracy and diligence. at present let us go on in regular order to the other points, as we originally proposed. xlii. reprehension is that by means of which the proof adduced by the opposite party is invalidated by arguing, or is disparaged, or is reduced to nothing. and this sort of argument proceeds from the same source of invention which confirmation employs, because whatever the topics may be by means of which any statement can be confirmed, the very same may be used in order to invalidate it. for nothing is to be considered in all these inventions, except that which has been attributed to persons or to things. wherefore it will be necessary that the invention and the high polish which ought to be given to argumentation must be transferred to this part of our oration also from those rules which have been already laid down. but in order that we may give some precepts with reference to this part also, we will explain the different methods of reprehension, and those who observe them will more easily be able to do away with or invalidate those statements which are made on the opposite side. all argumentation is reprehended when anything, whether it be one thing only, or more than one of those positions which are assumed, is not granted, or if, though they are granted, it is denied that the conclusion legitimately follows from them, or if it is shown that the very kind of argumentation is faulty, or if in opposition to one form and reliable sort of argumentation another is employed which is equally firm and convincing. something of those positions which have been assumed is not granted when either that thing which the opposite party says is credible is denied to be such, or when what they think admits of a comparison with the present case is shown to be unlike it, or when what has been already decided is either turned aside as referring to something else, or is impeached as having been erroneously decided, or when that which the opposite party have called a proof is denied to be such, or if the summing up is denied in some one point or in every particular, or if it is shown that the enumeration of matters stated and proved is incorrect, or if the simple conclusion is proved to contain something false. for everything which is assumed for the purpose of arguing on, whether as necessary or as only probable, must inevitably be assumed from these topics, as we have already pointed out. xliii. what is assumed as something credible is invalidated, if it is either manifestly false, in this way:--"there is the one who would not prefer riches to wisdom." or on the opposite side something credible may be brought against it, in this manner--"who is there who is not more desirous of doing his duty than of acquiring money?" or it may be utterly and absolutely incredible, as if some one, who it is notorious is a miser, were to say that he had neglected the acquisition of some large sum of money for the sake of performing some inconsiderable duty. or if that which happens in some circumstances, and to some persons, were asserted to happen habitually in all cases and to everybody, in this way.--'those men who are poor have a greater regard for money than for duty.' 'it is very natural that a murder should have been committed in that which is a desert place.' how could a man be murdered in a much frequented place? or if a thing which is done seldom is asserted never to be done at all, as curius asserts in his speech in behalf of fulvius, where he says, "no one can fall in love at a single glance, or as he is passing by." but that which is assumed as a proof may be invalidated by a recurrence to the same topics as those by which it is sought to be established. for in a proof the first thing to be shown is that it is true, and in the next place, that it is one especially affecting the matter which is under discussion, as blood is a proof of murder in the next place, that that has been done which ought not to have been, or that has not been done which ought to have been and last of all, that the person accused was acquainted with the law and usages affecting the matter which is the subject of inquiry. for all these circumstance are matters requiring proof, and we will explain them more carefully, when we come to speak about conjectural statements separately. therefore, each of these points in a reprehension of the statement of the adversary must be laboured, and it must be shown either that such and such a thing is no proof, or that it is an unimportant proof, or that it is favourable to oneself rather than to the adversary, or that it is altogether erroneously alleged, or that it may be diverted so as to give grounds to an entirely different suspicion. xliv. but when anything is alleged as a proper object of comparison, since that is a class of argument which turns principally on resemblance, in reprehending the adversity it will be advisable to deny that there is any resemblance at all to the case with which it is attempted to institute the comparison. and that may be done if it be proved to be different in genus or in nature, or in power, or in magnitude, or in time or place, or with reference to the person affected, or to the opinions generally entertained of it. and if it be shown also in what classification that which is brought forward on account of the alleged resemblance and in what place too the whole genus with reference to which it is brought forward, ought to be placed. after that it will be pointed out how the one thing differs from the other, from which we shall proceed to show that a different opinion ought to be entertained of that which is brought forward by way of comparison, and of that to which it is sought to be compared. and this sort of argument we especially require when that particular argumentation which is carried on by means of induction is to be reprehended. if any previous decision be alleged, since these are the topics by which it is principally established, the praise of those who have delivered such decision, the resemblance of the matter which is at present under discussion to that which has already been the subject of the decision referred to, that not only the decision is not found fault with because it is mentioned, but that it is approved of by every one, and by showing too, that the case which has been already decided is a more difficult and a more important one than that which is under consideration now. it will be desirable also to invalidate it by arguments drawn from the contrary topics, if either truth or probability will allow us to do so. and it will be necessary to take care and notice whether the matter which has been decided has any real connexion with that which is the present subject of discussion, and we must also take care that no case is adduced in which any error has been committed, so that it should seem that we are passing judgment on the man himself who has delivered the decision referred to. it is desirable further to take care that they do not bring forward some solitary or unusual decision when there have been many decisions given the other way. for by such means as this the authority of the decision alleged can be best invalidated. and it is desirable that those arguments which are assumed as probable should be handled in this way. xlv. but those which are brought forward as necessary, if they are only imitations of a necessary kind of argumentation and are not so in reality, may be reprehended in this manner. in the first place, the summing up, which ought to take away the force of the admissions you have made if it be a correct one, will never be reprehended, if it be an incorrect one it may be attacked by two methods, either by conversion or by the invalidating one portion of it. by conversion, in this way. "for if the man be modest, why should you attack so good a man? and if his heart and face be seats of shameless impudence, then what avails your accusation of one who views all fame with careless eye?" in this case, whether you say that he is a modest man or that he is not, he thinks that the unavoidable inference is that you should not accuse him. but that may be reprehended by conversion thus--"but indeed, he ought to be accused, for if he be modest, accuse him, for he will not treat your imputations against him lightly, but if he has a shameless disposition of mind, still accuse him, for in that case he is not a respectable man." and again, the argument may be reprehended by an invalidating of the other part of it--"but if he is a modest man, when he has been corrected by your accusation he will abandon his error." an enumeration of particulars is understood to be faulty if we either say that something has been passed over which we are willing to admit, or if some weak point has been included in it which can be contradicted, or if there is no reason why we may not honestly admit it. something is passed over in such an enumeration as this.--"since you have that horse, you must either have bought it, or have acquired it by inheritance, or have received it as a gift, or he must have been born on your estate, or, if none of these alternatives of the case, you must have stolen it. but you did not buy it, nor did it come to you by inheritance, nor was it foaled on your estate, nor was it given to you as a present, therefore you must certainly have stolen it." this enumeration is fairly reprehended, if it can be alleged that the horse was taken from the enemy, as that description of booty is not sold. and if that be alleged, the enumeration is disproved, since that matter has been stated which was passed over in such enumeration. xlvi. but it will also be reprehended in another manner, if any contradictory statement is advanced; that is to say, just by way of example, if, to continue arguing from the previous case, it can be shown that the horse did come to one by inheritance, or if it should not be discreditable to admit the last alternative, as if a person, when his adversaries said,--"you were either laying an ambush against the owner, or you were influenced by a friend, or you were carried away by covetousness," were to confess that he was complying with the entreaties of his friend. but a simple conclusion is reprehended if that which follows does not appear of necessity to cohere with that which has gone before. for this very proposition, "if he breathes, he is alive," "if it is day, it is light," is a proposition of such a nature that the latter statement appears of necessity to cohere with the preceding one. but this inference, "if she is his mother, she loves him," "if he has ever done wrong, he will never be chastised," ought to be reprehended in such a manner as to show that the latter proposition does not of necessity cohere with the former. inferences of this kind, and all other unavoidable conclusions, and indeed all argumentation whatever, and its reprehension too, contains some greater power and has a more extensive operation than is here explained. but the knowledge of this system is such that it cannot be added to any portion of this art, not that it does of itself separately stand in need of a long time, and of deep and arduous consideration. wherefore those things shall be explained by us at another time, and when we are dealing with another subject, if opportunity be afforded us. at present we ought to be contented with these precepts of the rhetoricians given for the use of orators. when, therefore, any one of these points which are assumed is not granted, the whole statement is invalidated by these means. xlvii. but when, though these things are admitted, a conclusion is not derived from them, we must consider these points too, whether any other conclusion is obtained, or whether anything else is meant, in this way,--if, when any one says that he is gone to the army, and any one chooses to use this mode of arguing against him, "if you had come to the army you would have been seen by the military tribunes, but you were not seen by them, therefore you did not go to the army." on this case, when you have admitted the proposition, and the assumption, you have got to invalidate the conclusion, for some other inference has been drawn, and not the one which was inevitable. and at present, indeed, in order that the case might be more easily understood, we have brought forward an example pregnant with a manifest and an enormous error; but it often happens that an error when stated obscurely is taken for a truth; when either you do not recollect exactly what admissions you have made, or perhaps you have granted something as certain which is extremely doubtful. if you have granted something which is doubtful on that side of the question which you yourself understand, then if the adversary should wish to adapt that part to the other part by means of inference, it will be desirable to show, not from the admission which you have made, but from what he has assumed, that an inference is really established; in this manner:--"if you are in need of money, you have not got money. if you have not got money, you are poor. but you are in need of money, for if it were not so you would not pay attention to commerce; therefore you are poor." this is refuted in this way:--"when you said, if you are in need of money you have not got money, i understood you to mean, 'if you are in need of money from poverty, then you have not got money;' and therefore i admitted the argument. but when you assumed, 'but you are in need of money,' i understood you to mean, 'but you wish to have more money.' but from these admissions this result, 'therefore you are poor,' does not follow. but it would follow if i had made this admission to you in the first instance, that any one who wished to have more money, had no money at all." xlviii. but many often think that you have forgotten what admissions you made, and therefore an inference which does not follow legitimately is introduced into the summing up as if it did follow; in this way:--"if the inheritance came to him, it is probable that he was murdered by him." then they prove this at considerable length. afterwards they assume, but the inheritance did come to him. then the inference is deduced; therefore he did murder him. but that does not necessarily follow from what they had assumed. wherefore it is necessary to take great care to notice both what is assumed, and what necessarily follows from those assumptions. but the whole description of argumentation will be proved to be faulty on these accounts; if either there is any defect in the argumentation itself, or if it is not adapted to the original intention. and there will be a defect in the argumentation itself, if the whole of it is entirely false, or common, or ordinary, or trifling, or made up of remote suppositions; if the definition contained in it be faulty, if it be controverted, if it be too evident, if it be one which is not admitted, or discreditable, or objected to, or contrary, or inconstant, or adverse to one's object. that is false in which there is evidently a lie; in this manner:--"that man cannot be wise who neglects money. but socrates neglected money; therefore he was not wise." that is common which does not make more in favour of our adversaries than of ourselves; in this manner:--"therefore, o judges, i have summed up in a few words, because i had truth on my side." that is ordinary which, if the admission be now made, can be transferred also to some other case which is not easily proved; in this manner:--"if he had not truth on his side, o judges, he would never have risked committing himself to your decision." that is trifling which is either uttered after the proposition, in this way:--"if it had occurred to him, he would not have done so;" or if a man wishes to conceal a matter manifestly disgraceful under a trifling defence, in this manner:-- "then when all sought your favour, when your hand wielded a mighty sceptre, i forsook you; but now when all fly from you, i prepare alone, despising danger, to restore you." xlix. that is remote which is sought to a superfluous extent, in this manner:--"but if publius scipio had not given his daughter cornelia in marriage to tiberius gracchus, and if he had not had the two gracchi by her, such terrible seditions would never have arisen. so that all this distress appears attributable to scipio." and like this is that celebrated complaint-- "oh that the woodman's axe had spared the pine that long on pelion's lofty summit grew."[ ] for the cause is sought further back than is at all necessary. that is a bad definition, when it either describes common things in this manner:--"he is seditious who is a bad and useless citizen;" for this does not describe the character of a seditious man more than of an ambitious one,--of a calumniator, than of any wicked man whatever, in short. or when it says anything which is false; in this manner:--"wisdom is a knowledge how to acquire money." or when it contains something which is neither dignified nor important; in this way:--"folly is a desire of inordinate glory." that, indeed, is one folly; but this is defining folly by a species, not by its whole genus. it is controvertible when a doubtful cause is alleged, for the sake of proving a doubtful point; in this manner:-- "see how the gods who rule the realms above and shades below, and all their motions sway, themselves are all in tranquil concord found." that is self-evident, about which there is no dispute at all. as if any one while accusing orestes were to make it quite plain that his mother had been put to death by him. that is a disputable definition, when the very thing which we are amplifying is a matter in dispute. as if any one, while accusing ulysses, were to dwell on this point particularly, that it is a scandalous thing that the bravest of men, ajax, should have been slain by a most inactive man. that is discreditable which either with respect to the place in which it is spoken, or to the man who utters it, or to the time at which it is uttered, or to those who hear it, or to the matter which is the subject of discussion, appears scandalous on account of the subject being a discreditable one. that is an offensive one, which offends the inclinations of those who hear it; as if any one were to praise the judiciary law of caepio before the roman knights, who are themselves desirous of acting as judges. l. that is a contrary definition, which is laid down in opposition to the actions which those who are the hearers of the speech have done; as if any one were to be speaking before alexander the great against some stormer of a city, and were to say that nothing was more inhuman than to destroy cities, when alexander himself had destroyed thebes. that is an inconsistent one, which is asserted by the same man in different senses concerning the same case; as if any one, after he has said that the man who has virtue is in need of nothing whatever for the purpose of living well, were afterwards to deny that any one could live well without good health; or that he would stand by a friend in difficulty out of good-will towards him, for that then he would hope that some good would accrue to himself by so doing. that is an adverse definition, which in some particular is an actual injury to one's own cause; as if any one were to extol the power, and resources, and prosperity of the enemy, while encouraging his own soldiers to fight. if some part of the argumentation is not adapted to the object which is or ought to be proposed to one, it will be found to be owing to some one of these defects. if a man has promised a great many points and proved only a few; or if, when he is bound to prove the whole, he speaks only of some portion; in this way:--the race of women is avaricious; for eriphyle sold the life of her husband for gold. or if he does not speak in defence of that particular point which is urged in accusation; as if any one when accused of corruption were to defend himself by the statement that he was brave; as amphion does in euripides, and so too in pacuvius, who, when his musical knowledge is found fault with, praises his knowledge of philosophy. or if a part of conduct be found fault with on account of the bad character of the man; as if any one were to blame learning on account of the vices of some learned men. or if any one while wishing to praise somebody were to speak of his good fortune, and not of his virtue; or if any one were to compare one thing with another in such a manner as to think that he was not praising the one unless he was blaming the other; or if he were to praise the one in such a manner as to omit all mention of the other. or if, when an inquiry is being carried on respecting one particular point, the speech is addressed to common topics; as if any one, while men are deliberating whether war shall be waged or not, were to devote himself wholly to the praises of peace, and not to proving that that particular war is inexpedient. or if a false reason for anything be alleged, in this way:--money is good because it is the thing which, above all others, makes life happy. or if one is alleged which is invalid, as plautus says:-- "sure to reprove a friend for evident faults is but a thankless office; still 'tis useful, and wholesome for a youth of such an age, and so this day i will reprove my friend, whose fault is palpable."--_plautus, frinummus_, act i. sc. , l. . or in this manner, if a man were to say, "avarice is the greatest evil; for the desire of money causes great distress to numbers of people." or it is unsuitable, in this manner:--"friendship is the greatest good for there are many pleasures in friendship." li. the fourth manner of reprehension was stated to be that by which, in opposition to a solid argumentation, one equally, or still more solid, has been advanced. and this kind of argumentation is especially employed in deliberations when we admit that something which is said in opposition to us is reasonable, but still prove that that conduct which we are defending is necessary; or when we confess that the line of conduct which they are advocating is useful, and prove that what we ourselves are contending for is honourable. and we have thought it necessary to say thus much about reprehension; now we will lay down some rules respecting the conclusion. hermagoras places digression next in order, and then the ultimate conclusion. but in this digression he considers it proper to introduce some inferential topics, unconnected with the cause and with the decision itself, which contain some praise of the speaker himself, or some vituperation of the adversary, or else may lead to some other topic from which he may derive some confirmation or reprehension, not by arguing, but by expanding the subject by some amplification or other. if any one thinks that this is a proper part of an oration, he may follow hermagoras. for precepts for embellishing, and praising, and blaming, have partly been already given by us, and partly will be given hereafter in their proper place. but we do not think it right that this part should be classed among the regular divisions of a speech, because it appears improper that there should be digressions, except to some common topics, concerning which subject we must speak subsequently. but it does not seem desirable to handle praise and vituperation separately, but it seems better that they should be considered as forming part of the argumentation itself. at present we will treat of the conclusion of an oration. lii. the conclusion is the end and terminating of the whole oration. it has three parts,--enumeration, indignation, and complaint. enumeration is that by which matters which have been related in a scattered and diffuse manner are collected together, and, for the sake of recollecting them, are brought under our view. if this is always treated in the same manner, it will be completely evident to every one that it is being handled according to some artificial system; but if it be done in many various ways, the orator will be able to escape this suspicion, and will not cause such weariness. wherefore it will be desirable to act in the way which most people adopt, on account of its easiness; that is, to touch on each topic separately, and in that manner briefly to run over all sorts of argumentation; and also (which is, however, more difficult) to recount what portions of the subject you previously mentioned in the arrangement of the subject, as those which you promised to explain; and also to bring to the recollection of your hearers the reasonings by which you established each separate point, and then to ask of those who are hearing you what it is which they ought to wish to be proved to them; in this way:--"we proved this; we made that plain;" and by this means the hearer will recover his recollection of it, and will think that there is nothing besides which he ought to require. and in these kinds of conclusions, as has been said before, it will be serviceable both to run over the arguments which you yourself have employed separately, and also (which is a matter requiring still greater art) to unite the opposite arguments with your own; and to show how completely you have done away with the arguments which were brought against you. and so, by a brief comparison, the recollection of the hearer will be refreshed both as to the confirmation which you adduced, and as to the reprehension which you employed. and it will be useful to vary these proceedings by other methods of pleading also. but you may carry on the enumeration in your own person, so as to remind your hearers of what you said, and in what part of your speech you said each thing; and also you may bring on the stage some other character, or some different circumstance, and then make your whole enumeration with reference to that. if it is a person, in this way:--"for if the framer of the law were to appear, and were to inquire of you why you doubted, what could you say after this, and this, and this has been proved to you?" and in this case, as also in our own character, it will be in our power to run over all kinds of argumentation separately: and at one time to refer all separate genera to different classes of the division, and at another to ask of the hearer what he requires, and at another to adopt a similar course by a comparison of one's own arguments and those of the opposite party. but a different class of circumstance will be introduced if an enumerative oration be connected with any subject of this sort,--law, place, city, or monument, in this manner.--"what if the laws themselves could speak? would not they also address this complaint to you? what more do you require, o judges when this, and this, and this has been already made plain to you?" and in this kind of argument it is allowable to use all these same methods. but this is given as a common precept to guide one in framing an enumeration, that out of every part of the argument, since the whole cannot be repeated over again, that is to be selected which is of the greatest weight, and that each point is to be run over as briefly as possible, so that it shall appear to be only a refreshing of the recollection of the hearers, not a repetition of the speech. liii. indignation is a kind of speech by which the effect produced is, that great hatred is excited against a man, or great dislike of some proceeding is originated. in an address of this kind we wish to have this understood first, that it is possible to give vent to indignation from all those topics which we have suggested in laying down precepts for the confirmation of a speech. for any amplifications whatever, and every sort of indignation may be expressed, derived from those circumstances which are attributed to persons and to things, but still we had better consider those precepts which can be laid down separately with respect to indignation. the first topic is derived from authority, when we relate what a great subject of anxiety that affair has been to the immortal gods, or to those whose authority ought to carry the greatest weight with it. and that topic will be derived from prophecies, from oracles, from prophets, from tokens, from prodigies, from answers, and from other things like these. also from our ancestors, from kings, from states, from nations from the wisest men, from the senate, the people, the framers of laws. the second topic is that by which it is shown with amplification, by means of indignation, whom that affair concerns,--whether it concerns all men or the greater part of men, (which is a most serious business,) or whether it concerns the higher classes, such as those men are on whose authority the indignation which we are professing is grounded, (which is most scandalous,) or whether it affects those men who are one's equals in courage, and fortune, and personal advantages, (which is most iniquitous,) or whether it affects our inferiors, (which is most arrogant). the third topic is that which we employ when we are inquiring what is likely to happen, if every one else acts in the same manner. and at the same time we point out if this man is permitted to act thus, that there will be many imitators of the same audacity, and then from that we shall be able to point out how much evil will follow. the fourth topic is one by the use of which we show that many men are eagerly looking out to see what is decided, in order that they may be able to see by the precedent of what is allowed to one, what will be allowed to themselves also in similar circumstances. the fifth topic is one by the use of which we show that everything else which has been badly managed, as soon as the truth concerning them is ascertained, may be all set right, that this thing, however, is one which, if it be once decided wrongly, cannot be altered by any decision, nor set right by any power. the sixth topic is one by which the action spoken of is proved to have been done designedly and on purpose, and then we add this argument, that pardon ought not to be granted to an intentional crime. the seventh topic is one which we employ when we say that any deed is foul, and cruel, and nefarious, and tyrannical; that it has been effected by violence or by the influence of riches--a thing which is as remote as possible from the laws and from all ideas of equal justice. liv. an eighth topic is one of which we avail ourselves to demonstrate that the crime which is the present subject of discussion is not a common one,--not one such as is often perpetrated. and, that is foreign to the nature of even men in a savage state, of the most barbarous nations, or even of brute beasts. actions of this nature are such as are wrought with cruelty towards one's parents, or wife, or husband, or children, or relations, or suppliants; next to them, if anything has been done with inhumanity towards a man's elders,--towards those connected with one by ties of hospitality, --towards one's neighbours or one's friends,--to those with whom one has been in the habit of passing one's life,--to those by whom one has been brought up,--to those by whom one has been taught,--to the dead,--to those who are miserable and deserving of pity,--to men who are illustrious, noble, and who have been invested with honours and offices,--to those who have neither had power to injure another nor to defend themselves, such as boys, old men, women: by all which circumstances indignation is violently excited, and will be able to awaken the greatest hatred against a man who has injured any of these persons. the ninth topic is one by which the action which is the subject of the present discussion is compared with others which are admitted on all hands to be offences. and in that way it is shown by comparison how much more atrocious and scandalous is the action which is the present subject of discussion. the tenth topic is one by which we collect all the circumstances which have taken place in the performance of this action, and which have followed since that action, with great indignation at and reproach of each separate item, and by our description we bring the case as far as possible before the eyes of the judge before whom we are speaking, so that that which is scandalous may appear quite as scandalous to him as if he himself had been present to see what was done. the eleventh topic is one which we avail ourselves of when we are desirous to show that the action has been done by him whom of all men in the world it least became to do it, and by whom indeed it ought to have been prevented if any one else had endeavoured to do it. the twelfth topic is one by means of which we express our indignation that we should be the first people to whom this has happened, and that it has never occurred in any other instance. the thirteenth topic is when insult is shown to have been added to injury, and by this topic we awaken hatred against pride and arrogance. the fourteenth topic is one which we avail ourselves of to entreat those who hear us to consider our injuries as if they affected themselves; if they concern our children, to think of their own, if our wives have been injured, to recollect their own wives, if it is our aged relations who have suffered, to remember their own fathers or ancestors. the fifteenth topic is one by which we say that those things which have happened to us appear scandalous even to foes and enemies, and as a general rule, indignation is derived from one or other of these topics. lv. but complaint will usually take its origin from things of this kind. complaint is a speech seeking to move the pity of the hearers. in this it is necessary in the first place to render the disposition of the hearer gentle and merciful, in order that it may the more easily be influenced by pity. and it will be desirable to produce that effect by common topics, such as those by which the power of fortune over all men is shown, and the weakness of men too is displayed, and if such an argument is argued with dignity and with impressive language, then the minds of men are greatly softened, and prepared to feel pity, while they consider their own weakness in the contemplation of the misfortunes of another. then the first topic to raise pity is that by which we show how great the prosperity of our clients was, and how great their present misery is. the second is one which is divided according to different periods, according to which it is shown in what miseries they have been, and still are, and are likely to be hereafter. the third topic is that by which each separate inconvenience is deplored, as, for instance, in speaking of the death of a man's son, the delight which the father took in his childhood, his love for him, his hope of him, the comfort he derived from him, the pains he took in his bringing up, and all other instances of the same sort, may be mentioned so as to exaggerate the complaint. the fourth topic is one in which all circumstances which are discreditable or low or mean are brought forward, all circumstances which are unworthy of a man's age, or both, or fortune, or former honours or services, all the disasters which they have suffered or are liable to suffer. the fifth topic is that by using which all disadvantages we brought separately before the eyes of the hearer, so that he who hears of them may seem to see them, and by the very facts themselves, and not only by the description of them, may be moved to pity as if he had been actually present. the sixth topic is one by which the person spoken of is shown to be miserable, when he had no reason to expect any such fate; and that when he was expecting something else, he not only failed to obtain it, but fell into the most terrible misfortunes. the seventh is one by which we suppose the fact of a similar mischance befalling the men who are listening to us, and require of them when they behold us to call to mind their own children, or their parents, or some one for whom they are bound to entertain affections. the eighth is one by which something is said to have been done which ought not to have been done; or not to have been done which ought to have been. in this manner:--"i was not present, i did not see him, i did not hear his last words, i did not receive his last breath. moreover, he died amid his enemies, he lay shamefully unburied in an enemy's country, being torn to pieces by wild beasts, and was deprived in death of even that honour which is the due of all men." the ninth is one by which our speech is made to refer to things which are void both of language and sense; as if you were to adapt your discourse to a horse, a house, or a garment; by which topics the minds of those who are hearing, and who have been attached to any one, are greatly moved. the tenth is one by which want, or weakness, or the desolate condition of any one is pointed out. the eleventh is one in which is contained a recommendation to bury one's children, or one's parents, or one's own body, or to do any other such thing. the twelfth is one in which a separation is lamented when you are separated from any one with whom you have lived most pleasantly,--as from a parent, a son, a brother, an intimate friend. the thirteenth is one used when we complain with great indignation that we are ill-treated by those by whom above all others we least ought to be so,--as by our relations, or by friends whom we have served, and whom we have expected to be assistants to us; or by whom it is a shameful thing to be ill-treated,--as by slaves, or freedmen, or clients, or suppliants. the fourteenth is one which is taken as an entreaty, in which those who hear us are entreated, in a humble and suppliant oration, to have pity on us. the fifteenth is one in which we show that we are complaining not only of our own fortunes, but of those who ought to be dear to us. the sixteenth is one by using which we show that our hearts are full of pity for others; and yet give tokens at the same time that it will be a great and lofty mind, and one able to endure disaster if any such should befall us. for often virtue and splendour, in which there is naturally great influence and authority, have more effect in exciting pity than humility and entreaties. and when men's minds are moved it will not be right to dwell longer on complaints; for, as apollonius the rhetorician said, "nothing dries quicker than a tear." but since we have already, as it seems, said enough of all the different parts of a speech, and since this volume has swelled to a great size, what follows next shall be stated in the second book. * * * * * the second book of the rhetoric, or of the treatise on rhetorical invention, of m.t. cicero. i. some men of crotona, when they were rich in all kinds of resources, and when they were considered among the most prosperous people in italy, were desirous to enrich the temple of juno, which they regarded with the most religious veneration, with splendid pictures. therefore they hired zeuxis of heraclea at a vast price, who was at that time considered to be far superior to all other painters, and employed him in that business. he painted many other pictures, of which some portion, on account of the great respect in which the temple is held, has remained to within our recollection; and in order that one of his mute representations might contain the preeminent beauty of the female form, he said that he wished to paint a likeness of helen. and the men of crotona, who had frequently heard that he excelled all other men in painting women, were very glad to hear this; for they thought that if he took the greatest pains in that class of work in which he had the greatest skill, he would leave them a most noble work in that temple. nor were they deceived in that expectation: for zeuxis immediately asked of them what beautiful virgins they had; and they immediately led him into the palaestra, and there showed him numbers of boys of the highest birth and of the greatest beauty. for indeed, there was a time when the people of crotona were far superior to all other cities in the strength and beauty of their persons; and they brought home the most honourable victories from the gymnastic contests, with the greatest credit. while, therefore, he was admiring the figures of the boys and their personal perfection very greatly; "the sisters," say they, "of these boys are virgins in our city, so that how great their beauty is you may infer from these boys." "give me, then," said he, "i beg you, the most beautiful of these virgins, while i paint the picture which i promised you, so that the reality may be transferred from the breathing model to the mute likeness." then the citizens of crotona, in accordance with a public vote, collected the virgins into one place, and gave the painter the opportunity of selecting whom he chose. but he selected five, whose names many poets have handed down to tradition, because they had been approved by the judgment of the man who was bound to have the most accurate judgment respecting beauty. for he did not think that he could find all the component parts of perfect beauty in one person, because nature has made nothing of any class absolutely perfect in every part. therefore, as if nature would not have enough to give to everybody if it had given everything to one, it balances one advantage bestowed upon a person by another disadvantage. ii. but since the inclination has arisen in my mind to write a treatise on the art of speaking, we have not put forth any single model of which every portion was necessarily to be copied by us, of whatever sort they might be; but, having collected together all the writers on the subject into one place, we have selected what each appears to have recommended which may be most serviceable, and we have thus culled the flower from various geniuses. for of those who are worthy of fame or recollection, there is no one who appears either to have said nothing well, or everything admirably. so that it seemed folly either to forsake the sensible maxims brought forward by any one, merely because we are offended at some other blunder of his, or, on the other hand, to embrace his faults because we have been tempted by some sensible precept which he has also delivered. but if in other pursuits also men would select all that was found most sensible from many sources, instead of devoting themselves to one fixed leader, they would err less on the side of arrogance; they would not persist so much in error, and they would make less enormous mistakes through ignorance. and if we had as deep an acquaintance with this art as he had with that of painting, perhaps this work of ours might appear as admirable in its kind as his picture did. for we have had an opportunity of selecting from a much more copious store of models than he had. he was able to make his selection from one city, and from that number of virgins only which existed at that time and place; but we have had opportunity of making our selection from all the men who have ever lived from the very first beginning of this science, being reduced to a system up to the present day, and taking whatever we thought worth while from all the stores which lay open before us. and aristotle, indeed, has collected together all the ancient writers on this art, from the first writer on the subject and inventor of it, tisias, and has compiled with great perspicuity the precepts of each of them, mentioning them by name, after having sought them out with exceeding care; and he has disentangled them with great diligence and explained their difficulties; and he has so greatly excelled the original writers themselves in suavity and brevity of diction, that no one is acquainted with their precepts from their own writings, but all who wish to know what maxims they have laid down, come back to him as to a far more agreeable expounder of their meaning. and he himself has set before us himself and those too who had lived before his time, in order that we might be acquainted with the method of others, and with his own. and those who have followed him, although they have expended a great deal of labour on the most profound and important portions of philosophy, as he himself also, whose example they were following, had done, have still left us many precepts on the subject of speaking. and other masters of this science have also come forward, taking their rise, as it were in other springs, who have also been of great assistance in eloquence, as far at least as artificial rules can do any good. for there lived at the same time as aristotle, a great and illustrious rhetorician, named isocrates, though we have not entirely discovered what his system was. but we have found many lessons respecting their art from his pupils and from those who proceeded immediately afterwards from this school. iii. from these two different families, as it were, the one of which, while it was chiefly occupied with philosophy, still devoted some portion of its attention to the rhetorical science, and the other was wholly absorbed in the study and teaching of eloquence, but both kinds of study were united by their successors, who brought to the aid of their own pursuits those things which appeared to have been profitably said by either of them, and those and the others their predecessors are the men whom we and all our countrymen have proposed to ourselves as models, as far as we were able to make them so, and we have also contributed something from our own stores to the common stock. but if the things which are set forth in these books deserved to be selected with such great eagerness and care as they were, then certainly, neither we ourselves nor others will repent of our industry. but if we appear either rashly to have passed over some doctrine of some one worth noticing, or to have adopted it without sufficient elegance, in that case when we are taught better by some one, we will easily and cheerfully change our opinion. for what is discreditable is, not the knowing little, but the persisting foolishly and long in what one does not understand, because the one thing is attributed to the common infirmity of man, but the other to the especial fault of the individual. wherefore we, without affirming anything positively, but making inquiry at the same time, will advance each position with some doubt, lest while we gain this trifling point of being supposed to have written this treatise with tolerable neatness, we should lose that which is of the greater importance, the credit, namely, of not adopting any idea rashly and arrogantly. but this we shall endeavour to gain both at present and during the whole course of our life with great care, as far as our abilities will enable us to do so. but at present, lest we should appear to be too prolix, we will speak of the other points which it seems desirable to insist on. therefore, while we were explaining the proper classification of this art, and its duties, and its object, and its subject matter, and its divisions, the first book contained an account of the different kinds of disputes, and inventions, and statements of cases, and decisions. after that, the parts of a speech were described, and all necessary precepts for all of them were laid down. so that we not only discussed other topics in that book with tolerable distinctness, we spoke at that same time in a more scattered manner of the topics of confirmation and reprehension; and at present we think it best to give certain topics for confirming and reprehending, suited to every class of causes. and because it has been explained with some diligence in the former book, in what manner argumentations ought to be handled, in this book it will be sufficient to set forth the arguments which have been discovered for each kind of subject simply, and without any embellishment, so that, in this book, the arguments themselves may be found, and in the former, the proper method of polishing them. so that the reader must refer the precepts which are now laid down, to the topics of confirmation and reprehension. iv. every discussion, whether demonstrative, or deliberative, or judicial, must be conversant with some kind or other of statement of the case which has been explained in the former book; sometimes with one, sometimes with several. and though this is the case, still as some things can be laid down in a general way respecting everything, there are also other rules and different methods separately laid down for each particular kind of discussion. for praise, or blame, or the statement of an opinion, or accusation, or denial, ought all to effect different ends. in judicial investigations the object of inquiry is, what is just, in demonstrative discussion the question is what is honourable, in deliberations, in our opinion, what we inquire is, what is honourable and at the same time expedient. for the other writers on this subject have thought it right to limit the consideration of expediency to speeches directed to persuasion or dissuasion. those kinds of discussions then whose objects and results are different, cannot be governed by the same precepts. not that we are saying now that the same statement of the case is not admissible in all of them, but some kinds of speech arise from the object and kind of the discussion, if it refers to the demonstration of some kind of life, or to the delivery of some opinion. wherefore now, in explaining controversies, we shall have to deal with causes and precepts of a judicial kind, from which many precepts also which concern similar disputes will be transferred to other kinds of causes without much difficulty. but hereafter we will speak separately of each kind. at present we will begin with the conjectural statement of a case of which this example may be sufficient to be given--a man overtook another on his journey as he was going on some commercial expedition, and carrying a sum of money with him, he, as men often do entered into conversation with him on the way, the result of which was, that they both proceeded together with some degree of friendship, so that when they had arrived at the same inn, they proposed to sup together and to sleep in the same apartment. having supped, they retired to rest in the same place. but when the innkeeper (for that is what is said to have been discovered since, after the man had been detected in another crime) had taken notice of one of them, that is to say, of him who had the money, he came by night, after he had ascertained that they were both sound asleep, as men usually are when tired, and took from its sheath the sword of the one who had not the money, and which sword he had lying by his side and slew the other man with it and took away his money, and replaced the bloody sword in the sheath, and returned himself to his bed. but the man with whose sword the murder had been committed, rose long before dawn and called over and over again on his companion; he thought that he did not answer because he was overcome with sleep; and so he took his sword and the rest of the things which he had with him, and departed on his journey alone. the innkeeper not long afterwards raised an outcry that the man was murdered, and in company with some of his lodgers pursued the man who had gone away. they arrest him on his journey, draw his sword out of its sheath, and find it bloody, the man is brought back to the city by them, and put on his trial. on this comes the allegation of the crime, "you murdered him," and the denial, "i did not murder him," and from this is collected the statement of the case. the question in the conjectural examination is the same as that submitted to the judges, "did he murder him, or not?" v. now we will set forth the topics one portion of which applies to all conjectural discussion. but it will be desirable to take notice of this in the exposition of these topics and of all the others, and to observe that they do not all apply to every discussion. for as every man's name is made up of some letters, and not of every letter, so it is not every store of arguments which applies to every argumentation, but some portion which is necessary applies to each. all conjecture, then, must be derived either from the cause of an action, or from the person, or from the case itself. the cause of an action is divided into impulsion and ratiocination. impulsion is that which without thought encourages a man to act in such and such a manner, by means of producing some affection of the mind, as love, anger, melancholy, fondness for wine, or indeed anything by which the mind appears to be so affected as to be unable to examine anything with deliberation and care, and to do what it does owing to some impulse of the mind, rather than in consequence of any deliberate purpose. but ratiocination is a diligent and careful consideration of whether we shall do anything or not do it. and it is said to have been in operation, when the mind appears for some particular definite reason to have avoided something which ought not to have been done, or to have adopted something which ought to have been done, so that if anything is said to have been done for the sake of friendship, or of chastising an enemy, or under the influence of fear, or of a desire for glory or for money, or in short, to comprise everything under one brief general head, for the sake of retaining, or increasing, or obtaining any advantage; or, on the other hand, for the purpose of repelling, or diminishing, or avoiding any disadvantage;--for those former things must fall under one or other of those heads, if either any inconvenience is submitted to for the purpose of avoiding any greater inconvenience, or of obtaining any more important advantage; or if any advantage is passed by for the sake of obtaining some other still greater advantage, or of avoiding some more important disadvantage. this topic is as it were a sort of foundation of this statement of the case; for nothing that is done is approved of by any one unless some reason be shown why it has been done. therefore the accuser, when he says that anything has been done in compliance with some impulse, ought to exaggerate that impulse, and any other agitation or affection of the mind, with all the power of language and variety of sentiments of which he is master, and to show how great the power of love is, how great the agitation of mind which arises from anger, or from any one of those causes which he says was that which impelled any one to do anything. and here we must take care, by an enumeration of examples of men who have done anything under the influence of similar impulse, and by a collation of similar cases, and by an explanation of the way in which the mind itself is affected, to hinder its appearing marvellous if the mind of a man has been instigated by such influence to some pernicious or criminal action. vi. but when the orator says that any one has done such and such an action, not through impulse, but in consequence of deliberate reasoning, he will then point out what advantage he has aimed at, or what inconvenience he has avoided, and he will exaggerate the influence of those motives as much as he can, so that as far as possible the cause which led the person spoken of to do wrong, may appear to have been an adequate one. if it was for the sake of glory that he did so and so, then he will point out what glory he thought would result from it; again, if he was influenced by desire of power, or riches, or by friendship, or by enmity; and altogether whatever the motive was, which he says was his inducement to the action, he will exaggerate as much as possible. and he is bound to give great attention to this point, not only what the effect would have been in reality, but still more what it would have been in the opinion of the man whom he is accusing. for it makes no difference that there really was or was not any advantage or disadvantage, if the man who is accused believed that there would or would not be such. for opinion deceives men in two ways, when either the matter itself is of a different kind from that which it is believed to be, or when the result is not such as they thought it would be. the matter itself is of a different sort when they think that which is good bad, or, on the other hand, when they think that good which is bad. or when they think that good or bad which is neither good nor bad, or when they think that which is good or bad neither bad nor good. now that this is understood, if any one denies that there is any money more precious or sweeter to a man than his brother's or his friend's life, or even than his own duty, the accuser is not to deny that; for then the blame and the chief part of the hatred will be transferred to him who denies that which is said so truly and so piously. but what he ought to say is, that the man did not think so; and that assertion must be derived from those topics which relate to the person, concerning whom we must speak hereafter. vii. but the result deceives a person, when a thing has a different result from that which the persons who are accused are said to have thought it would have. as when a man is said to have slain a different person from him whom he intended to slay, either because he was deceived by the likeness or by some suspicion, or by some false indication; or that he slew a man who had not left him his heir in his will, because he believed that he had left him his heir. for it is not right to judge of a man's belief by the result, but rather to consider with what expectation, and intention, and hope he proceeded to such a crime; and to recollect that the matter of real importance is to consider with what intention a man does a thing, and not what the consequence of his action turns out to be. and in this topic this will be the great point for the accuser, if he is able to show that no one else had any reason for doing so at all. and the thing next in importance will be to show that no one else had such great or sufficient reason for doing so. but if others appear also to have had a motive for doing so, then we must show that they had either no power, or no opportunity, or no inclination to do it. they had no power if it can be said that they did not know it, or were not in the place, or were unable to have accomplished it; they had no opportunity, if it can be proved that any plan, any assistants, any instruments, and all other things which relate to such an action, were wanting to them. they had no inclination, if their disposition can be said to be entirely alien to such conduct, and unimpeachable. lastly, whatever arguments we allow a man on his trial to use in his defence, the very same the prosecutor will employ in delivering others from blame. but that must be done with brevity, and many arguments must be compressed into one, in order that he may not appear to be accusing the man on his trial for the sake of defending some one else, but to be defending some one else with a view to strengthen his accusation against him. viii. and these are for the most part the things which must be done and considered by an accuser. but the advocate for the defence will say, on the other hand, either that there was no motive at all, or, if he admits that there was, he will make light of it, and show that it was a very slight one, or that such conduct does not often proceed from such a motive. and with reference to this topic it will be necessary to point out what is the power and character of that motive, by which the person on his trial is said to have been induced to commit any action; and in doing this it is requisite to adduce instances and examples of similar cases, and the actual nature of such a motive is to be explained as gently as possible, so that the circumstance which is the subject of the discussion may be explained away, and instead of being considered as a cruel and disorderly act, may be represented as something more mild and considerate, and still the speech itself may be adapted to the mind of the hearer, and to a sort of inner feeling, as it were, in his mind. but the orator will weaken the suspicions arising from the ratiocination, if he shall say either that the advantage intimated had no existence, or a very slight one, or that it was a greater one to others, or that it was no greater advantage to himself than to others, or that it was a greater disadvantage than advantage to himself. so that the magnitude of the advantage which is said to have been desired, was not to be compared with the disadvantage which was really sustained, or with the danger which was incurred. and all those topics will be handled in the same manner in speaking of the avoiding of disadvantage. but if the prosecutor has said that the man on his trial was pursuing what appeared to him to be an advantage, or was avoiding that which appeared to him to be a disadvantage, even though he was mistaken in that opinion, then the advocate for the defence must show that no one can be so foolish as to be ignorant of the truth in such an affair. and if that be granted, then the other position cannot be granted, that the man ever doubted at all what the case was, but that he, without the least hesitation, considered what was false as false, and what was true as true. but if he doubted, then it was a proof of absolute insanity for a man under the influence of a doubtful hope to incur a certain danger. but as the accuser when he is seeking to remove the guilt from others must use the topics proper to an advocate for the defence; so the man on his trial must use those topics which have been allotted to an accuser, when he wishes to transfer an accusation from his own shoulders to those of others. ix. but conjectures will be derived from the person, if those things which have been attributed to persons are diligently considered, all of which we have mentioned in the first book; for sometimes some suspicion arises from the name. but when we say the name, we mean also the surname. for the question is about the particular and peculiar name of a man, as if we were to say that a man is called caldus because he is a man of a hasty and sudden disposition; or that ignorant greeks have been deceived by men being called clodius, or caecilius, or marcus. and we may also derive some suspicious circumstances from nature; for all these questions, whether it is a man or a woman, whether he is of this state or that one, of what ancestors a man is descended, who are his relations, what is his age, what is his disposition, what bodily strength, or figure, or constitution he has, which are all portions of a man's nature, have much influence in leading men to form conjectures. many suspicions also are engendered by men's way of life, when the inquiry is how, and by whom, and among whom a man was brought up and educated, and with whom he associates, and what system and habits of domestic life he is devoted to. moreover, argumentation often arises from fortune; when we consider whether a man is a slave or a free man, rich or poor, noble or ignoble, prosperous or unfortunate; whether he now is, or has been, or is likely to be a private individual or a magistrate; or, in fact, when any one of those circumstances is sought to be ascertained which are attributable to fortune. but as habit consists in some perfect and consistent formation of mind or body, of which kind are virtue, knowledge, and their contraries; the fact itself, when the whole circumstances are stated, will show whether this topic affords any ground for suspicion. for the consideration of the state of a man's mind is apt to give good grounds for conjecture, as of his affectionate or passionate disposition, or of any annoyance to which he has been exposed; because the power of all such feelings and circumstances is well understood, and what results ensue after any one of them is very easy to be known. but since study is an assiduous and earnest application of the mind to any particular object with intense desire, that argument which the case itself requires will easily be deduced from it. and again, some suspicion will be able to be inferred from the intention; for intention is a deliberate determination of doing or not doing something. and after this it will be easy to see with respect to facts, and events, and speeches, which are divided into three separate times, whether they contribute anything to confirming the conjectures already formed in the way of suspicion. x. and those things indeed are attributed to persons, which when they are all collected together in one place, it will be the business of the accuser to use them as inducing a disapprobation of the person; for the fact itself has but little force unless the disposition of the man who is accused can be brought under such suspicion as to appear not to be inconsistent with such a fault. for although there is no great advantage in expressing disapprobation of any one's disposition, when there is no cause why he should have done wrong, still it is but a trifling thing that there should be a motive for an offence, if the man's disposition is proved to be inclined to no line of conduct which is at all discreditable. therefore the accuser ought to bring into discredit the life of the man whom he is accusing, by reference to his previous actions, and to show whether he has ever been previously convicted of a similar offence. and if he cannot show that, he must show whether he has ever incurred the suspicion of any similar guilt; and especially, if possible, that he has committed some offence or other of some kind under the influence of some similar motive to this which is in existence here, in some similar case, or in an equally important case, or in one more important, or in one less important. as, if with respect to a man who he says has been induced by money to act in such and such a manner, he were able to show that any other action of his in any case had been prompted by avarice. and again it will be desirable in every cause to mention the nature, or the manner of life, or the pursuits, or the fortune, or some one of those circumstances which are attributed to persons, in connexion with that cause which the speaker says was the motive which induced the man on his trial to do wrong; and also, if one cannot impute anything to him in respect of an exactly corresponding class of faults, to bring the disposition of one's adversary into discredit by reference to some very dissimilar class. as, if you were to accuse him of having done so and so, because he was instigated by avarice; and yet, if you are unable to show that the man whom you accuse is avaricious, you must show that other vices are not wholly foreign to his nature, and that on that account it is no great wonder if a man who in any affair has behaved basely, or covetously, or petulantly, should have erred in this business also. for in proportion as you can detract from the honesty and authority of the man who is accused, in the same proportion has the force of the whole defence been weakened. if it cannot be shown that the person on his trial has been ever before implicated in any previous guilt, then that topic will come into play which we are to use for the purpose of encouraging the judges to think that the former character of the man has no bearing on the present question; for that he has formerly concealed his wickedness, but that he is now manifestly convicted; so that it is not proper that this case should be looked at with reference to his former life, but that his former life should now be reproved by this conduct of his, and that formerly he had either no opportunity of doing wrong, or no motive to do so. or if this cannot be said, then we must have recourse to this last assertion,--that it is no wonder if he now does wrong for the first time, for that it is necessary that a man who wishes to commit sin, must some time or other commit it for the first time. if nothing whatever is known of his previous life, then it is best to pass over this topic, and to state the reason why it is passed over, and then to proceed at once to corroborate the accusation by arguments. xi. but the advocate for the defence ought in the first place to show, if he can, that the life of the person who is accused has always been as honourable as possible. and he will do this best by recounting any well known services which he has rendered to the state in general, or any that he has done to his parents, or relations, or friends, or kinsmen, or associates, or even any which are more remarkable or more unusual, especially if they have been done with any extraordinary labour, or danger, or both, or when there was no absolute necessity, purely because it was his duty, or if he has done any great benefit to the republic, or to his parents, or to any other of the people whom i have just mentioned, and if, too, he can show that he has never been so influenced by any covetousness as to abandon his duty, or to commit any error of any description. and this statement will be the more confirmed, if when it is said that he had an opportunity of doing something which was not quite creditable with impunity, it can be shown at the same time that he had no inclination to do it. but this very kind of argument will be all the stronger if the person on his trial can be shown to have been unimpeachable previously in that particular sort of conduct of which he is now accused, as, for instance, if he be accused of having done so and so for the sake of avarice, and can be proved to have been all his life utterly indifferent to the acquisition of money. on this indignation may be expressed with great weight, united with a complaint that it is a most miserable thing, and it may be argued that it is a most scandalous thing, to think that that was the man's motive, when his disposition during the whole of his life has been as unlike it as possible. such a motive often harries audacious men into guilt, but it has no power to impel an upright man to sin. it is unjust, moreover, and injurious to every virtuous man, that a previously well-spent life should not be of the greatest possible advantage to a man at such a time, but that a decision should be come to with reference only to a sudden accusation which can be got up in a hurry, and with no reference to a man's previous course of life, which cannot be extemporised to suit an occasion, and which cannot be altered by any means. but if there have been any acts of baseness in his previous life, or if they be said to have undeservedly acquired such a reputation, or if his actions are to be attributed by the envy, or love of detraction, or mistaken opinion of some people, either to ignorance, or necessity, or to the persuasion of young men, or to any other affection of mind in which there is no vice, or if he has been tainted with errors of a different kind, so that his disposition appears not entirely faultless, but still far remote from such a fault, and if his disgraceful or infamous course of life cannot possibly be mitigated by any speech,--then it will be proper to say that the inquiry does not concern his life and habits, but is about that crime for which he is now prosecuted, so that, omitting all former actions, it is proper that the matter which is in hand should be attended to. xii. but suspicions may be derived from the fact itself, if the administration of the whole matter is examined into in all its parts; and these suspicions will arise partly from the affair itself when viewed separately, and partly from the persons and the affairs taken together. they will be able to be derived from the affair, if we diligently consider those circumstances which have been attributed to such affairs. and from them all the different genera, and most subordinate species, will appear to be collected together in this statement of the case. it will therefore be desirable to consider in the first place what circumstances there are which are united to the affair itself,--that is to say, which cannot be separated from it, and with reference to this topic it will be sufficient to consider what was done before the affair in question took place from which a hope arose of accomplishing it, and an opportunity was sought of doing it, what happened with respect to the affair itself, and what ensued afterwards. in the next place, the execution of the whole affair must be dealt with for this class of circumstances which have been attributed to the affair has been discussed in the second topic. so with reference to this class of circumstances we must have a regard to time, place, occasion, and opportunity, the force of each particular of which has been already carefully explained when we were laying down precepts for the confirmation of an argument. wherefore, that we may not appear to have given no rules respecting these things, and that we may not, on the other hand, appear to have repeated the same things twice over, we will briefly point out what it is proper should be considered in each part. in reference to place, then, opportunity is to be considered; and in reference to time, remoteness; and in reference to occasion, the convenience suitable for doing anything; and with reference to facility, the store and abundance of those things by means of which anything is done more easily, or without which it cannot be done at all. in the next place we must consider what is added to the affair, that is to say, what is greater, what is less, what is equally great, what is similar. and from these topics some conjecture is derived, if proper consideration is given to the question how affairs of greater importance, or of less, or of equal magnitude, or of similar character, are usually transacted. and in this class of subjects the result also ought to be examined into; that is to say, what usually ensues as the consequence of every action must be carefully considered; as, for instance, fear, joy, trepidation. but the fourth part was a necessary consequence from those circumstances which we said were attendant on affairs. in it those things are examined which follow the accomplishment of an affair, either immediately or after an interval. and in this examination we shall see whether there is any custom, any action, any system, or practice, or habit, any general approval or disapproval on the part of mankind in general, from which circumstance some suspicion at times arises. xiii. but there are some suspicions which are derived from the circumstances which are attributed to persons and things taken together. for many circumstances arising from fortune, and from nature, and from the way of a man's life, and from his pursuits and actions, and from chance, or from speeches, or from a person's designs, or from his usual habit of mind or body, have reference to the same things which render a statement credible or incredible, and which are combined with a suspicion of the fact. for it is above all things desirable that inquiry should be made in this way, of stating the case first of all, whether anything could be done; in the next place, whether it could have been done by any one else; then we consider the opportunity, on which we have spoken before; then whether what has been done is a crime which one is bound to repent of; we must inquire too whether he had any hope of concealing it; then whether there was any necessity for his doing so; and as to this we must inquire both whether it was necessary that the thing should be done at all, or that it should be done in that manner. and some portion of these considerations refer to the design, which has been already spoken of as what is attributed to persons; as in the instance of that cause which we have mentioned. these circumstances will be spoken of as before the affair,--the facts, i mean, of his having joined himself to him so intimately on the march, of his having sought occasion to speak with him, of his having lodged with him, and supped with him. these circumstances were a part of the affair,--night, and sleep. these came after the affair,--the fact of his having departed by himself; of his having left his intimate companion with such indifference; of his having a bloody sword. part of these things refer to the design. for the question is asked, whether the plan of executing this deed appears to have been one carefully devised and considered, or whether it was adopted so hastily that it is not likely that any one should have gone on to crime so rashly. and in this inquiry we ask also whether the deed could have been done with equal ease in any other manner; or whether it could have happened by chance. for very often if there has been a want of money, or means, or assistants, there would not appear to have been any opportunity of doing such a deed. if we take careful notice in this way, we shall see that all these circumstances which are attributed to things, and those too which are attributed to persons, fit one another. in this case it is neither easy nor necessary, as it is in the former divisions, to draw distinctions as to how the accuser and how the advocate for the defence ought to handle each topic. it is not necessary, because, when the case is once stated, the circumstances themselves will teach those men, who do not expect to find everything imaginable in this treatise, what is suitable for each case; and they will apply a reasonable degree of understanding to the rules which are here laid down, in the way of comparing them with the systems of others. and it is not easy, because it would be an endless business to enter into a separate explanation with respect to every portion of every case; and besides, these circumstances are adapted to each part of the case in different manners on different occasions. xiv. wherefore it will be desirable to consider what we have now set forth. and our mind will approach invention with more ease, if it often and carefully goes over both its own relation and that of the opposite party, of what has been done; and if, eliciting what suspicions each part gives rise to, it considers why, and with what intention, and with what hopes and plans, each thing was done. why it was done in this manner rather than in that; why by this man rather than by that; why it was done without any assistant, or why with this one; why no one was privy to it, or why somebody was, or why this particular person was; why this was done before; why this was not done before; why it was done in this particular instance; why it was done afterwards; what was done designedly, or what came as a consequence of the original action; whether the speech is consistent with the facts or with itself; whether this is a token of this thing, or of that thing, or of both this and that, and which it is a token of most; what has been done which ought not to have been done, or what has not been done which ought to have been done. when the mind considers every portion of the whole business with this intention, then the topics which have been reserved, will come into use, which we have already spoken of; and certain arguments will be derived from them both separately and unitedly. part of which arguments will depend on what is probable, part on what is necessary; there will be added also to conjecture questions, testimony, reports. all of which things each party ought to endeavour by a similar use of these rules to turn to the advantage of his own cause. for it will be desirable to suggest suspicions from questions, from evidence, and from some report or other, in the same manner as they have been derived from the cause, or the person, or the action. wherefore those men appear to us to be mistaken who think that this kind of suspicion does not need any regular system, and so do those who think that it is better to give rules in a different manner about the whole method of conjectural argument. for all conjecture must be derived from the same topics; for both the cause of every rumour and the truth of it will be found to arise from the things attributed to him who in his inquiry has made any particular statement, and to him who has done so in his evidence. but in every cause a part of the arguments is joined to that cause alone which is expressed, and it is derived from it in such a manner that it cannot be very conveniently transferred from it to all other causes of the same kind; but part of it is more rambling, and adapted either to all causes of the same kind, or at all events to most of them. xv. these arguments then which can be transferred to many causes, we call common topics. for a common topic either contains some amplification of a well understood thing,--as if any one were desirous to show that a man who has murdered his father is worthy of the very extremity of punishment; and this topic is not to be used except when the cause has been proved and is being summed up;--or of a doubtful matter which has some probable arguments which can be produced on the other side of the question also; as a man may say that it is right to put confidence in suspicions, and, on the contrary, that it is not right to put confidence in suspicions. and a portion of the common topics is employed in indignation or in complaint, concerning which we have spoken already. a part is used in urging any probable reason on either side. but an oration is chiefly distinguished and made plain by a sparing introduction of common topics, and by giving the hearers actual information by some topics, and by confirming previously used arguments in the same way. for it is allowable to say something common when any topic peculiar to the cause is introduced with care; and when the mind of the hearer is refreshed so as to be inclined to attend to what follows, or is reawakened by everything which has been already said. for all the embellishments of elocution, in which there is a great deal both of sweetness and gravity, and all things, too, which have any dignity in the invention of words or sentences, are bestowed upon common topics. wherefore there are not as many common topics for orators as there are for lawyers. for they cannot be handled with elegance and weight, as their nature requires, except by those who have acquired a great flow of words and ideas by constant practice. and this is enough for us to say in a general way concerning the entire class of common topics. xvi. now we will proceed to explain what common topics are usually available in a conjectural statement of a case. as for instance--that it is proper to place confidence in suspicions, or that it is not proper, that it is proper to believe witnesses, or that it is not proper, that it is proper to believe examinations, or that it is not proper, that it is proper to pay attention to the previous course of a man's life, or that it is not proper, that it is quite natural that a man who has done so and so should have committed this crime also, or that it is not natural, that it is especially necessary to consider the motive, or that it is not necessary. and all these common topics, and any others which arise out of any argument peculiar to the cause in hand, may be turned either way. but there is one certain topic for an accuser by which he exaggerates the atrocity of an action, and there is another by which he says that it is not necessary to pity the miserable. that, too, is a topic for an advocate for the defence by which the false accusations of the accusers are shown up with indignation, and that by which pity is endeavoured to be excited by complaints. these and all other common topics are derived from the same rules from which the other systems of arguments proceed, but those are handled in a more delicate, and acute, and subtle manner, and these with more gravity, and more embellishment, and with carefully selected words and ideas. for in them the object is, that that which is stated may appear to be true. in these, although it is desirable to preserve the appearance of truth, still the main object is to give importance to the statement. now let us pass on to another statement of the case. xvii. when there is a dispute as to the name of a thing because the meaning of a name is to be defined by words, it is called a definitive statement. by way of giving an example of this, the following case may be adduced. caius flaminius, who as consul met with great disasters in the second punic war, when he was tribune of the people, proposed, in a very seditious manner, an agrarian law to the people, against the consent of the senate, and altogether against the will of all the nobles. while he was holding an assembly of the people, his own father dragged him from the temple. he is impeached of treason. the charge is--"you attacked the majesty of the people in dragging down a tribune of the people from the temple." the denial is--"i did not attack the majesty of the people." the question is--"whether he attacked the majesty of the people or not?" the argument is--"i only used the power which i legitimately had over my own son." the denial of this argument is--"but a man who, by the power belonging to him as a father, that is to say, as a private individual, attacks the power of a tribune of the people, that is to say, the power of the people itself, attacks the majesty of the people." the question for the judges is--"whether a man attacks the majesty of the people who uses his power as a father in opposition to the power of a tribune?" and all the arguments must be brought to bear on this question. and, that no one may suppose by any chance that we are not aware that some other statement of the case may perhaps be applicable to this cause, we are taking that portion only for which we are going to give rules. but when all parts have been explained in this book, any one, if he will only attend diligently, will see every sort of statement in every sort of cause, and all their parts, and all the discussions which are incidental to them. for we shall mention them all. the first topic then for an accuser is a short and plain definition, and one in accordance with the general opinion of men, of that name, the meaning of which is the subject of inquiry. in this manner--"to attack the majesty of the people is to detract from the dignity, or the rank, or the power of the people, or of those men to whom the people has given power." this definition being thus briefly set forth in words, must be confirmed by many assertions and reasons and must be shown to be such as you have described it. afterwards it will be desirable to add to the definition which you have given, the action of the man who is accused, and to add it too with reference to the character which you have proved it to have. take for instance--"to attack the majesty of the people." you must show that the adversary does attack the majesty of the people, and you must confirm this whole topic by a common topic, by which the atrocity or indignity of the fact, and the whole guilt of it, and also our indignation at it, may be increased. after that it will be desirable to invalidate the definition of the adversaries, but that will be invalidated if it be proved to be false. this proof must be deduced from the belief of men concerning it, when we consider in what manner and under what circumstances men are accustomed to use that expression in their ordinary writing or talking. it will also be invalidated if the proof of that description be shown to be discreditable or useless, and if it be shown what disadvantages will ensue if that position be once admitted. and it will be derived from the divisions of honour and usefulness, concerning which we will give rules when we lay down a system of deliberations. and if we compare the definition given by our adversaries with our own definition, and prove our own to be true, and honourable, and useful, and theirs to be entirely different. but we shall seek out things like them in an affair of either greater, or less, or equal importance, from which our description will be proved. xviii now, if there be more matters to be defined,--as for instance, if we inquire whether he is a thief or a sacrilegious person who has stolen sacred vessels from a private house,--we shall have to employ many definitions, and then the whole cause will have to be dealt with on a similar principle. but it is a common topic to dwell on the wickedness of that man who endeavours to wrest to his own purposes not only the effect of things, but also the meaning of words, in order both to do as he pleases, and to call what he does by whatever name he likes. then the first topic to be used by an advocate for the defence, is also a brief and plain definition of a name, adopted in accordance with the opinion of men. in this way--to diminish the majesty of the people is to usurp some of the public powers when you are not invested with any office. and then the confirmation of this definition is derived from similar instances and similar principles. afterwards comes the separation of one's own action from that definition. then comes the common topic by which the expediency or honesty of the action is increased. then comes the reprehension of the definition of the opposite party, which is also derived from all the same topics as those which we have prescribed to the accuser. and afterwards other arguments will be adduced besides the common topic. but that will be a common topic for the advocate of the defence to use, by which he will express indignation that the accuser not only alters facts in order to bring him into danger, but that he attempts also to alter words. for those common topics which are assumed either for the purpose of demonstrating the falsehood of the accusations of the prosecutor, or for exciting pity, or for expressing indignation at an action, or for the purpose of deterring people from showing pity, are derived from the magnitude of the danger, not from the nature of the cause. wherefore they are incidental not to every cause, but to every description of cause. we have made mention of them in speaking of the conjectural statement of a case, but we shall use induction when the cause requires. xix but when the pleading appears to require some translation, or to need any alteration, either because he is not pleading who ought to do so, or he is not pleading with the man he ought, or before the men whom he ought to have for hearers, or in accordance with the proper law, or under liability to the proper punishment, or in reference to the proper accusation, or at the proper time, it is then called a transferable statement of the case. we should require many examples of this if we were to inquire into every sort of translation, but because the principle on which the rules proceed is similar, we have no need of a superfluity of instances. and in our usual practice it happens from many causes that such translations occur but seldom. for many actions are prevented by the exceptions allowed by the praetors, and we have the civil law established in such a way that that man is sure to lose his cause who does not conduct it as he ought. so that those actions greatly depend on the state of the law. for there the exceptions are demanded, and an opportunity is allowed of conducting the cause in some manner, and every formula of private actions is arranged. but in actual trials they occur less frequently, and yet, if they ever do occur at all, they are such that by themselves they have less strength, but they are confirmed by the assumption of some other statement in addition to them. as in a certain trial which took place "when a certain person had been prosecuted for poisoning, and, because he was also accused of parricide, the trial was ordered to proceed out of its regular order, when in the accusation some charges were corroborated by witnesses and arguments, but the parricide was barely mentioned, it was proper for the advocate for the defence to dwell much and long on this circumstance, as, nothing whatever was proved respecting the death of the accused person's parent, and therefore that it was a scandalous thing to inflict that punishment on him which is inflicted on parricides, but that that must inevitably be the case if he were convicted, since that it is added as one of the counts of the indictment, and since it is on that account that the trial has been ordered to be taken out of its regular order. therefore if it is not right that that punishment should be inflicted on the criminal, it is also not right that he should be convicted, since that punishment must inevitably follow a conviction." here the advocate for the defence, by bringing the commutation of the punishment into his speech, according to the transferable class of topics, will invalidate the whole accusation. but he will also confirm the alteration by a conjectural statement of the case when employed in defending his client on the other charges. xx but we may give an example of translation in a cause, in this way--when certain armed men had come for the purpose of committing violence, and armed men were also prepared on the other side, and when one of the armed men with his sword cut off the hand of a certain roman knight who resisted his violence, the man whose hand had been cut off brings an action for the injury. the man against whom the action is brought pleads a demurrer before the praetor, without there being any prejudice to a man on trial for his life. the man who brings the action demands a trial on the simple fact, the man against whom the action is brought says that a demurrer ought to be added. the question is--"shall the demurrer be allowed or not?" the reason is--"no, for it is not desirable in an action for damages that there should be any prejudged decision of a crime, such as is the subject of inquiry when assassins are on their trial." the arguments intended to invalidate this reason are--"the injuries are such that it is a shame that a decision should not be come to as early as possible." the thing to be decided is--"whether the atrocity of the injuries is a sufficient reason why, while that point is before the tribunal, a previous decision should be given concerning some greater crime, concerning which a tribunal is prepared." and this is the example. but in every cause the question ought to be put to both parties, by whom, and by whose agency, and how, and when it is desirable that the action should be brought, or the decision given; or what ought to be decided concerning that matter. that ought to be assumed from the divisions of the law, concerning which we must speak hereafter; and we then ought to argue as to what is usually done in similar cases, and to consider whether, in this instance, out of wickedness, one course is really adopted and another pretended; or whether the tribunal has been appointed and the action allowed to proceed through folly or necessity, because it could not be done in any other manner, or owing to an opportunity which offered for acting in such a manner; or whether it has been done rightly without any interruption of any sort. but it is a common topic to urge against the man who seeks to avail himself of a demurrer to an action, that he is fleeing from a decision and from punishment, because he has no confidence in the justice of his cause. and that, owing to the demurrer, everything will be in confusion, if matters are not conducted and brought into court as they ought to be; that is to say, if it is either pleaded against a man it ought not, or with an improper penalty, or with an improper charge, or at an improper time; and this principle applies to any confusion of every sort of tribunal. those three statements of cases then, which are not susceptible of any decisions, must be treated in this manner. at present let us consider the question and its divisions on general principles. xxi. when the fact and the name of the action in question is agreed upon, and when there is no dispute as to the character of the action to be commenced; then the effect, and the nature, and the character of the business is inquired into. we have already said, that there appear to be two divisions of this; one which relates to facts and one which relates to law. it is like this: "a certain person made a minor his heir, but the minor died before he had come into the property which was under the care of guardians. a dispute has arisen concerning the inheritance which came to the minor, between those who are the reversionary heirs of the father of the minor,--the possession belongs to the reversionary heirs." the first statement is that of the next of kin--"that money, concerning which he, whose next of kin we are, said nothing in his will, belongs to us." the reply is--"no, it belongs to us who are the reversionary heirs according to the will of his father." the thing to be inquired into is--to whom does it rightfully belong? the argument is--"for the father made a will for himself and for his son as long as the latter was a minor, wherefore it is quite clear that the things which belonged to the son are now ours, according to the will of the father." the argument to upset this is--"aye, the father made his own will, and appointed you as reversionary heir, not to his son, but himself. wherefore, nothing except what belonged to him himself can be yours by his will." the point to be determined is, whether any one can make a will to affect the property of his son who is a minor, or, whether the reversionary heirs of the father of the family himself, are not the heirs of his son also as long as he is a minor. and it is not foreign to the subject, (in order that i may not, on the one hand, omit to mention it, or, on the other, keep continually repeating it,) to mention a thing here which has a bearing on many questions. there are causes which have many reasons, though the grounds of the cause are simple, and that is the case when what has been done, or what is being defended, may appear right or natural on many different accounts, as in this very cause. for this further reason may be suggested by the heirs--"for there cannot be more heirs than one of one property, for causes quite dissimilar, nor has it ever happened, that one man was heir by will, and another by law, of the same property." this, again, is what will be replied, in order to invalidate this--"it is not one property only; because one part of it was the adventitious property of the minor, whose heir no one had been appointed by will at that time, in the case of anything happening to the minor, and with respect to the other portion of the property, the inclination of the father, even after he was dead, had the greatest weight, and that, now that the minor is dead, gives the property to his own heirs." the question to be decided is, "whether it was one property?" and then, if they employ this argument by way of invalidating the other, "that there can be many heirs of one property for quite dissimilar causes," the question to be decided arises out of that argument, namely "whether there can be more heirs than one, of different classes and character, to one property?" xxii therefore, in one statement of the case, it has been understood how there are more reasons than one, more topics than one to invalidate such reasons, and besides that, more questions than one for the decision of the judge. now let us look to the rules for this class of question. we must consider in what the rights of each party, or of all the parties (if there are many parties to the suit), consist. the beginning, then, appears derived from nature; but some things seem to have become adopted in practice for some consideration of expediency which is either more or less evident to us. but afterwards things which were approved of, or which seemed useful, either through habit, or because of their truth, appeared to have been confirmed by laws, and some things seem to be a law of nature, which it is not any vague opinion, but a sort of innate instinct that implants in us, as religion, piety, revenge for injuries, gratitude, attention to superiors, and truth. they call religion, that which is conversant with the fear of, and ceremonious observance paid to the gods; they call that piety, which warns us to fulfil our duties towards our country, our parents, or others connected with us by ties of blood, gratitude is that which retains a recollection of honours and benefits conferred on one, and acts of friendship done to one, and which shows itself by a requital of good offices, revenge for injuries is that by which we repel violence and insult from ourselves and from those who ought to be dear to us, by defending or avenging ourselves, and by means of which we punish offences, attention to superiors, they call the feeling under the influence of which we feel reverence for and pay respect to those who excel us in wisdom or honour or in any dignity, truth, they style that habit by which we take care that nothing has been or shall be done in any other manner than what we state. and the laws of nature themselves are less inquired into in a controversy of this sort, because they have no particular connexion with the civil law of which we are speaking and also, because they are somewhat remote from ordinary understandings. still it is often desirable to introduce them for the purpose of some comparison, or with a view to add dignity to the discussion. but the laws of habit are considered to be those which without any written law, antiquity has sanctioned by the common consent of all men. and with reference to this habit there are some laws which are now quite fixed by their antiquity. of which sort there are many other laws also, and among them far the greatest part of those laws which the praetors are in the habit of including in their edicts. but some kinds of law have already been established by certain custom, such as those relating to covenants, equity, formal decisions. a covenant is that which is agreed upon between two parties, because it is considered to be so just that it is said to be enforced by justice, equity is that which is equal to all men, a formal decision is that by which something has been established by the declared opinion of some person or persons authorized to pronounce one. as for regular laws, they can only be ascertained from the laws. it is desirable, then, by trying over every part of the law, to take notice of and to extract from these portions of the law whatever shall appear to arise out of the case itself, or out of a similar one, or out of one of greater or less importance. but since, as has been already said, there are two kinds of common topics, one of which contains the amplification of a doubtful matter, and the other of a certain one, we must consider what the case itself suggests, and what can be and ought to be amplified by a common topic. for certain topics to suit every possible case cannot be laid down, and perhaps in most of them it will be necessary at times to rely on the authority of the lawyers, and at times to speak against it. but we must consider, in this case and in all cases, whether the case itself suggests any common topics besides those which we have mentioned. now let us consider the juridical kind of inquiry and its different divisions. xxiii the juridical inquiry is that in which the nature of justice and injustice, and the principle of reward or punishment, is examined. its divisions are two, one of which we call the absolute inquiry, and the other the one which is accessory. that is the absolute inquiry which itself contains in itself the question of right and not right, not as the inquiry about facts does, in an overhand and obscure manner, but openly and intelligibly. it is of this sort.--when the thebans had defeated the lacedaemonians in war, as it was nearly universal custom among the greeks, when they were waging war against one another, for those who were victorious to erect some trophy on their borders, for the sake only of declaring their victory at present, not that it might remain for ever as a memorial of the war, they erected a brazen trophy. they are accused before the amphictyons, that is, before the common council of greece. the charge is, "they ought not to have done so." the denial is, "we ought." the question is, "whether they ought." the reason is, "for we gained such glory by our valour in that war, that we wished to leave an everlasting memorial of it to posterity." the argument adduced to invalidate this is, "but still it is not right for greeks to erect an eternal memorial of then enmity to greeks." the question to be decided is, "as for the sake of celebrating their own excessive valour greeks have erected an imperishable monument of their enmity to greeks, whether they have done well or ill?" we, therefore, have now put this reason in the mouth of the thebans, in order that this class of cause which we are now considering might be thoroughly understood. for if we had furnished them with that argument which is perhaps the one which they actually used, "we did so because our enemies warred against us without any considerations of justice and piety," we should then be digressing to the subject of retorting an accusation, of which we will speak hereafter. but it is manifest that both kinds of question are incidental to this controversy. and arguments must be derived for it from the same topics as those which are applicable to the cause depending on matters of fact, which has been all ready treated of. but to take many weighty common topics both from the cause itself, if there is any opportunity for employing the language of indignation or complaint, and also from the advantage and general character of the law, will be not only allowable, but proper, if the dignity of the cause appears to require such expedients. xxiv. at present let us consider the assumptive portion of the juridical inquiry. but it is then called assumptive, when the fact cannot be proved by its own intrinsic evidence, but is defended by some argument brought from extraneous circumstances. its divisions are four in number: comparison, the retort of the accusation, the refutation of it as far as regards oneself, and concession. comparison is when any action which intrinsically cannot be approved, is defended by reference to that for the sake of which it was done. it is something of this sort:--"a certain general, when he was blockaded by the enemy and could not escape by any possible means, made a covenant with them to leave behind his arms and his baggage, on condition of being allowed to lead away his soldiers in safety. and he did so. having lost his arms and his baggage, he saved his men, beyond the hopes of any one. he is prosecuted for treason." then comes the definition of treason. but let us consider the topic which we are at present discussing. the charge is, "he had no business to leave behind the arms and baggage." the denial is, "yes, he had." the question is, "whether he had any right to do so?" the reason for doing so is, "for else he would have lost all his soldiers." the argument brought to invalidate this is either the conjectural one, "they would not have been lost," or the other conjectural one, "that was not your reason for doing so." and from this arise the questions for decision: "whether they would have been lost?" and, "whether that was the reason why he did so?" or else, this comparative reason which we want at this minute: "but it was better to lose his soldiers than to surrender the arms and baggage to the enemy." and from this arises the question for the decision of the judges: "as all the soldiers must have been lost unless they had come into this covenant, whether it was better to lose the soldiers, or to agree to these conditions?" it will be proper to deal with this kind of cause by reference to these topics, and to employ the principles of, and rules for the other statements of cases also. and especially to employ conjectures for the purpose of invalidating that which those who are accused will compare with the act which is alleged against them as a crime. and that will be done if either that result which the advocates for the defence say would have happened unless that action had been performed which is now brought before the court, be denied to have been likely to ensue; or if it can be proved that it was done with a different object and in a different manner from that stated by the man who is on his trial. the confirmation of that statement, and also the argument used by the opposite party to invalidate it, must both be derived from the conjectural statement of the case. but if the accused person is brought before the court, because of his action coming under the name of some particular crime, (as is the case in this instance, for the man is prosecuted for treason), it will be desirable to employ a definition and the rules for a definition. xxv. and this usually takes place in this kind of examination, so that it is desirable to employ both conjecture and definition. but if any other kind of inquiry arises, it will be allowable on similar principles to transfer to it the rules for that kind of inquiry. for the accuser must of all things take pains to invalidate, by as many reasons as possible, the very fact on account of which the person on his trial thinks that it is granted to him that he was right. and it is easy to do so, if he attempts to overturn that argument by as many statements of the case as he can employ. but comparison itself, when separated from the other kinds of discussion, will be considered according to its own intrinsic power, if that which is mentioned in the comparison is shown, either not to have been honourable, or not to have been useful, or not to have been necessary, or not so greatly useful, or not so very honourable, or not so exceedingly necessary. in the next place it is desirable for the accuser to separate the action which he himself is accusing, from that which the advocate for the defence compares with it. and he will do that if he shows that it is not usually done in such a manner, and that it ought not to be done so, and that there is no reason why this thing should be done on this account; for instance, that those things which have been provided for the sake of safety, should be surrendered to the enemy for the sake of safety. afterwards it will be desirable to compare the injury with the benefit, and altogether to compare the action which is impeached with that which is praised by the advocate for the defence or which is attempted to be proved as what must inevitably have ensued, and then, by disparaging the one at the same time to exaggerate the importance of the mischief caused by the other. that will be effected if it be shown that that which the person on his trial avoided was more honourable, more advantageous, and more necessary than that which he did. but the influence and character of what is honourable, and useful, and necessary, will be ascertained in the rules given for deliberation. in the next place, it will be desirable to explain that comparative kind of judicial decision as if it were a deliberative cause and then afterwards to discuss it by the light thrown on it by rules for deliberation. for let this be the question for judicial decision which we have already mentioned--"as all the soldiers would have been lost if they had not come to this agreement, was it better for the soldiers to be lost, or to come to this agreement?" it will be desirable that this should be dealt with with reference to the topics concerning deliberation, as if the matter were to come to some consultation. xxvi. but the advocate for the defence will take the topics in accordance with which other statements of the case are made by the accuser, and will prepare his own defence from those topics with reference to the same statements. but all other topics which belong to the comparison, he will deal with in the contrary manner. the common topics will be these,--the accuser will press his charges against the man who confesses some discreditable or pernicious action, or both, but still seeks to make some defence, and will allege the mischievous or discreditable nature of his conduct with great indignation. the advocate for the defence will insist upon it, that no action ought to be considered pernicious or discreditable, or, on the other hand, advantageous or creditable, unless it is ascertained with what intention, at what time, and on what account it was done. and this topic is so common, that if it is well handled in this cause it is likely to be of great weight in convincing the hearers. and there is another topic, by means of which the magnitude of the service done is demonstrated with very great amplification, by reference to the usefulness, or honourableness, or necessity of the action. and there is a third topic, by means of which the matter which is expressed in words is placed before the eyes of those men who are the hearers, so that they think that they themselves also would have done the same things, if the same circumstances and the same cause for doing so had happened to them at the same time. the retorting of a charge takes place, when the accused person, having confessed that of which he is accused, says that he did it justifiably, being induced by the sin committed against him by the other party. as in this case--"horatius, when he had slain the three curiatii and lost his two brothers, returned home victorious. he saw his sister not troubled about the death of her brothers, but at the same time calling on the name of curiatius, who had been betrothed to her, with groans and lamentation. being indignant, he slew the maid". he is prosecuted. the charge is, "you slew your sister wrongfully". the refutation is "i slew her lawfully". the question is, "whether he slew her lawfully". the reason is, "yes, for she was lamenting the death of enemies, and was indifferent to that of her brothers, she was grieved that i and the roman people were victorious". the argument to invalidate this reason is, "still she ought not to have been put to death by her brother without being convicted". on this the question for the decision of the judges is, "whether when horatia was showing her indifference to the death of her brothers, and lamenting that of the enemy, and not rejoicing at the victory of her brother and of the roman people, she deserved to be put to death by her brother without being condemned". xxvii for this kind of cause, in the first place, whatever is given out of the other statements of cases ought to be taken, as has been already enjoined when speaking of comparison. after that, if there is any opportunity of doing so, some statement of the case ought to be employed by which he to whom the crime is imputed may be defended. in the next place, we ought to argue that the fault which the accused person is imputing to another, is a lighter one than that which he himself committed; in the next place, we ought to employ some portion of a demurrer, and to show by whom, and through whose agency, and how, and when that matter ought to have been tried, or adjudged, or decided. and at the same time, we ought to show that it was not proper that punishment should have been inflicted before any judgment was pronounced. then we must also point out the laws and the course of judicial proceeding by which that offence which the accused person punished of his own accord, might have been chastised according to precedent, and by the regular course of justice. in the next place, it will be right to deny that it is proper to listen to the charge which is brought by the accused person against his victim, when he who brings it did not choose to submit it to the decision of the judges, and it may be urged that one ought to consider that on which no decision has been pronounced, as if it had not been done, and after that to point out the impudence of those men who are now before the judges accusing the man whom they themselves condemned without consulting the judges, and are now bringing him to trial on whom they have already inflicted punishment. after this we may say that it is bringing irregularity into the courts of justice, and that the judges will be advancing further than their power authorizes them, if they pronounce judgment at the same time in the case of the accused person, and of him whom the accused person impeaches. and in the next place, we may point out if this rule is established, and if men avenge one offence by another offence, and one injury by another injury, what vast inconvenience will ensue from such conduct, and that if the person who is now the prosecutor had chosen to do so too, there would have been no need of this trial at all, and that if every one else were to do so, there would be an end of all courts of justice. after that it may be pointed out, that even if the maiden who is now accused by him of this crime had been convicted, he would not himself have had any right to inflict punishment on her, so that it is a shameful thing that the man who would have had no right to punish her, even if she had been convicted, should have punished her without her being even brought to trial at all. and then the accused person may be called upon to produce the law which he says justifies his having acted in such a manner. after that, as we have enjoined when speaking of comparison, that that which is mentioned in comparison should be disparaged by the accuser as much as possible, so, too, in this kind of argument, it will be advantageous to compare the fault of the party on whom the accusation is retorted with the crime of the accused person who justified his action as having been lawfully done. and after that it is necessary to point out that that is not an action of such a sort, that on account of it this other crime ought to have been committed. the last point, as in the case of comparison, is the assumption of a judicial decision, and the dilating upon it in the way of amplification, in accordance with the rules given respecting deliberation. xxviii but the advocate for the defence will invalidate what is urged by means of other statements from those topics which have already been given. but the demurrer itself he will prove first of all, by dwelling on the guilt and audacity of the man to whom he imputes the crime, and by bringing it before the eyes of the judges with as much indignation as possible if the case admits of it, and also with vehement complaint, and afterwards by proving that the accused person chastised the offence more lightly than the offender deserved, by comparing the punishment inflicted with the injury done. in the next place, it will be desirable to invalidate by opposite arguments those topics which are handled by the prosecutor in such a way that they are capable of being refuted and retorted, of which kind are the three last topics which i have mentioned. but that most vehement attack of the prosecutors, by which they attempt to prove that irregularity will be introduced into all the courts of justice if power is given to any man of inflicting punishment on a person who has not been convicted, will have its force much weakened, first of all, if the injury be shown to be such as appears intolerable not only to a good man but absolutely to any freeman, and in the next place to be so manifest that it could not have been denied even by the person who had done it, and moreover, of such a kind that the person who did chastise it was the person who above all others was bound to chastise it. so that it was not so proper nor so honourable for that matter to be brought before a court of justice as for it to be chastised in that manner in which, and by that person by whom it was chastised, and lastly, that the case was so notorious that there was no occasion whatever for a judicial investigation into it. and here it will be proper to show, by arguments and by other similar means, that there are very many things so atrocious and so notorious, that it is not only not necessary, but that it is not even desirable to wait for the slow proceedings of a judicial trial. there is a common topic for an accuser to employ against a person, who, when he cannot deny the fact of which he is accused, still derives some hope from his attempt to show that irregularity will be introduced into all courts of justice by such proceedings. and here there will come in the demonstration of the usefulness of judicial proceedings, and the complaint of the misfortune of that person who has been punished without being condemned; and the indignation to be expressed against the audacity and cruelty of the man who has inflicted the punishment. there is also a topic for the advocate for the defence to employ, in complaining of the audacity of the person whom he chastised; and in urging that the case ought to be judged of, not by the name of the action itself, but with reference to the intention of the person who committed it, and the cause for which, and the time at which it was committed. and in pointing out what great mischief will ensue either from the injurious conduct, or the wickedness of some one, unless such excessive and undisguised audacity were chastised by him whose reputation, or parents, or children, or something else which either necessarily is, or at least ought to be dear to every one, is affected, by such conduct. xxix. the transference of an accusation takes place when the accusation of that crime which is imputed to one by the opposite party is transferred to some other person or circumstance. and that is done in two ways. for sometimes the motive itself is transferred, and sometimes the act. we may employ this as an instance of the transference of the motive:--"the rhodians sent some men as ambassadors to athens. the quaestors did not give the ambassadors the money for their expenses which they ought to have given them. the ambassadors consequently did not go. they are impeached." the charge brought against them is, "they ought to have gone." the denial is, "they ought not." the question is, "whether they ought." the reason alleged is, "because the money for their expenses, which is usually given to ambassadors from the public treasury, was not given to them by the quaestor." the argument brought to invalidate that reason is, "still you ought to have discharged the duty which was entrusted to you by the public authority." the question for the decision of the judges is, "whether, as the money which ought to have been supplied from the public treasury was not furnished to those men who were appointed ambassadors, they were nevertheless bound to discharge the duties of their embassy." in this class of inquiry, as in all the other kinds, it will be desirable to see if anything can be assumed, either from a conjectural statement of the case, or from any other kind of statement. and after that, many arguments can be brought to bear on this question, both from comparison, and from the transference of the guilt to other parties. but the prosecutor will, in the first place, if he can, defend the man through whose fault the accused person says that that action was done; and if he cannot, he will declare that the fault of the other party has nothing to do with this trial, but only the fault of this man whom he himself is accusing. afterwards he will say that it is proper for every one to consider only what is his own duty; and that if the one party did wrong, that was no reason for the other doing wrong too. and in the next place, that if the other man has committed a fault, he ought to be accused separately as this man is, and that the accusation of the one is not to be mixed up with the defence of the other. but when the advocate for the defence has dealt with the other arguments, if any arise out of other statements of the case, he will argue in this way with reference to the transference of the charge to other parties. in the first place, he will point out to whose fault it was owing that the thing happened; and in the next place, as it happened in consequence of the fault of some one else, he will point out that he either could not or ought not to have done what the prosecutor says he ought: that he could not, will be considered with reference to the particulars of expediency, in which the force of necessity is involved; that he ought not, with reference to the honourableness of the proceeding. we will consider each part more minutely when talking of the deliberative kind of argument. then he will say, that everything was done by the accused person which depended on his own power; that less was done than ought to have been, was the consequence of the fault of another person. after that, in pointing out the criminality of that other person, it will be requisite to show how great the good will and zeal of the accused person himself was. and that must be established by proofs of this sort--by his diligence in all the rest of the affair, by his previous actions, or by his previous expressions. and it may be well to show that it would have been advantageous to the man himself to have done this, and disadvantageous not to have done it, and that to have done it would have been more in accordance with the rest of his life, than the not having done it, which, was owing to the fault of the other party. xxx but if the criminality is not to be transferred to some particular person, but to some circumstance, as in this very case--"if the quaestor had been dead, and on that account the money had not been given to the ambassadors," then, as the accusation of the other party, and the denial of the fault is removed, it will be desirable to employ the other topics in a similar manner, and to assume whatever is suitable to one's purpose from the divisions of admitted facts. but common topics are usually nearly the same to both parties, and then, after the previous topics are taken for granted, will suit either to the greatest certainty. the accuser will use the topic of indignation at the fact, the defender, when the guilt belongs to another and does not attach to himself, will urge that he does not deserve to have any punishment inflicted on him. but the removal of the criminality from oneself is effected when the accused person declares, that what is attributed to him as a crime did not affect him or his duty, and asserts that if there was any criminality in it, it ought not to be attributed to him. that kind of dispute is of this sort--"in the treaty which was formerly made with the samnites, a certain young man of noble birth held the pig which was to be sacrificed, by the command of the general. but when the treaty was disavowed by the senate, and the general surrendered to the samnites, one of the senators asserted that the man who held the pig ought also to be given up." the charge is, "he ought to be given up." the denial is, "he ought not." the question is, "whether he ought or not." the reason is, "for it was no particular duty of mine, nor did it depend on my power, being as young as i was, and only a private individual, and while the general was present with the supreme authority and command, to take care that the treaty was solemnised with all the regular formalities." the argument to invalidate this reason is, "but since you became an accomplice in a most infamous treaty, sanctioned with the most formal solemnities of religion, you ought to be surrendered." the question for the judges to decide is "whether, since a man who had no official authority was present, by the command of the general, aiding and abetting in the adopting of the treaty, and in that important religious ceremony, he ought to be surrendered to the enemy or not." this kind of question is so far different from the previous one, because in that the accused person admits that he ought to have done what the prosecutor says ought to have been done, but he attributes the cause to some particular circumstance or person, which was a hindrance to his own intention, without having recourse to any admission. for that has greater force, which will be understood presently. but in this case a man ought not to accuse the opposite party, nor to attempt to transfer the criminality to another, but he ought to show that that has not and never has had any reference whatever to himself, either in respect of power or duty. and in this kind of cause there is this new circumstance, that the prosecutor often works up a fresh accusation out of the topics employed, to remove the guilt from the accused person. as for instance,--"if any one accuses a man who, while he was praetor, summoned the people to take up arms for an expedition, at a time when the consuls were in the city." for as in the previous instance the accused person showed that the matter in question had no connexion with his duty or his power, so in this case also, the prosecutor himself, by removing the action done from the duty and power of the person who is put on his trial, confirms the accusation by this very argument. and in this case it will be proper for each party to examine, by means of all the divisions of honour and expediency, by examples, and tokens, and by arguing what is the duty, or right, or power of each individual, and whether he had that right, and duty, and power which is the subject of the present discussion, or not. but it will be desirable for common topics to be assumed from the case itself, if there is any room in it for expressions of indignation or complaint. xxi. the admission of the fact takes place, when the accused person does not justify the fact itself, but demands to be pardoned for it. and the parts of this division of the case are two: purgation and deprecation. purgation is that by which (not the action, but) the intention of the person who is accused, is defended. that has three subdivisions,--ignorance, accident, necessity. ignorance is when the person who is accused declares that he did not know something or other. as, "there was a law in a certain nation that no one should sacrifice a calf to diana. some sailors, when in a terrible tempest they were being tossed about in the open sea, made a vow that if they reached the harbour which they were in sight of, they would sacrifice a calf to the god who presided over that place. being ignorant of the law, when they landed, they sacrificed a calf." they are prosecuted. the accusation is, "you sacrificed a calf to a god to whom it was unlawful to sacrifice a calf." the denial consists in the admission which has been already stated. the reason is, "i was not aware that it was unlawful." the argument brought to invalidate that reason is, "nevertheless, since you have done what was not lawful, you are according to the law deserving of punishment." the question for the decision of the judge is, "whether, as he did what he ought not to have done, and was not aware that he ought not to have done so, he is worthy of punishment or not." but accident is introduced into the admission when it is proved that some power of fortune interfered with his intention; as in this case:--"there was a law among the lacedaemonians, that if the contractor failed to supply victims for a certain sacrifice, he should be accounted guilty of a capital offence; and accordingly, the man who had contracted to supply them, when the day of the sacrifice was at hand, began to drive in cattle from the country into the city. it happened on a sudden that the river eurotus, which flows by lacedaemon, was raised by some violent storms, and became so great and furious that the victims could not by any possibility be conveyed across. the contractor, for the sake of showing his own willingness, placed all the victims on the bank of the river, in order that every one on the other side of the river might be able to see them. but though, everyone was aware that it was the unexpected rise of the river which hindered him from giving effect to his zeal, still some people prosecuted him on the capital charge." the charge was, "the victims which you were bound to furnish for the sacrifice were not furnished." the reply was an admission of the fact. the reason alleged was, "for the river rose on a sudden, and on that account it was impossible to convey them across." the argument used to invalidate that reason was, "nevertheless, since what the law enjoins was not done, you are deserving of punishment." the question for the decision of the judges was, "whether, as in that respect the contractor did not comply with the law, being prevented by the unexpected rise of the river which hindered his giving effect to his zeal, he is deserving of punishment." xxxii. but the plea of necessity is introduced when the accused person is defended as having done what he is accused of having done under the influence of compulsion. in this way:--"there is a law among the rhodians, that if any vessel with a beak is caught in their harbour, it shall be confiscated. there was a violent storm at sea; the violence of the winds compelled a vessel, against the will of her crew, to take refuge in the harbour of the rhodians. on this the quaestor claims the vessel for the people. the captain of the ship declared that it was not just that it should be confiscated." the charge is, "a ship with a beak was caught in the harbour." the reply is an admission of the fact. the reason given is, "we were driven into the harbour by violence and necessity." the argument brought to invalidate that reason is, "nevertheless, according to the law that ship ought to become the property of the people." the question for the decision of the judge is, "whether, as the law confiscates every ship with a beak which is found in the harbour, and as this ship, in spite of the endeavours of her crew, was driven into the harbour by the violence of the tempest, it ought to be confiscated." we have collected these examples of these three kinds of cases into one place, because a similar rule for the arguments required for these prevails in all of them. for in all of them, in the first place, it is desirable, if the case itself affords any opportunity of doing so, that a conjecture should be introduced by the accuser, in order that that which it will be stated was not done intentionally, may be demonstrated by some suspicious circumstances, to have been done intentionally. in the next place, it will be well to introduce a definition of necessity, or of accident, or of ignorance, and to add instances to that definition, in which ignorance, or accident, or necessity appear to have operated, and to distinguish between such instances and the allegations put forward by the accused person, (that is to say, to show that there is no resemblance between them,) because this was a lighter or an easier matter, or one which did not admit of any one's being ignorant respecting it, or one which gave no room for accident or necessity. after that it must be shown that it might have been avoided, and, that the accused person might have prevented it if he had done this thing, or that thing, or that he might have guarded against being forced to act in such a manner. and it is desirable to prove by definitions that this conduct of his ought not to be called imprudence, or accident, or necessity, but indolence, indifference, or fatuity. and if any necessity alleged appears to have in it anything discreditable, it will be desirable for the opponent, by a chain of common topics, to prove that it would have been better to suffer anything, or even to die, rather than to submit to a necessity of the sort. and then, from these topics, which have been already discussed when we spoke of the question of fact, it will be desirable to inquire into the nature of law and equity, and, as if we were dealing with an absolute juridical question, to consider this point by itself separately from all other points. and in this place, if there should be an opportunity, it will be desirable to employ instances in which there can be no room for any similar excuse, and also to institute a comparison, showing that there would have been more reason to allow it in them, and by reference to the divisions of deliberation, it may be shown that it is admitted that that action which was committed by the adversary is confessed to have been discreditable and useless, that it is a matter of great importance, and one likely to cause great mischief, if such conduct is overlooked by those who have authority to punish it. xxxiii. but the advocate for the defence will be able to convert all these arguments, and then to use them for his own purposes. and he will especially dwell on the defence of his intentions, and in exaggerating the importance of that which was an obstacle to his intentions, and he will show that he could not have done more than he did do, and he will urge that in all things the will of the doer ought to be regarded, and that it is quite impossible that he should be justly convicted of not being free from guilt, and that under his name the common powerlessness of mankind is sought to be convicted. then, too, he will say that nothing can be more scandalous than for a man who is free from guilt, not also to be free from punishment. but the common topics for the prosecutor to employ are these, one resting on the confession of the accused person, and the other pointing out what great licence for the violation of the law will follow, if it is once laid down that the thing to be inquired into is not the action but the cause of the action. the common topics for the advocate for the defence to employ are, a complaint of that calamity which has taken place by no fault of his, but in consequence of some overruling power, and a complaint also of the power of fortune and the powerless state of men, and an entreaty that the judges should consider his intentions, and not the result. and in the employment of all these topics it will be desirable that there should be inserted a complaint of his own unhappy condition, and indignation at the cruelty of his adversaries. and no one ought to marvel, if in these or other instances he sees a dispute concerning the letter of the law added to the rest of the discussion. and we shall have hereafter to speak of this subject separately, because some kinds of causes will have to be considered by themselves, and with reference to their own independent merits, and some connect with themselves some other kind of question also. wherefore, when everything is cleared up, it will not be difficult to transfer to each cause whatever is suitable to that particular kind of inquiry, as in all these instances of admission of the fact, there is involved that dispute as to the law, which is called the question as to the letter and spirit of the law. but as we were speaking of the admission of the fact we gave rules for it. but in another place we will discuss the letter and the spirit of the law. at present we will limit our consideration to the other division of the admission of the fact. xxxiv. deprecation is when it is not attempted to defend the action in question, but entreaties to be pardoned are employed. this kind of topic can hardly be approved of in a court of justice, because, when the offence is admitted, it is difficult to prevail on the man who is bound to be the chastiser of offences to pardon it. so that it is allowable to employ that kind of address only when you do not rest the whole cause on it. as for instance, if you were speaking in behalf of some illustrious or gallant man, who has done great services to the republic, you might, without appearing to have recourse to deprecation, still employ it in this manner:--"but if, o judges, this man, in return for the services which he has done you, and the zeal which he has displayed in your cause at all times, were now, when he himself is in such peril, to entreat you, in consideration of his many good actions, to pardon this one error, it would only be what is due both to your own character for clemency, and to his virtue, o judges, for you to grant him this indulgence at his request." then it will be allowable to dwell upon the services which he has done, and by the use of some common topic to lead the judges to feel an inclination to pardon him. wherefore, although this kind of address has no proper place in judicial proceedings, except to a certain limited extent; still, because both the portion which is allowable must be employed at times, and because it is often to be employed in all its force in the senate or in the council, we will give rules for it also. for there was a long deliberation in the senate and in the council about syphax; and there was a long discussion before lucius opimius and his bench of assessors respecting quintus numitorius pullus; and in this case the entreaty for pardon had more influence than the strict inquiry into the case. for he did not find it so easy to prove that he had always been well affected towards the roman people, by employing the statement of the case founded on conjecture, as to show that it was reasonable to pardon him on account of his subsequent services, when he added the topics of deprecation to the rest of his defence. xxxv. it will be desirable, therefore, for the man who entreats to be pardoned for what he admits that he has done, to enumerate whatever services of his he is able to, and, if possible, to show that they are greater than those offences which he has committed, so that it may appear that more good than evil has proceeded from him; and then to put forward also the services done by his ancestors, if there are any such; and also to show that he did what he did, not out of hatred, or out of cruelty, but either through folly, or owing to the instigation of some one, or for some other honourable or probable cause; and after that to promise and undertake that he has been taught by this error of his, and confirmed in his resolution also by the kindness of those who pardon him, to avoid all such conduct in future. and besides this, he may hold out a hope that he will hereafter be able, in some respect or other, to be of great use to those who pardon him now; he will find it serviceable to point out that he is either related to the judges, or that he has been as far back as possible an hereditary friend of theirs; and to express to them the earnestness of his good-will towards them, and the nobility of the blood and dignity of those men who are anxious for his safety. and all other qualities and circumstances which, when attributable to persons, confer honour and dignity on them, he, using no complaint, and avoiding all arrogance, will point out as existing in himself, so that he may appear to deserve some honour rather than any kind of punishment; and after that it will be wise of him to mention other men who have been pardoned for greater offences. and he will do himself a great deal of good if he shows that he himself, when in power, was merciful and inclined to pardon others. and the offence of which he is now accused must be extenuated and made to appear as trifling as possible; and it must be shown to be discreditable, or at all events inexpedient, to punish such a man as he is. after that it will be advisable to seek to move pity by use of common topics, according to those rules which have been laid down in the first book. xxxvi. but the adversary will exaggerate the offences; he will say that nothing was done ignorantly, but that everything was the result of deliberate wickedness and cruelty. he will show that the accused person has been pitiless, arrogant, and (if he possibly can) at all times disaffected, and that he cannot by any possibility be rendered friendly. if he mentions any services done by him, he will prove that they were done for some private object, and not out of any good will; or else he will prove that he has conceived hatred since or else that all those services have been effaced by his frequent offences, or else that his services are of less importance than his injuries, or that, as he has already received adequate honours for his services, he ought also to have punishment inflicted on him for the injuries which he has committed. in the next place, he will urge that it is discreditable or pernicious that he should be pardoned. and besides that, it will be the very extremity of folly not to avail oneself of one's power over a man, over whom one has often wished to have power, and that it is proper to consider what feelings, or rather what hatred they ought to entertain towards him. but one common topic to be employed will be indignation at his offence, and another will be the argument, that it is right to pity those who are in distress, owing to misfortune, and not those who are in such a plight through their own wickedness. since, then, we have been dwelling so long on the general statement of the case, on account of the great number of its divisions, in order to prevent any one's mind from being so distracted by the variety and dissimilarity of circumstances, and so led into some errors, it appears right also to remind the reader of what remains to be mentioned of that division of the subject, and why it remains. we have said, that that was the juridical sort of examination in which the nature of right and wrong, and the principles of reward and punishment, were investigated. we have explained the causes in which inquiry into right and wrong is proceeded with. it remains now to explain the principles which regulate the distribution of rewards and punishments. xxxvii. for there are many causes which consist of a demand of some reward. for there is often question before the judges of the rewards to be conferred on prosecutors, and very often some reward is claimed for them from the senate, or from the bench of judges. and it is not advisable that any one should think that, when we are adducing some instance which is under discussion in the senate, we by so doing are abandoning the class of judicial examples. for whatever is said with reference to approving or disapproving of a person, when the consideration of the opinions of the judges is adapted to that form of expression, that, even although it is treated with reference to the language in which the opinion is couched, is a deliberative argument, still, because it has especial reference to some person, it is to be accounted also judicial. and altogether, a man who has diligently investigated the meaning and nature of all causes will perceive that they differ both in character and in form; but in the other divisions he will see them all consistent with each other, and every one connected with the other. at present, let us consider the question of rewards. lucius licinius crassus, the consul, pursued and destroyed a band of people in the province of the nearer gaul, who were collected together under no known or regular leader, and who had no name or number of sufficient importance to be entitled enemies of the roman people; but still they made the province unsafe by their constant sallies and piratical outbreaks. he returns to rome. he demands a triumph. here, as also in the case of the employment of deprecation, it does not at all concern us to supply reasons to establish and to invalidate such a claim, and so to come before the judges; because, unless some other statement of the case is also put forth, or some portion of such statement, the matter for the decision of the judges will be a simple one, and will be contained in the question itself. in the case of the employment of deprecation, in this manner: "whether so and so ought to be punished." in this instance, in such a manner: "whether he ought to be rewarded." now we will furnish some topics suitable for the investigation into the principles of rewards. xxxviii. the principle, then, on which rewards are conferred is distributable into four divisions: as to the services done; the person who has done them; the kind of reward which is to be conferred; and the means of conferring it. the services done will be considered with reference to their own intrinsic merits, and to the time, and to the disposition of the man who did them, and to their attendant circumstances. they will be examined with reference to their own intrinsic merits, in this manner:--whether they are important or unimportant; whether they were difficult or easy; whether they are of a common or extraordinary nature; whether they are considered honourable on true or false principles. and with reference to the time at which they were done:--if they were done at a time when we had need of them; when other men could or would not help them; if they were done when all other hope had failed. with reference to the disposition of the man who did them:--if he did not do them with a view to any advantage of his own, but if he did everything else for the express purpose of being able to do this afterwards. and with reference to the attendant circumstances:--if what was done appears not to have been done by chance, but in consequence of some deliberate design, or if chance appears to have hindered the design. but, with respect to the man who did the service in question, it will be requisite to consider in what manner he has lived, and what expense or labour he has devoted to that object; whether he has at any time done any other similar action; whether he is claiming a reward for himself for what is in reality the result of another person's exertions, or of the kindness of the gods. whether he has ever, in the case of any one else, pronounced that he ought not to be rewarded for such a reason; or, whether he has already had sufficient honour paid to him for what he has done; or, whether what has been done is an action of such a sort that, if he had not done it, he would have been deserving of punishment; but that he does not deserve reward for having done it; or, whether he is premature in his demand for a reward, and is proposing to sell an uncertain hope for a certain reward; or, whether he claims the reward in order to avoid some punishment, by its appearing as if the case had already been decided in his favour. xxxix. but as to the question of the reward, it will be necessary to consider what reward, how great a reward is claimed, and why it is claimed; and also, to what reward, and to how great a reward, the conduct in question is entitled. and in the next place, it will be requisite to inquire what men had such honours paid them in the time of our ancestors, and for what causes those honours were paid. and, in the next place, it will be urged that they ought not to be made too common. and this will be one common topic for any one who speaks in opposition to a person who claims a reward;--that rewards for virtue and eminent services ought to be considered serious and holy things, and that they ought not to be conferred on worthless men, or to be made common by being bestowed on men of no particular eminence. and another will be, to urge that men will become less eager to practise virtue when the reward of virtue has been made common; for those things which are scarce and difficult of attainment appear honourable and acceptable to men. and a third topic is, to put the question, whether, if there are any instances of men who, in the times of our ancestors, were thought worthy of such honours on account of their eminent virtue, they will not be likely to think it some diminution of their own glory, when they see that such men as these have such rewards conferred on them. and then comes the enumeration of those men, and the comparison of them with those against whom the orator is speaking. but the topics to be used by the man who is claiming the reward are, first of all, the exaggeration of his own action; and next, the comparison of the actions of those men who have had rewards conferred on them with his own; and lastly, he will urge that other men will be repelled from the pursuit of virtue if he himself is denied the reward to which he is entitled. but the means of conferring the rewards are taken into consideration when any pecuniary reward is asked for; for then it is necessary to consider whether there is an abundance of land, and revenue, and money, or a dearth of them. the common topics are,--that it is desirable to increase the resources of the state, not to diminish them; and that he is a shameless man who is not content with gratitude in requital of his services, but who demands also solid rewards. but, on the other hand, it may be urged, that it is a sordid thing to argue about money, when the question is about showing gratitude to a benefactor; and that the claimant is not asking wages for a piece of work, but honour such as is due for an important service. and we have now said enough about the statements of cases; now it seems necessary to speak of those controversies which turn upon the letter of the law. xl. the controversy turns upon the letter of the law when some doubt arises from the consideration of the exact terms in which it is drawn up. that arises from ambiguity, from the letter of the law, from its intention, from contrary laws, from ratiocination, and definition. but a controversy arises from ambiguity, when it is an obscure point what was the intention of the writer, because the written words mean two or even more different things. in this manner:--"the father of a family, when he was making his son his heir, left a hundredweight of silver plate to his wife, in these terms: "let my heir give my wife a hundredweight of silver plate, consisting of such vessels as may be chosen. after he was dead, the mother demands of her son some very magnificent vessels of very valuable carving. he says that he is only bound to give her those vessels which he himself chooses." here, in the first place, it is necessary to show if possible that the will has not been drawn up in ambiguous terms, because all men in ordinary conversation are accustomed to employ that expression, whether consisting of one word or more, in that meaning in which the speaker hopes to show that this is to be understood. then it is desirable to prove that from both the preceding and subsequent language of the will, the real meaning which is being sought may be made evident. so that if all the words, or most of them, were considered separately by themselves, they would appear of doubtful meaning. but as for those which can be made intelligible by a consideration of the whole document, these have no business to be thought obscure. in the next place, it will be proper to draw one's conclusion as to the intentions which were entertained by the writer from all his other writings, and actions, and sayings, and his general disposition, and from the usual tenor of his life; and to scrutinise that very document in which this ambiguous phrase is contained which is the subject of the present inquiry, all over, in all its parts, so as to see whether there is anything opposite to that interpretation which we contend for, or contrary to that which the adversary insists on adopting. for it will be easy to consider what it is probable that the man who drew up the document intended, from its whole tenor, and from the character of the writer, and from those other circumstances which are characteristic of the persons concerned. in the next place, it will be desirable to show, if the facts of the case itself afford any opportunity for doing so, that that meaning which the opposite party contends for, is a much more inconvenient one to adopt than that which we have assumed to be the proper one, because there is no possible means of carrying out or complying with that other meaning; but what we contend for can be accomplished with great ease and convenience. as in this law (for there is no objection to citing an imaginary one for the sake of giving an instance, in order to the more easy comprehension of the matter):--"let not a prostitute have a golden crown. if such a case exists, it must be confiscated." now, in opposition to a man who contended that that was to become public property in accordance with this law, it might be argued, "that there could be no way of making a prostitute public property, and there is no intelligible meaning for the law if that is what is to be adopted as its proper construction; but as to the confiscation of anything made of gold, the management and the result is easy, and there is no difficulty in it." xli. and it will be desirable also to pay diligent attention to this point, whether if that sense is sanctioned which the opposite party contends for, any more advantageous, or honourable, or necessary object appears to have been omitted by the framer of the document in question. that will be done if we can prove that the object which we are attempting to prove is either honourable, or expedient, or necessary; and if we can also assert that the interpretation which our adversaries insist upon, is not at all entitled to such a character. in the next place, if there is in the law itself any controversy arising from any ambiguity, it will be requisite to take great care to show that the meaning which our adversaries adopt is provided for in some other law. but it will be very serviceable indeed to point out how the testator would have expressed himself, if he had wished the interpretation which the adversary puts upon his words to be carried into execution or understood. as for instance, in this cause, the one, i mean, in which the question is about the silver plate, the woman might argue, "that there was no use in adding the words 'as may be chosen,' if the matter was left to the selection of the heir; for if no such words had been inserted, there could have been no doubt at all that the heir might have given whatever he himself chose. so that it was downright madness, if he wished to take precautions in favour of his heir, to add words which might have been wholly left out without such omission prejudicing his heir's welfare." wherefore, it will be exceedingly advisable to employ this species of argument in such causes:--"if he had written with this intention he would not have employed that word; he would not have placed that word in that place;" for it is from such particulars as these that it is easiest to collect the intention of the writer. in the next place, it is necessary to inquire when the document was drawn up, in order that it may be understood what it was likely that he should have wished at such a time. afterwards it will be advisable to point out, by reference to the topics furnished by the deliberative argument, what is more useful and what more honourable to the testator to write, and to the adversary to prove; and it will be well for both parties to employ common topics, if there is any room for extending either argument. xlii. a controversy arises with respect to the letter of the document and to its meaning, when one party employs the very words which are set down in the paper; and the other applies all his arguments to that which he affirms that the framer of the document intended. but the intention of the framer of the document must be proved by the man who defends himself, by reference to that intention, to have always the same object in view and the same meaning; and it must also, either by reference to the action or to some result, be adapted to the time which the inquiry concerns. it must be proved always to have the same object in view, in this way:--"the head of a house, at a time when he had no children, but had a wife, inserted this clause in his will: 'if i have a son or sons born to me, he or they is or are to be my heir or heirs.' then follow the ordinary provisions. after that comes the following clause: 'if my son dies before he comes into the property, which is held in trust for him, then,' says the clause, 'you shall be my reversionary heir.' he never has a son. his next of kin raise a dispute with the man who is named as the heir, in the case of the testator's son dying before he comes into the property which his guardians are holding for him." in this case it cannot be said that the meaning of the testator ought to be made to suit the time or some particular result, because that intention alone is proved on which the man who is arguing against the language of the will relies, in order to defend his own right to the inheritance. there is another class of topics which introduce the question as to the meaning of expressions, in which the mere simple intention of the framer is not endeavoured to be proved, for that has the same weight with reference to every period and every action; but it is argued that it ought to be interpreted with reference to some particular action, or to some event happening at that particular time. and that is especially supported by the divisions of the juridical assumptive mode of investigation. for then the comparison is instituted; as in the case of "a man who, though the law forbad the gates to be opened by night, did open them in a certain war, and admitted some reinforcements into the town, in order to prevent their being overwhelmed by the enemy if they remained outside the gates; because the enemy were encamped close to the walls." then comes the retorting of the charge; as in the case of "that soldier who, when the common law of all men forbad any one to kill a man, slew his own military tribune who was attempting to offer violence to him." then comes the exculpation; as in the case of "that man who, when the law had appointed some particular days within which he was to proceed on his embassy, did not set out because the quaestor did not furnish him with money for his expenses." then comes the admission of the fact by way of purgation, and also by the excuse of ignorance; as "in the case of the sacrificing a calf;" and with reference to compulsion, as "in the case of the beaked ship;" and with reference to accident, as "in the case of the sudden rise of the river eurotas." wherefore, it is best that the meaning should be introduced in such a way, as that the framer of the law should be proved to have intended some one definite thing; else in such a way that he should be proved to have meant this particular thing, under these circumstances, and at this time. xliii. he, therefore, who is defending the exact language of the law, will generally be able to use all these topics; and will always be able to use the greater part of them. first of all, he will employ a panegyric of the framer of it, and the common topic that those who are the judges have no business to consider anything except what is expressly stated in the law; and so much the more if any legal document be brought forward, that is to say, either the law itself, or some portion of the law. afterwards--and this is a point of the greatest importance--he will employ a comparison of the action or of the charge brought by the opposite party with the actual words of the law; he will show what is contained in the law, what has been done, what the judge has sworn. and it will be well to vary this topic in many ways, sometimes professing to wonder in his own mind what can be said against this argument; sometimes recurring to the duty of the judge, and asking of him what more he can think it requisite to hear, or what further he expects; sometimes by bringing forward the adversary himself, as if in the position of a person making an accusation; that is to say, by asking him whether he denies that the law is drawn up in that manner, or whether he denies that he himself has contravened it, or disputed it. if he denies either of these points, then one must avow that one will say no more; if he denies neither of them, and yet continues to urge his arguments in opposition to one, then one must say that it is impossible for any one ever to expect to see a more impudent man. and it will be well to dwell on this point as if nothing besides were to be said, as if nothing could be said in contradiction, by reciting several times over what is written; by often contrasting the conduct of the adversary with what is written; and sometimes by recurring vehemently to the topic of the judge himself; in which one will remind the judge of what oath he has taken, of what his conduct is bound to be; and urge that there are two causes on account of which a judge is bound to hesitate, one if the law be obscurely worded, the other if the adversary denies anything. but as in this instance the wording of the law is plain, and the adversary admits every fact that is alleged, the judge has now nothing to do but to fulfil the law, and not to interpret it. xliv. when this point has been sufficiently insisted on, then it will be advisable to do away with the effect of those things which the adversary has been able to urge by way of objection. but such objections will be made if the framer of the law can be absolutely proved to have meant one thing, and written another; as in that dispute concerning the will which we mentioned just now: or some adventitious cause may be alleged why it was not possible or not desirable to obey the written law minutely. if it is stated that the framer of the law meant one thing, and wrote another, then he who appeals to the letter of the law will say that it is our business not to discuss the intention of a man who has left us a plain proof of that intention, to prevent our having any doubt about it; and that many inconveniences must ensue if the principle is laid down that we may depart from the letter of the law. for that then those who frame laws will not think that the laws which they are making will remain firm; and those who are judges will have no certain principle to follow if once they get into the habit of departing from the letter of the law. but if the intention of the framer of the law is what is to be looked at, then it is he, and not his adversaries, who relies on the meaning of the lawgiver. for that that person comes much nearer to the intention of the framer of a law who interprets it from his own writings, than he who does not look at the meaning of the framer of the law by that writing of his own which he has left to be as it were an image of his meaning, but who investigates it under the guidance of some private suspicions of his own. if the party who stands on the meaning of the lawgiver brings forward any reasons, then, in the first place, it will be necessary to reply to those reasons; to urge how absurd it is for a man not to deny that he has acted contrary to the law, but at the same time to give some reason for having acted so. then one will say too that all things are turned upside down; that formerly prosecutors were in the habit of trying to persuade the judges that the person who was being prosecuted before them was implicated in some fault, and of alleging some reasons which had instigated him to commit this fault; but that now the accused person himself is giving the reasons why he has offended against the laws. then it will be proper to introduce this division, each portion of which will have many lines of argument suitable to it: in the first place, that there is no law with reference to which it is allowable to allege any reasons contrary to the law; in the next place, that if such a course is admissible in any law, this is such a law that it is not admissible with respect to it; and lastly, that, even if such reasons ever might be alleged, at all events this is not such a reason. xlv. the first part of the argument is confirmed by pretty nearly the same topics as these: that the framer of the law was not deficient in either ability, or pains, or any faculty requisite to enable him to express plainly what his intention was; that it would not have been either displeasing or difficult to him to insert such an exception as that which the opposite party contends for in his law, if he thought any exception requisite; and in fact, that those people who frame laws often do insert clauses of exceptions. after that it is well to enumerate some of the laws which have exceptional clauses attached to them, and to take especial care to see whether in the law itself which is under discussion there is any exception made in any chapter, or whether the same man who framed this law has made exceptions in other laws, so that it may be more naturally inferred that he would have made exceptions in this one, if he had thought exceptions requisite; and it will be well also to show that to admit of a reason for violating the law is the same thing as abrogating the law, because when once such a reason is taken into consideration it is no use to consider it with reference to the law, inasmuch as it is not stated in the law. and if such a principle is once laid down, then a reason for violating the law, and a licence to do so, is given to every one, as soon as they perceive that you as judges decide the matter in a way which depends on the ability of the man who has violated the law, and not with reference to the law which you have sworn to administer. then, too, one must point out that all principles on which judges are to judge, and citizens are to live, will be thrown into confusion if the laws are once departed from; for the judges will not have any rules to follow, if they depart from what is set down in the law, and no principles on which they can reprove others for having acted in defiance of the law. and that all the rest of the citizens will be ignorant what they are to do, if each of them regulates all his actions according to his own ideas, and to whatever whim or fancy comes into his head, and not according to the common statute law of the state. after that it will be suitable to ask the judges why they occupy themselves at all with the business of other people;--why they allow themselves to be harassed in discharging the offices of the republic, when they might often spend the time in promoting their own ends and private interests;--why they take an oath in a certain form;--why they assemble at a regular time and go away at a regular time;--why no one of them ever alleges any reason for being less frequent in his discharge of his duty to the republic, except such as is set down in some formal law as an exception. and one may ask, whether they think it right that they should be bound down and exposed to so much inconvenience by the laws, and at the same time allow our adversaries to disregard the laws. after that it will be natural to put the question to the judges whether, when the party accused himself endeavours to set down in the law, as an exception, that particular case in which he admits that he has violated the law, they will consent to it. and to ask also, whether what he has actually done is more scandalous and more shameless than the exception which he wishes to insert in the law;--what indeed can be more shameless? even if the judges were inclined to make such an addition to the law, would the people permit it? one might also press upon them that this is even a more scandalous measure, when they are unable to make an alteration in the language and letter of the law, to alter it in the actual facts, and to give a decision contrary to it; and besides, that it is a scandalous thing that anything should be taken from the law, or that the law should be abrogated or changed in any part whatever, without the people having any opportunity of knowing, or approving, or disapproving of what is done; that such conduct is calculated to bring the judges themselves into great odium; that it is not the proper time nor opportunity for amending the laws; that this ought only to be brought forward in an assembly of the people, and only to be done by the people; that if they now do so, the speaker would like to know who is the maker of the new law, and who are to obey it; that he sees actions impending, and wishes to prevent them; that as all such proceedings as these are exceedingly useless and abundantly discreditable, the law, whatever it is like, ought, while it exists, to be maintained by the judges, and hereafter, if it is disapproved of, to be amended by the people. besides this, if there were no written law, we should take great trouble to find one; and we should not place any confidence in that man, not even if he were in no personal danger himself; but now, when there is a written law, it is downright insanity to attend to what that man says who has violated the law, rather than to the language of the law itself. by these and similar arguments it is proved that it is not right to admit any excuse which is contrary to the letter of the law. xlvi. the second part is that in which it is desirable to prove that if such a proceeding is right with respect to other laws, it is not advisable with respect to this one. this will be shown if the law appears to refer to matters of the greatest importance, and usefulness, and honourableness, and sanctity; so that it is disadvantageous, or discreditable, or impious not to obey the law as carefully as possible in such a matter. or the law may be proved to have been drawn up so carefully, and such great diligence may be shown to have been exercised in framing each separate provision of it, and in making every exception that was allowable, that it is not at all probable that anything proper to be inserted has been omitted in so carefully considered a document. the third topic is one exceedingly necessary for a man who is arguing in defence of the letter of the law; by which it may be urged, that even if it is decent for an excuse to be admitted contrary to the letter of the law, still that excuse which is alleged by his adversaries is of all others the least proper to be so alleged. and this topic is necessary for him on this account,--because the man who is arguing against the letter of the law ought always to have some point of equity to allege on his side. for it is the greatest possible impudence for a man who wishes to establish some point in opposition to the exact letter of the law, not to attempt to fortify himself in so doing, with the assistance of the law. if therefore the accuser in any respect weakens the defence by this topic, he will appear in every respect to have more justice and probability in favour of his accusation. for all the former part of his speech has had this object,--that the judges should feel it impossible, even if they wished it, to avoid condemning the accused person; but this part has for its object the making them wish to give such a decision, even if it were not inevitable. and that result will be obtained, if we use those topics by which guilt may be proved not to be in the man who defends himself, by using the topic of comparison, or by getting rid of the accusation, or by recrimination, or by some species of confession, (concerning all which topics we have already written with all the precision of which we were capable,) and if we take those which the case will admit of for the purpose of throwing discredit on the argument of our adversary;--or if reasons and arguments are adduced to show why or with what design those expressions were inserted in the law or will in question, so that our side of the question may appear established by the meaning and intention of the writer, and not only by the language which he has employed. or the fact may be proved by other statements and arguments. xlvii. but any one who speaks against the letter of the law will first of all introduce that topic by which the equity of the excuse is proved; or he will point out with what feelings, with what design, and on what account he did the action in question. and whatever excuse he alleges he will defend according to some of the rules which i have already given with respect to assumptions. and when he has dwelt on this topic for some time, and set forth the principles of his conduct and the equity of his cause in the most specious manner he can, he will also add, in opposition to the arguments of his adversaries, that it is from these topics for the most part that excuses which are admissible ought to be drawn. he will urge that there is no law which sanctions the doing of any disadvantageous or unjust action; that all punishments which are enacted by the laws have been enacted for the sake of chastising guilt and wickedness; that the very framer of the laws, if he were alive, would approve of this conduct, and would have done the very same thing himself if he had been in similar circumstances. and that it is on this account that the framer of the law appointed judges of a certain rank and age, in order that there might be men, not capable merely of reading out what he had written, which any boy might do, but able also to understand his thoughts and to interpret his intentions. he will add, that that framer of the law, if he had been intrusting the laws which he was drawing up to foolish men and illiterate judges, would have set down everything with the most scrupulous diligence; but, as it is, because he was aware what sort of men were to be the judges, he did not put down many things which appeared to him to be evident; and he expected that you would be not mere readers of his writings, but interpreters of his intentions. afterwards he will proceed to ask his adversaries--"what would you say if i had done so and so?" "what would you think if so and so had happened?" "suppose any one of those things had happened which would have had a most unfailing excuse, or a most undeniable necessity, would you then have prosecuted me?" but the law has nowhere made any such exception. it follows, therefore, that it is not every possible circumstance which is mentioned in the written law but that some things which are self-evident are guarded against by unexpressed exceptions. then he will urge, that nothing could be carried on properly either by the laws or by any written document whatever, or even in daily conversation, or in the commands given in a private household, if every one chose to keep his eyes on the exact language of the order, and not to take into consideration the intentions of him who uttered the order. xlviii. after that he will be able, by reference to the divisions of usefulness and honour, to point out how inexpedient or how dishonourable that would have been which the opposite party say ought to have been done, or to be done now. and on the other hand, how expedient and how honourable that is which we have done, or demand should be done. in the next place, he will urge that we set a value on our laws not on account of their wording, which is a slight and often obscure indication of their intention, but on account of the usefulness of those things concerning which they are written, and the wisdom and diligence of those men who wrote them. afterwards he will proceed to describe what the law is, so that it shall appear to consist of meanings, not of words; and that the judge may appear to be obedient to the law, who follows its meaning and not its strict words. after that he will urge how scandalous it is that he should have the same punishment inflicted on him who has violated the law out of some mere wickedness and audacity, as on the man who, on account of some honourable or unavoidable reason, has departed not from the spirit of the law, but from its letter. and by these and similar arguments he will endeavour to prove that the excuse is admissible, and is admissible in this law, and that the excuse which he himself is alleging ought to be admitted. and, as we said that this would be exceedingly useful to the man who was relying on the letter of the law, to detract in some degree from that equity which appeared to be on the side of the adversary; so also it will be of the greatest advantage to the man who is speaking in opposition to the letter of the law, to convert something of the exact letter of the law to his own side of the argument, or else to show that something has been expressed ambiguously. and afterwards, to take that portion of the doubtful expression which may serve his own purpose, and defend it; or else to introduce some definition of a word, and to bring over the meaning of that word which seems unfavourable to him to the advantage of his own cause, or else, from what is set down in the law to introduce something which is not set down by means of ratiocination, which we will speak of presently. but in whatever matter, however little probable it may be, he defends himself by an appeal to the exact letter of the law, even when his case is full of equity, he will unavoidably gain a great advantage, because if he can withdraw from the cause of the opposite party that point on which it principally relies, he will mitigate and take off the effect of all its violence and energy. but all the rest of the common topics taken from the divisions of assumptive argument will suit each side of the question. it will also be suitable for him whose argument takes its stand on the letter of the law, to urge that laws ought to be looked at, not with reference to the advantage of that man who has violated them, but according to their own intrinsic value, and that nothing ought to be considered more precious than the laws. on the other side, the speaker will urge, that laws depend upon the intention of the framer of them, and upon the general advantage, not upon words, and also, how scandalous it is for equity to be overwhelmed by a heap of letters, and defended in vain by the intention of the man who drew up the law. xlix. but from contrary laws a controversy arises, when two or more laws appear to be at variance with one another in this manner--there is a law, "that he who has slain a tyrant shall receive the regard of men who conquer at olympia, and shall also ask whatever he pleases of the magistrate, and the magistrate shall grant it to him." there is also another law--"when a tyrant is slain, the magistrate shall also put to death his five nearest relations." alexander, who was the tyrant of pherse, a city in thessaly, was slain by his own wife, whose name was thebe, at night, when he was in bed with her, she, as a reward, demands the liberty of her son whom she had by the tyrant. some say that according to this law that son ought to be put to death. the matter is referred to a court of justice. now in a case of this kind the same topics and the same rules will suit each side of the question, because each party is bound to establish his own law, and to invalidate the one contrary to it. first of all, therefore, it is requisite to show the nature of the laws, by considering which law has reference to more important, that is to say, to more honourable and more necessary matters. from which it results, that if two or more, or ever so many laws cannot all be maintained, because they are at variance with one another, that one ought to be considered the most desirable to be maintained, which appears to have reference to the most important matters. then comes the question also, which law was passed last; for the newest law is the most important. and also, which law enjoins anything, and which merely allows it; for that which is enjoined is necessary, that which is allowed is optional. also one must consider by which law a penalty is appointed for the violation of it; or which has the heaviest penalty attached to it; for that law must be the most carefully maintained which is sanctioned by the most severe penalties. again, one must inquire which law enjoins, and which forbids anything; for it often happens that the law which forbids something appears by some exception as it were to amend the law which commands something. then, too, it is right to consider which law comprehends the entire class of subjects to which it refers, and which embraces only a part of the question; which may be applied generally to many classes of questions, and which appears to have been framed to apply to some special subject. for that which has been drawn up with reference to some particular division of a subject, or for some special purpose, appears to come nearer to the subject under discussion, and to have more immediate connexion with the present action. then arises the question, which is the thing which according to the law must be done immediately; which will admit of some delay or slackness in the execution. for it is right that that should be done first which must be done immediately. in the next place, it is well to take pains that the law one is advocating shall appear to depend on its own precise language; and that the law with a contrary sense should appear to be introduced with a doubtful interpretation, or by some ratiocination or definition, in order that that law which is expressed in plain language may appear to be the more solemn and efficient. after that it will be well to add the meaning of the law which is on one's own side according to the strict letter of it; and also to explain the opposite law so as to make it appear to have another meaning, in order that, if possible, they may not seem to be inconsistent with one another. and, last of all, it will be a good thing, if the cause shall afford any opportunity for so doing, to take care that on our principles both the laws may seem to be upheld, but that on the principle contended for by our adversaries one of them must be put aside. it will be well also to consider all the common topics and those which the cause itself furnishes, and to take them from the most highly esteemed divisions of the subjects of expediency and honour, showing by means of amplification which law it is most desirable to adhere to. l. from ratiocination there arises a controversy when, from what is written somewhere or other, one arrives at what is not written anywhere; in this way:--"if a man is mad, let those of his family and his next of kin have the regulation of himself and of his property." and there is another law--"in whatever manner a head of a family has made his will respecting his family and his property, so let it be." and another law--"if a head of a family dies intestate, his family and property shall belong to his relations and to his next of kin." a certain man was convicted of having murdered his father. immediately, because he was not able to escape, wooden shoes were put upon his feet, and his mouth was covered with a leathern bag, and bound fast, then he was led away to prison, that he might remain there while a bag was got ready for him to be put into and thrown into a river. in the meantime some of his friends bring tablets to the prison, and introduce witnesses also; they put down those men as his heirs whom he himself desires; the will is sealed; the man is afterwards executed. there is a dispute between those who are set down as his heirs in the will, and his next of kin, about his inheritance. in this instance there is no positive law alleged which takes away the power of making a will from people who are in such a situation. but from other laws, both those which inflict a punishment of this character on a man guilty of such a crime, and those, too, which relate to a man's power of making a will, it is possible to come by means of ratiocination to a conclusion of this sort, that it is proper to inquire whether he had the power of making a will. but we think that these and such as these are the common topics suitable to an argument of this description. in the first place, a panegyric upon, and a confirmation of that writing which you are producing. then a comparison of the matter which is the subject of discussion, with that which is a settled case, in such a manner that the case which is under investigation may appear to resemble that about which there are settled and notorious rules. after that, one will express admiration, (by way of comparison), how it can happen that a man who admits that this is fair, can deny that other thing, which is either more equitable still, or which rests on exactly similar principles; then, too, one will contend that the reason why there is no precise law drawn up for such a case, is because, as there was one in existence applicable to the other case, the framer of that law thought that no one could possibly entertain a doubt in this case; and afterwards it will be well to urge that there are many cases not provided for in many laws, which beyond all question were passed over merely because the rule as to them could be so easily collected out of the other cases which were provided for; and last of all, it is necessary to point out what the equity of the case requires, as is done in a plain judicial case. but the speaker who is arguing on the other side is bound to try and invalidate the comparison instituted, which he will do if he can show that that which is compared is different from that with which it is compared in kind, in nature, in effect, in importance, in time, in situation, in character, in the opinion entertained of it; if it is shown also in what class that which is adduced by way of comparison ought to stand, and in what rank that also ought to be considered, for the sake of which the other thing is mentioned. after that, it will be well to point out how one case differs from the other, so that it does not seem that any one ought to have the same opinion of both of them. and if he himself also is able to have recourse to ratiocination, he must use the same ratiocination which has been already spoken of. if he cannot, then he will declare that it is not proper to consider anything except what is written; that all laws are put in danger if comparisons are once allowed to be instituted; that there is hardly anything which does not seem somewhat like something else; that when there are many circumstances wholly dissimilar, still there are separate laws for each individual case; and that all things can be proved to be like or unlike to each other. the common topics derived from ratiocination ought to arrive by conjecture from that which is written to that which is not written; and one may urge that no one can embrace every imaginable case in a written law, but that he frames a law best who takes care to make one thing understood from another. one may urge, too, that in opposition to a ratiocination of this sort, conjecture is no better than a divination, and that it would be a sign of a very stupid framer of laws not to be able to provide for everything which he wished to. li. definition is when a word is set down in a written document, whose exact meaning is inquired into, in this manner:--there is a law, "whoever in a severe tempest desert their ship shall be deprived of all their property; the ship and the cargo shall belong to those men who remain by the ship." two men, when they were sailing on the open sea, and when the ship belonged to one of them and the cargo to another, noticed a shipwrecked man swimming and holding out his hands to them. being moved with pity they directed the ship towards him, and took the man into their vessel. a little afterwards the storm began to toss them also about very violently, to such a degree that the owner of the ship, who was also the pilot, got into a little boat, and from that he guided the ship as well as he could by the rope by which the boat was fastened to the ship, and so towed along; but the man to whom the cargo belonged threw himself on his sword in despair. on this the shipwrecked man took the helm and assisted the ship as far as he could. but after the waves went down and the tempest abated, the ship arrived in harbour. but the man who had fallen on his sword turned out to be but slightly wounded, and easily recovered of his wound. and then every one of these three men claimed the ship and cargo for his own. every one of them relies on the letter of the law to support their claim, and a dispute arises as to the meaning of the words. for they seek to ascertain by definitions what is the meaning of the expressions "to abandon the ship," "to stand by the ship," and even what "the ship" itself is. and the question must be dealt with with reference to all the same topics as are employed in a statement of the case which turns upon a definition. now, having explained all those argumentations which are adapted to the judicial class of causes, we will proceed in regular order to give topics and rules for the deliberative and demonstrative class of arguments; not that there is any cause which is not at all times conversant with some statement of the case or other; but because there are nevertheless some topics peculiar to these causes, not separated from the statement of the case, but adapted to the objects which are more especially kept in view by these kinds of argumentation. for it seems desirable that in the judicial kind the proper end is equity; that is to say, some division of honesty. but in the deliberative kind aristotle thinks that the proper object is expediency; we ourselves, that it is expediency and honesty combined. in the demonstrative kind it is honesty only. wherefore, in this kind of cause also, some kinds of argumentation will be handled in a common manner, and in similar ways to one another. some will be discussed more separately with reference to their object, which is what we must always keep in view in every kind of speech. and we should have no objection to give an example of each kind of statement of the case, if we did not see that, as obscure things are made more plain by speaking of them, so also things which are plain are sometimes made more obscure by a speech. at present let us go on to precepts of deliberation. lii. of matters to be aimed at there are three classes; and on the other hand there is a corresponding number of things to be avoided. for there is something which of its own intrinsic force draws us to itself, not catching us by any idea of emolument, but alluring us by its own dignity. of this class are virtue, science, truth. and there is something else which seems desirable, not on account of its own excellence or nature, but on account of its advantage and of the utility to be derived from it--such as money. there are also some things formed of parts of these others in combination, which allure us and draw us after them by their own intrinsic character and dignity, and which also hold out some prospect of advantage to us, to induce us to seek it more eagerly, as friendship, and a fair reputation; and from these their opposites will easily be perceived, without our saying anything about them. but in order that the principle may be explained in the more simple way, the rules which we have laid down shall be enumerated briefly. for those which belong to the first kind of discussion are called honourable things; those which belong to the second, are called useful things; but this third thing, because it contains some portion of what is honourable, and because the power of what is honourable is the more important part, is perceived to be altogether a compound kind, made up of a twofold division; still it derives its name from its better part, and is called honourable. from this it follows, that there are these parts in things which are desirable,--what is honourable, and what is useful. and these parts in things which are to be avoided,--what is dishonourable, and what is useless. now to these two things there are two other important circumstances to be added,--necessity and affection: the one of which is considered with reference to force, the other with reference to circumstances and persons. hereafter we will write more explicitly about each separately. at present we will explain first the principles of what is honourable. liii. that which either wholly or in some considerable portion of it is sought for its own sake, we call honourable: and as there are two divisions of it, one of which is simple and the other twofold, let us consider the simple one first. in that kind, then, virtue has embraced all things under one meaning and one name; for virtue is a habit of the mind, consistent with nature, and moderation, and reason. wherefore, when we have become acquainted with all its divisions, it will be proper to consider the whole force of simple honesty. it has then four divisions--prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance. prudence is the knowledge of things which are good, or bad, or neither good nor bad. its parts are memory, intelligence, and foresight. memory is that faculty by which the mind recovers the knowledge of things which have been. intelligence is that by which it perceives what exists at present. foresight is that by which anything is seen to be about to happen, before it does happen. justice is a habit of the mind which attributes its proper dignity to everything, preserving a due regard to the general welfare. its first principles proceed from nature. subsequently some practices became established by universal custom, from a consideration of their utility; afterwards the fear of the laws and religion sanctioned proceedings which originated in nature, and had been approved of by custom. natural law is that which has not had its origin in the opinions of men, but has been implanted by some innate instinct, like religion, affection, gratitude, revenge, attention to one's superiors, truth. religion is that which causes men to pay attention to, and to respect with fixed ceremonies, a certain superior nature which men call divine nature. affection is that feeling under the influence of which kindness and careful attention is paid to those who are united to us by ties of blood, or who are devoted to the service of their country. gratitude is that feeling in which the recollection of friendship, and of the services which we have received from another, and the inclination to requite those services, is contained. revenge is that disposition by which violence and injury, and altogether everything which can be any injury to us, is repelled by defending oneself from it, or by avenging it. attention is that feeling by which men obey when they think those who are eminent for worth or dignity, worthy of some special respect and honour. truth is that by which those things which are, or which have been previously, or which are about to happen, are spoken of without any alteration. liv. conventional law is a principle which has either derived its origin in a slight degree from nature, and then has been strengthened by habit, like religion; or, if we see any one of those things which we have already mentioned as proceeding from nature strengthened by habit; or, if there is anything to which antiquity has given the force of custom with the approbation of everybody: such as covenants, equity, cases already decided. a covenant is that which is agreed upon between two parties; equity is that which is equally just for every one; a case previously decided is one which has been settled by the authoritative decision of some person or persons entitled to pronounce it. legal right is that which is contained in that written form which is delivered to the people to be observed by them. fortitude is a deliberate encountering of danger and enduring of labour. its parts are magnificence, confidence, patience, and perseverance. magnificence is the consideration and management of important and sublime matters with a certain wide-seeing and splendid determination of mind. confidence is that feeling by which the mind embarks in great and honourable courses with a sure hope and trust in itself. patience is a voluntary and sustained endurance, for the sake of what is honourable or advantageous, of difficult and painful labours. perseverance is a steady and lasting persistence in a well-considered principle. temperance is the form and well-regulated dominion of reason over lust and other improper affections of the mind. its parts are continence, clemency, and modesty. continence is that by which cupidity is kept down under the superior influence of wisdom. clemency is that by which the violence of the mind, when causelessly excited to entertain hatred against some one else, is restrained by courtesy. modesty is that feeling by which honourable shame acquires a valuable and lasting authority. and all these things are to be sought for themselves, even if no advantage is to be acquired by them. and it neither concerns our present purpose to prove this, nor is it agreeable to our object of being concise in laying down our rules. but the things which are to be avoided for their own sake, are not those only which are the opposites to these; as indolence is to courage, and injustice to justice; but those also which appear to be near to and related to them, but which, in reality, are very far removed from them. as, for instance, diffidence is the opposite to confidence, and is therefore a vice; audacity is not the opposite of confidence, but is near it and akin to it, and, nevertheless, is also a vice. and in this manner there will be found a vice akin to every virtue, and either already known by some particular name--as audacity, which is akin to confidence; pertinacity, which is bordering on perseverance; superstition, which is very near religion,--or in some cases it has no fixed name. and all these things, as being the opposites of what is good, we class among things to be avoided. and enough has now been said respecting that class of honourable things which is sought in every part of it for itself alone. lv. at present it appears desirable to speak of that in which advantage is combined with honour, and which still we style simply honourable. there are many things, then, which allure us both by their dignity and also by the advantage which may be derived from them: such as glory, dignity, influence, friendship. glory is the fact of a person's being repeatedly spoken of to his praise; dignity is the honourable authority of a person, combined with attention and honour and worthy respect paid to him. influence is a great abundance of power or majesty, or of any sort of resource. friendship is a desire to do service to any one for the sake of the person himself to whom one is attached, combined with a corresponding inclination on his part towards oneself. at present, because we are speaking of civil causes, we add the consideration of advantage to friendship, so that it appears a thing to be sought for the sake of the advantage also: wishing to prevent those men from blaming us who think that we are including every kind of friendship in our definition. but although there are some people who think that friendship is only to be desired on account of the advantage to be derived from it; some think it is to be desired for itself alone; and some, that it is to be desired both for its own sake and for the sake of the advantage to be derived from it. and which of these statements is the most true, there will be another time for considering. at present it may be laid down, as far as the orator is concerned, that friendship is a thing to be desired on both accounts. but the consideration of the different kinds of friendship, (since they are partly formed on religious considerations, and partly not; and because some friendships are old, and some new; and because some originated in kindness shown by our friends to us, and some in kindness shown by ourselves to them; and because some are more advantageous, and others less,) must have reference partly to the dignity of the causes in which it originates, partly to the occasion when it arises, and also to the services done, the religious motives entertained, and its antiquity. lvi. but the advantages consist either in the thing itself, or in extraneous circumstances; of which, however, by far the greater portion is referable to personal advantage; as there are some things in the republic which, so to say, refer to the person of the state,--as lands, harbours, money, fleets, sailors, soldiery, allies; by all which things states preserve their safety and their liberty. there are other things also which make a thing more noble looking, and which still are less necessary; as the splendid decorating and enlarging of a city, or an extraordinary amount of wealth, or a great number of friendships and alliances. and the effect of all these things is not merely to make states safe and free from injury, but also noble and powerful. so that there appears to be two divisions of usefulness,--safety and power. safety is the secure and unimpaired preservation of a sound state. power is a possession of things suitable to preserving what is one's own, and to acquiring what belongs to another. and in all those things which have been already mentioned, it is proper to consider what is difficult to be done, and what can be done with ease. we call that a thing easy to be done, which can be done without great labour, or expense, or annoyance, or perhaps without any labour, expense, or annoyance at all, and in the shortest possible time. but that we call difficult to be done which, although it requires labour, expense, trouble and time, and has every possible characteristic of difficulty about it, or, at all events, the most numerous and most important ones, still, when these difficulties are encountered, can be completed and brought to an end. since, then, we have now discussed what is honourable and what is useful, it remains for us to say a little of those things which we have said are attached to these other things; namely, affection and necessity. lvii. i think, then, that necessity means that which cannot be resisted by any power; that which cannot be softened nor altered. and that this may be made more plain, let us examine into the meaning of it by the light of examples, so as to see what its character and how great its power is. "it is necessary that anything made of wood must be capable of being burnt with fire. it is necessary that a mortal body should at some time or other die." and it is so necessary, that that power of necessity which we were just now describing requires it; which cannot by any force whatever be either resisted, or weakened, or altered. necessities of this kind, when they occur in oratory, are properly called necessities; but if any difficult circumstances arise, then we shall consider in the previous examination whether it, the thing in question, be possible to be done. and it seems to me, that i perceive that there are some kinds of necessity which admit of additions, and some which are simple and perfect in themselves. for we say in very different senses:--"it is necessary for the people of casilinum to surrender themselves to hannibal;" and, "it is necessary that casilinum should come into the power of hannibal." in the one case, that is, in the first case, there is this addition to the proposition:--"unless they prefer perishing by hunger." for if they prefer that, then it is not necessary for them to surrender. but in the latter proposition such an addition has no place; because whether the people of casilinum choose to surrender, or prefer enduring hunger and perishing in that manner, still it is necessary that casilinum must come into the power of hannibal. what then can be effected by this division of necessity? i might almost say, a great deal, when the topic of necessity appears such as may be easily introduced. for when the necessity is a simple one, there will be no reason for our making long speeches, as we shall not be able by any means to weaken it; but when a thing is only necessary provided we wish to avoid or to obtain something, then it will be necessary to state what advantage or what honour is contained in that addition. for if you will take notice, while inquiring what this contributes to the advantage of the state, you will find that there is nothing which it is necessary to do, except for the sake of some cause which we call the adjunct. and, in like manner, you will find that there are many circumstances of necessity to which a similar addition cannot be made; of such sort are these:--"it is necessary that mortal men should die;" without any addition:--"it is not necessary for men to take food;" with this exception,--"unless they have an objection to dying of hunger." therefore, as i said before, it will be always proper to take into consideration the character of that exception which is added to the original proposition. for it will at all times have this influence, that either the necessity must be explained with reference to what is honourable, in this manner:--"it is necessary, if we wish to live with honour;" or with reference to safety, in this manner:--"it is necessary, if we wish to be safe;" or with reference to convenience, in this manner:--"it is necessary, if we are desirous to live without annoyance." lviii. and the greatest necessity of all appears to be that which arises from what is honourable; the next to it is that which arises from considerations of safety; the third and least important is that which has ideas of convenience involved in it. but this last can never be put in comparison with the two former. but it is often indispensable to compare these together; so that although honour is more precious than safety, there is still room to deliberate which one is to consult in the greatest degree. and as to this point, it appears possible to give a settled rule which may be of lasting application. for in whatever circumstances it can happen by any possibility that while we are consulting our safety, that slight diminution of honesty which is caused by our conduct may be hereafter repaired by virtue and industry, then it seems proper to have a regard for our safety. but when that does not appear possible, then we must think of nothing but what is honourable. and so in a case of that sort when we appear to be consulting our safety, we shall be able to say with truth that we are also keeping our eyes fixed on what is honourable, since without safety we can never attain to that end. and in these circumstances it will be desirable to yield to another, or to put oneself in another's place, or to keep quiet at present and wait for another opportunity. but when we are considering convenience, it is necessary to consider this point also,--whether the cause, as far as it has reference to usefulness, appears of sufficient importance to justify us in taking anything from splendour or honour. and while speaking on this topic, that appears to me to be the main thing, that we should inquire what that is which, whether we are desirous of obtaining or avoiding it, is something necessary; that is to say, what is the character of the addition; in order that, according as the matter is found to be, so we may exert ourselves, and consider the most important circumstances as being also the most necessary. affection is a certain way of looking at circumstances either with reference to the time, or to the result, or management of affairs, or to the desires of men, so that they no longer appear to be such as they were considered previously, or as they are generally in the habit of being considered. "it appears a base thing to go over to the enemy; but not with the view which ulysses had when he went over. and it is a useless act to throw money into the sea; but not with the design which aristippus had when he did so." there are, therefore, some circumstances which may be estimated with reference to the time at which and the intention with which they are done; and not according to their own intrinsic nature. in all which cases we must consider what the times require, or what is worthy of the persons concerned; and we must not think merely what is done, but with what intention, with what companions, and at what time, it is done. and from these divisions of the subject, we think that topics ought to be taken for delivering one's opinion. lix. but praise and blame must be derived from those topics which can be employed with respect to persons, and which we have already discussed. but if any one wishes to consider them in a more separate manner, he may divide them into the intention, and the person of the doer, and extraneous circumstances. the virtue of the mind is that concerning the parts of which we have lately spoken; the virtues of the body are health, dignity, strength, swiftness. extraneous circumstances are honour, money, relationship, family, friends, country, power, and other things which are understood to be of a similar kind. and in all these, that which is of universal validity ought to prevail here; and the opposites will be easily understood as to their description and character. but in praising and blaming, it will be desirable to consider not so much the personal character of, or the extraneous circumstances affecting the person of whom one is speaking, as how he has availed himself of his advantages. for to praise his good fortune is folly, and to blame it is arrogance; but the praise of a man's natural disposition is honourable, and the blame of it is a serious thing. now, since the principles of argumentation in every kind of cause have been set forth, it appears that enough has been said about invention, which is the first and most important part of rhetoric. wherefore, since one portion of my work has been brought down to its end from the former book; and since this book has already run to a great length, what remains shall be discussed in subsequent books. [_the two remaining books are lost_.] the orator of m.t. cicero. addressed to marcus brutus. this work was composed by cicero soon after the battle of pharsalia, and it was intended by him to contain the plan of what he himself considered to be the most perfect style of eloquence. in his epistles to his friends (vi. .) he tells lepta that he firmly believed that he had condensed all his knowledge of the art of oratory in what he had set forth in this book. i. i have, o brutus, hesitated a long time and often as to whether it was a more difficult and arduous business to refuse you, when constantly requesting the same favour, or to do what you desired me to do. for to refuse a man to whom i was attached above all men, and whom i knew also to be most entirely devoted to me, especially when he was only asking what was reasonable, and desiring what was honourable to me, appeared to me to be very harsh conduct; and to undertake a matter of such importance as was not only difficult for any man to have the ability to execute in an adequate manner, but hard even to think of in a way suited to its importance, appeared to me to be scarcely consistent with the character of a man who stood in awe of the reproof of wise and learned men. for what is there more important than, when the dissimilarity between good orators is so great, to decide which is the best sort and as it were the best form of eloquence? however, since you repeat your entreaties, i will attempt the task, not so much from any hope that i entertain of accomplishing it, as from my willingness to attempt it. for i had rather that you should find fault with my prudence in thus complying with your eager desire, than with my friendship in refusing to attempt it. you ask me then, and indeed you are constantly asking me, what kind of eloquence i approve of in the highest degree, and which sort of oratory i consider that to which nothing can be added, and which i therefore think the highest and most perfect kind. and in answering this question i am afraid lest, if i do what you wish, and give you an idea of the orator whom you are asking for, i may check the zeal of many, who, being discouraged by despair, will not make an attempt at what they have no hope of succeeding in. but it is good for all men to try everything, who have ever desired to attain any objects which are of importance and greatly to be desired. but if there be any one who feels that he is deficient either in natural power, or in any eminent force of natural genius, or that he is but inadequately instructed in the knowledge of important sciences, still let him hold on his course as far as he can. for if a man aims at the highest place, it is very honourable to arrive at the second or even the third rank. for in the poets there is room not only for homer (to confine myself to the greeks), or for archilochus, or sophocles, or pindar, but there is room also for those who are second to them, or even below the second. nor, indeed, did the nobleness of plato in philosophical studies deter aristotle from writing; nor did aristotle himself, by his admirable knowledge and eloquence, extinguish the zeal in those pursuits of all other men. ii. and it is not only the case that eminent men have not been deterred by such circumstances from the highest class of studies, but even those artists have not renounced their art who have been unable to equal the beauty of the talysus[ ] which we have seen at rhodes, or of the coan venus. nor have subsequent sculptors been so far alarmed at the statue of the olympian jove, or of the shield-bearer, as to give up trying what they could accomplish, or how far they could advance; and, indeed, there has been so vast a multitude of those men, and each of them has obtained so much credit in his own particular walk, that, while we admire the most perfect models, we have also approbation to spare for those who come short of them. but in the case of orators--i mean greek orators--it is a marvellous thing how far one is superior to all the rest. and yet when demosthenes flourished there were many illustrious orators, and so there were before his time, and the supply has not failed since. so that there is no reason why the hopes of those men, who have devoted themselves to the study of eloquence, should be broken, or why their industry should languish. for even the very highest pitch of excellency ought not to be despaired of; and in perfect things those things are very good which are next to the most perfect. and i, in depicting a consummate orator, will draw a picture of such an one as perhaps never existed. for i am not asking who he was, but what that is than which nothing can be more excellent. and perhaps the perfection which i am looking for does not often shine forth, (indeed i do not know whether it ever has been seen,) but still in some degree it may at times be discoverable, among some nations more frequently, and among others more sparingly. but i lay down this position, that there is nothing of any kind so beautiful which has not something more beautiful still from which it is copied,--as a portrait is from a person's face,--though it can neither be perceived by the eyes or ears, or by any other of the senses; it is in the mind only, and by our thoughts, that we embrace it. therefore, though we have never seen anything of any kind more beautiful than the statues of phidias and than those pictures which i have named, still we can imagine something more beautiful. nor did that great artist, when he was making the statue of jupiter or of minerva, keep in his mind any particular person of whom he was making a likeness; but there dwelt in his mind a certain perfect idea of beauty, which he looked upon, and fixed his eyes upon, and guided his art and his hand with reference to the likeness of that model. iii. as therefore there is in forms and figures something perfect and superexcellent, the appearance of which is stamped in our minds so that we imitate it, and refer to it everything which falls under our eyes; so we keep in our mind an idea of perfect eloquence, and seek for its resemblance with our ears. now plato, that greatest of all authors and teachers, not only of understanding, but also of speaking, calls those forms of things ideas; and he affirms that they are not created, but that they exist from everlasting, and are kept in their places by reason and intelligence: that all other things have their rising and setting, their ebb and flow, and cannot continue long in the same condition. whatever there is, therefore, which can become a subject of discussion as to its principle and method, is to be reduced to the ultimate form and species of its class. and i see that this first beginning of mine is derived not from the discussions of orators, but from the very heart of philosophy, and that it is old-fashioned and somewhat obscure, and likely to incur some blame, or at all events to provoke some surprise. for men will either wonder what all this has to do with that which is the subject of our inquiry, and they will be satisfied with understanding the nature of the facts, so that it may not seem to be without reason that we have traced their origin so far back; or else they will blame us for hunting out for unaccustomed paths, and abandoning those in ordinary use. but i am aware that i often appear to say things which are novel, when i am in reality saying what is very old, only not generally known. and i confess that i have been made an orator, (if indeed i am one at all,) or such as i am, not by the workshops of the rhetoricians, but by the walks of the academy. for that is the school of manifold and various discourses, in which first of all there are imprinted the footsteps of plato. but the orator is to a great extent trained and assisted by his discussions and those of other philosophers. for all that copiousness, and forest, as it were, of eloquence, is derived from those men, and yet is not sufficient for forensic business; which, as these men themselves used to say, they left to more rustic muses. accordingly this forensic eloquence, being despised and repudiated by philosophy, has lost many great and substantial helps; but still, as it is embellished with flowery language and well-turned periods, it has had some popularity among the people, and has had no reason to fear the judgment or prejudice of a few. and so popular eloquence has been lost to learned men, and elegant learning to eloquent ones. iv. let this then be laid down among the first principles, (and it will be better understood presently,)--that the eloquent man whom we are looking for cannot be rendered such without philosophy. not indeed that there is everything necessary in philosophy, but that it is of assistance to an orator as the wrestling-school is to an actor; for small things are often compared with great ones. for no one can express wide views, or speak fluently on many and various subjects, without philosophy. since also, in the phaedrus of plato, socrates says that this is what pericles was superior to all other orators in, that he had been a pupil of anaxagoras the natural philosopher. and it was owing to him, in his opinion, (though he had learnt also many other splendid and admirable accomplishments,) that he was so copious and imaginative, and so thoroughly aware--which is the main thing in eloquence--by what kinds of speeches the different parts of men's minds are moved. and we may draw the same conclusion from the case of demosthenes; from whose letters it may be gathered what a constant pupil of plato's he was. nor, indeed, without having studied in the schools of philosophers, can we discern the genus and species of everything; nor explain them by proper definitions; nor distribute them into their proper divisions; nor decide what is true and what is false; nor discern consequences, perceive inconsistencies, and distinguish what is doubtful. why should i speak of the nature of things, the knowledge of which supplies such abundance of topics to oratory? or of life, and duty, and virtue, and manners? for what of all these things can be either spoken of or understood without a long study of those matters? v. to these numerous and important things there are to be added innumerable ornaments, which at that time were only to be derived from those men who were accounted teachers of oratory. the consequence is, that no one applies himself to that genuine and perfect eloquence, because the study requisite for understanding those matters is different from that which enables me to speak of them; and because it is necessary to go to one class of teachers to understand the things, and to another to learn the proper language for them. therefore marcus antonius, who in the time of our fathers was considered to be the most eminent of all men alive for eloquence, a manly nature very acute and eloquent, in that one treatise which he has left behind him, says that he has seen many fluent speakers, but not one eloquent orator, in truth, he had in his mind a model of eloquence which in his mind he saw, though he could not behold it with his eyes. but he, being a man of the most acute genius, (as indeed he was,) and feeling the want of many things both in himself and other men, saw absolutely no one who had fairly a right to be called eloquent. but if he did not think either himself or lucius crassus eloquent, then he certainly must have had in his mind some perfect model of eloquence; and as that had nothing wanting, he felt himself unable to include those who had anything or many things wanting in that class. let us then, o brutus, if we can, investigate the nature of this man whom antonius never beheld, or who perhaps has never even existed; and if we cannot imitate and copy him exactly, (which indeed antonius said was scarcely possible for a god to do,) still we may perhaps be able to explain what he ought to be like. vi. there are altogether three different kinds of speaking, in each of which there have been some eminent men; but very few (though that is what we are now looking for) who have been equally eminent in all. for some have been grandiloquent men, (if i may use such an expression,) with an abundant dignity of sentiments and majesty of language, --vehement, various, copious, authoritative; well adapted and prepared to make an impression on and effect a change in men's feelings: an effect which some have endeavoured to produce by a rough, morose, uncivilized sort of speaking, not elaborated or wrought up with any care; and others employ a smooth, carefully prepared, and well rounded off style. on the other hand, there are men neat, acute, explaining everything, and making matters clearer, not nobler, polished up with a certain subtle and compressed style of oratory; and in the same class there are others, shrewd, but unpolished, and designedly resembling rough and unskilful speakers; and some who, with the same barrenness and simplicity, are still more elegant, that is to say, are facetious, flowery, and even slightly embellished. but there is another class, half-way between these two, and as it were compounded of both of them, endowed neither with the acuteness of the last-mentioned orators, nor with the thunder of the former; as a sort of mixture of both, excelling in neither style; partaking of both, or rather indeed (if we would adhere to the exact truth) destitute of all the qualifications of either. those men go on, as they say, in one uniform tenor of speaking, bringing nothing except their facility and equalness of language; or else they add something, like reliefs on a pedestal, and so they embellish their whole oration, with trifling ornaments of words and ideas. vii. now, whoever have by themselves arrived at any power in each of these styles of oratory, have gained a great name among orators; but we must inquire whether they have sufficiently effected what we want. for we see that there have been some men who have been ornate and dignified speakers, being at the same time shrewd and subtle arguers. and i wish that we were able to find a model of such an orator among the latins. it would be a fine thing not to be forced to have recourse to foreign instances, but to be content with those of our own country. but though in that discourse of mine which i have published in the brutus, i have attributed much credit to the latins,--partly to encourage others, and partly out of affection for my own countrymen,--i still recollect that i by far prefer demosthenes to all other men, inasmuch as he adapted his energy to that eloquence which i myself feel to be such, and not to that which i have ever had any experience of in any actual instance. he was an orator than whom there has never existed one more dignified, nor more wise, nor more temperate. and therefore it is well that we should warn those men whose ignorant conversation is getting to have some notoriety and weight, who wish either to be called attic speakers, or who really wish to speak in the attic style, to fix their admiration on this man above all others, than whom i do not think athens itself more attic. for by so doing they may learn what attic means, and may measure eloquence by his power and not by their own weakness; for at present every one praises just that which he thinks that he himself is able to imitate. but still i think it not foreign to my present subject to remind those who are endowed with but a weak judgment, what is the peculiar merit of the attic writers. viii. the prudence of the hearers has always been the regulator of the eloquence of the orators. for all men who wish to be approved of, regard the inclination of those men who are their hearers, and form and adapt themselves entirely which of the greek rhetoricians ever drew any of his rules from thucydides? oh, but he is praised universally. i admit that, but it is on the ground that he is a wise, conscientious, dignified relater of facts, not that he was pleading causes before tribunals, but that he was relating wars in a history. therefore, he was never accounted an orator; nor, indeed, should we have ever heard of his name if he had not written a history, though he was a man of eminently high character and of noble birth. but no one ever imitates the dignity of his language or of his sentiments, but when they have used some disjointed and unconnected expressions, which they might have done without any teacher at all, then they think that they are akin to thucydides. i have met men too who were anxious to resemble xenophon, whose style is, indeed, sweeter than honey, but as unlike as possible to the noisy style of the forum. x let us then return to the subject of laying a foundation for the orator whom we desire to see, and of furnishing him with that eloquence which antonius had never found in any one. we are, o brutus, undertaking a great and arduous task, but i think nothing difficult to a man who is in love. but i am and always have been in love with your genius, and your pursuits, and your habits. moreover, i am every day more and more inflamed not only with regret,--though i am worn away with that while i am wishing to enjoy again our meetings and our daily association, and your learned discourse,--but also with the admirable reputation of your incredible virtues, which, though different in their kind, are united by your prudence. for what is so different or remote from severity as courtesy? and yet who has ever been considered either more conscientious or more agreeable than you? and what is so difficult as, while deciding disputes between many people, to be beloved by all of them? yet you attain this end, of dismissing in a contented and pacified frame of mind the very parties against whom you decide. therefore, while doing nothing from motives of interest you still contrive that all that you do should be acceptable. and therefore, of all the countries on earth, gaul[ ] is now the only one which is not affected by the general conflagration, while you yourself enjoy your own virtues in peace, knowing that your conduct is appreciated in this bright italy, and surrounded as you are by the flower and strength of the citizens. and what an exploit is that, never, amid all your important occupations, to interrupt your study of philosophy! you are always either writing something yourself or inviting me to write something. therefore, i began this work as soon as i had finished my cato, which i should never have meddled with, being alarmed at the aspect of the times, so hostile to virtue, if i had not thought it wicked not to comply with your wishes, when you were exhorting me and awaking in me the recollection of that man who was so dear to me, and i call you to witness that i have only ventured to undertake this subject after many entreaties on your part, and many refusals on mine. for i wish that you should appear implicated in this fault, so that if i myself should appear unable to support the weight of such a subject, you may bear the blame of having imposed such a burden on me, and i only that of having undertaken it. and then the credit of having had such a commission given me by you, will make amends for the blame which the deficiency of my judgment will bring upon me. xi. but in everything it is very difficult to explain the form (that which is called in greek [greek: charaktaer]) of perfection, because different things appear perfection to different people. i am delighted with ennius, says one person, because he never departs from the ordinary use of words. i love pacuvius, says another, all his verses are so ornamented and elaborate while ennius is often so careless. another is all for attius. for there are many different opinions, as among the greeks, nor is it easy to explain which form is the most excellent. in pictures one man is delighted with what is rough harsh looking, obscure, and dark, others care only for what is neat cheerful and brilliant. why should you, then give any precise command or formula, when each is best in its own kind, and when there are many kinds? however, these difficulties have not repelled me from this attempt, and i have thought that in everything there is some point of absolute perfection even though it is not easily seen, and, that it can be decided on by a man who understands the matter. but since there are many kinds of speeches, and those different, and as they do not all fall under one form, the form of panegyric, and of declamation, and of narration, and of such discourses as isocrates has left us in his panegyric, and many other writers also who are called sophists; and the form also of other kinds which have no connexion with forensic discussion, and of the whole of that class which is called in greek [greek: epideiktikon], and which is made up as it were for the purpose of being looked at--for the sake of amusement, i shall omit at the present time. not that they deserve to be entirely neglected; for they are as it were the nursery of the orator whom we wish to draw; and concerning whom we are endeavouring to say something worth hearing. xii. from this form is derived fluency of words; from it also the combination and rhythm of sentences derives a freer licence. for great indulgence is shown to neatly turned sentences; and rhythmical, steady, compact periods are always admissible. and pains are taken purposely, not disguisedly, but openly and avowedly, to make one word answer to another, as if they had been measured together and were equal to each other. so that words opposed to one another may be frequently contrasted, and contrary words compared together, and that sentences may be terminated in the same manner, and may give the same sound at their conclusion; which, when we are dealing with actual causes, we do much more seldom, and certainly with more disguise. but, in his panathenaic oration, isocrates avows that he diligently kept that object in view; for he composed it not for a contest in a court of justice, but to delight the ears of his hearers. they say that thrasymachus of chalcedon, and gorgias of leontini, were the first men who taught this science; after him theodorus of byzantium, and many others whom socrates in the phaedrus calls [greek: logodaidaloi]; who have said many things very tolerably clever, but which seem as if they had arisen at the moment, trifling, and like animals which change their colour, and too minutely painted. and this is what makes herodotus and thucydides the more admirable; for though they lived at the same time with those men whom i have named, still they kept aloof as far as possible from such amusements, or i should rather say from such follies. for one of them flows on like a tranquil river, without any attempts at facetiousness; the other is borne on in a more impetuous course, and relates warlike deeds in a warlike spirit; and they are the first men by whom, as theophrastus says, history was stirred up to dare to speak in a more fluent and adorned style than their predecessors had ventured on. xiii. isocrates lived in the age next to theirs; who is at all times praised by us above all other orators of his class, even though you, o brutus, sometimes object in a jesting though not in an unlearned spirit. but you will very likely agree with me when you know why i praise him. for as thrasymachus appeared to him to be too concise with his closely measured rhythm, and gorgias also, though they are the first who are said to have laid down any rules at all for the harmony of sentences; and as thucydides was somewhat too abrupt and not sufficiently round, if i may use such an expression; he was the first who adopted a system of dilating his ideas with words, and filling them up with better sounding sentences; and as by his own practice he formed those men who were afterwards accounted the most eminent men in speaking and writing, his house got to be reckoned a perfect school of eloquence. therefore, as i, when i was praised by our friend cato, could easily bear to be blamed by the rest; so isocrates appears to have a right to despise the judgment of other men, while he has the testimony of plato to pride himself on. for, as you know, socrates is introduced in almost the last page of the phaedrus speaking in these words:--"at present, o phaedrus, isocrates is quite a young man; but still i delight in telling the expectations which i have of him." "what are they?" says he. "he appears to me to be a man of too lofty a genius to be compared to lysias and his orations: besides, he has a greater natural disposition for virtue; so that it will not be at all strange if, when he has advanced in age, he will either surpass all his contemporaries who turn their attention to eloquence, and in this kind of oratory, to the study of which he is at present devoted, as if they were only boys; or, if he is not content with such a victory, he will then feel some sort of divine inspiration prompting him to desire greater things. for there is a deep philosophy implanted by nature in this man's mind." this was the augury which socrates forms of him while a young man. but plato writes it of him when he has become an old man, and when he is his contemporary, and a sort of attacker of all the rhetoricians. and isocrates is the only one whom he admires. and let those men who are not fond of isocrates allow me to remain in error in the company of socrates and plato. that then is a delightful kind of oratory, free, fluent, shrewd in its sentiments, sweet sounding in its periods, which is found in that demonstrative kind of speaking which we have mentioned. it is the peculiar style of sophists; more suitable for display than for actual contest; appropriate to schools and exhibitions; but despised in and driven from the forum. but because eloquence is first of all trained by this sort of food, and afterwards gives itself a proper colour and strength, it appeared not foreign to our subject to speak of what is as it were the cradle of an orator. however, all this belongs to the schools, and to display: let us now descend into the battle-field and to the actual struggle. xiv. as there are three things which the orator has to consider; what he is saying; and in what place, and in what manner he is saying each separate thing; it seems on all accounts desirable to explain what is best as to each separate subject, though in rather a different manner from that in which it is usually explained in laying down the principles of the science. we will give no regular rules, (for that task we have not undertaken,) but we will present an outline and sketch of perfect eloquence; nor will we occupy ourselves in explaining by what means it is acquired, but only what sort of thing it appears to us to be. and let us discuss the two first divisions very briefly. for it is not so much that they have not an important reference to the highest perfection, as that they are indispensable, and almost common to other studies also. for to plan and decide on what you will say are important points, and are as it were the mind in the body; still they are parts of prudence rather than of eloquence; and yet what matter is there in which prudence is not necessary? this orator, then, whom we wish to describe as a perfect one, must know all the topics suited to arguments and reasons of this class. for since whatever can possibly be the subject of any contest or controversy, gives rise to the inquiry whether it exists, and what it is, and what sort of thing it is; while we endeavour to ascertain whether it exists, by tokens; what it is, by definitions; what sort of thing it is, by divisions of right and wrong; and in order to be able to avail himself of these topics the orator,--i do not mean any ordinary one, but the excellent one whom i am endeavouring to depict,--always, if he can, diverts the controversy from any individual person or occasion. for it is in his power to argue on wider grounds concerning a genus than concerning a part; as, whatever is proved in the universal, must inevitably be proved with respect to a part. this inquiry, then, when diverted from individual persons and occasions to a discussion of a universal genus, is called a thesis. this is what aristotle trained young men in, not after the fashion of ordinary philosophers, by subtle dissertations, but in the way of rhetoricians, making them argue on each side, in order that it might be discussed with more elegance and more copiousness; and he also gave them topics (for that is what he called them) as heads of arguments, from which every sort of oration might be applied to either side of the question. xv. this orator of ours then (for what we are looking for is not some declaimer out of a school, or some pettifogger from the forum, but a most accomplished and perfect orator), since certain topics are given to him, will run through all of them; he will use those which are suitable to his purpose according to their class; he will learn also from what source those topics proceed which are called common. nor will he make an imprudent use of his resources, but he will weigh everything, and make a selection. for the same arguments have not equal weight at all times, or in all causes. he will, therefore, exercise his judgment, and he will not only devise what he is to say, but he will also weigh its force. for there is nothing more fertile than genius, especially of the sort which has been cultivated by study. but as fertile and productive corn-fields bear not only corn, but weeds which are most unfriendly to corn, so sometimes from those topics there are produced arguments which are either trifling, or foreign to the subject, or useless; and the judgment of the orator has great room to exert itself in making a selection from them. otherwise how will he be able to stop and make his stand on those arguments which are good and suited to his purpose? or how to soften what is harsh, and to conceal what cannot be denied, and, if it be possible, entirely to get rid of all such topics? or how will he be able to lead men's minds away from the objects on which they are fixed, or to adduce any other argument which, when opposed to that of his adversaries, may be more probable than that which is brought against him? and with what diligence will he marshal the arguments with which he has provided himself? since that is the second of his three objects. he will make all the vestibule, if i may so say, and the approach to his cause brilliant; and when he has got possession of the minds of his hearers by his first onset, he will then invalidate and exclude all contrary arguments; and of his own strongest arguments some he will place in the van, some he will employ to bring up the rear, and the weaker ones he will place in the centre. and thus we have described in a brief and summary manner what this perfect orator should be like in the two first parts of speaking. but, as has been said before, in these parts, (although they are weighty and important,) there is less skill and labour than in the others. xvi. but when he has found out what to say, and in what place he is to say it, then comes that which is by far the most important division of the three, the consideration of the manner in which he is to say it. for that is a well-known saying which our friend carneades used to repeat:--"that clitomachus said the same things, but that charmadas said the same things in the same manner." but if it is of so much consequence in philosophy even, how you say a thing, when it is the matter which is looked at there rather than the language, what can we think must be the case in causes in which the elocution is all in all? and i, o brutus, knew from your letters that you do not ask what sort of artist i think a consummate orator ought to be, as far as devising and arranging his arguments; but you appeared to me to be asking rather what kind of eloquence i considered the best. a very difficult matter, and, indeed, by the immortal gods! the most difficult of all matters. for as language is a thing soft and tender, and so flexible that it follows wherever you turn it, so also the various natures and inclinations of men have given rise to very different kinds of speaking. some men love a stream of words and great volubility, placing all eloquence in rapidity of speech. others are fond of distinct and broadly marked intervals, and delays, and taking of breath. what can be more different? yet in each kind there is something excellent. some labour to attain a gentle and equable style, and a pure and transparent kind of eloquence; others aim at a certain harshness and severity in their language, a sort of melancholy in their speech: and as we have just before divided men, so that some wish to appear weighty, some light, some moderate, so there are as many different kinds of orators as we have already said that there are styles of oratory. xvii. and since i have now begun to perform this duty in a more ample manner than you did require it of me, (for though the question which you put to me has reference only to the kind of oration, i have also in my answer given you a brief account of the invention and arrangement of arguments,) even now i will not speak solely of the manner of making a speech, but i will touch also on the manner of conducting an action. and so no part whatever will be omitted: since nothing need be said in this place of memory, for that is common to many arts. but the way in which it is said depends on two things,--on action and on elocution. for action is a sort of eloquence of the body, consisting as it does of voice and motion. now there are as many changes of voice as there are of minds, which are above all things influenced by the voice. therefore, that perfect orator which our oration has just been describing, will employ a certain tone of voice regulated by the way in which he wishes to appear affected himself, and by the manner also in which he desires the mind of his hearer to be influenced. and concerning this i would say more if this was the proper time for laying down rules concerning it, or if this was what you were inquiring about. i would speak also of gesture, with which expression of countenance is combined. and it is hardly possible to express of what importance these things are, and what use the orator makes of them. for even people without speaking, by the mere dignity of their action, have often produced all the effect of eloquence; and many really eloquent men, by their ungainly delivery have been thought ineloquent. so that it was not without reason that demosthenes attributed the first, and second, and third rank to action. for if eloquence without action is nothing, but action without eloquence is of such great power, then certainly it is the most important part of speaking. xviii. he, then, who aims at the highest rank in eloquence, will endeavour with his voice on the stretch to speak energetically; with a low voice, gently, with a sustained voice, gravely, and with a modulated voice, in a manner calculated to excite compassion. for the nature of the voice is something marvellous, for all its great power is derived from three sounds only, the grave sound, the sharp sound, and the moderate sound, and from these comes all that sweet variety which is brought to perfection in songs. but there is also in speaking a sort of concealed singing, not like the peroration of rhetoricians from phrygia or caria, which is nearly a chant, but that sort which demosthenes and aeschines mean when the one reproaches the other with the affected modulation of his voice. demosthenes says even more, and often declares that aeschines had a very sweet and clear voice. and in this that point appears to me worth noting, with reference to the study of aiming at sweetness in the voice. for nature of herself, as if she were modulating the voices of men, has placed in every one one acute tone, and not more than one, and that not more than two syllables back from the last, so that industry may be guided by nature when pursuing the object of delighting the ears. a good voice also is a thing to be desired, for it is not naturally implanted in us, but practice and use give it to us. therefore, the consummate orator will vary and change his voice, and sometimes straining it, sometimes lowering it, he will go through every degree of tone. and he will use action in such a way that there shall be nothing superfluous in his gestures. his attitude will be erect and lofty, the motion of the feet rare, and very moderate, he will only move across the tribune in a very moderate manner, and even then rarely, there will be no bending of the neck, no clenching of the fingers, no rise or fall of the fingers in regular time, he will rather sway his whole body gently, and employ a manly inclination of his side, throwing out his arm in the energetic parts of his speech, and drawing it back in the moderate ones. as to his countenance, which is of the greatest influence possible next to the voice, what dignity and what beauty will be derived from its expression! and when you have accomplished this, then the eyes too must be kept under strict command, that there may not appear to be anything unsuitable, or like grimace. for as the countenance is the image of the mind, so are the eyes the informers as to what is going on within it. and their hilarity or sadness will be regulated by the circumstances which are under discussion. xix. but now we must give the likeness of this perfect orator and of this consummate eloquence, and his very name points out that he excels in this one particular, that is to say, in oratory and that other eminent qualities are kept out of sight in him. for it is not by his invention, or by his power of arrangement, or by his action, that he has embraced all these points, but in greek he is called [greek: raetor], and in latin "eloquent," from speaking. for every one claims for himself some share in the other accomplishments which belong to an orator, but the greatest power in speaking is allowed to be his alone. for although some philosophers have spoken with elegance, (since theophrastus[ ] derived his name from his divine skill in speaking, and aristotle attacked isocrates himself, and they say that the muses as it were spoke by the mouth of xenophon; and far above all men who have ever written or spoken, plato is preeminent both for sweetness and dignity,) still their language has neither the vigour nor the sting of an orator or a forensic speaker. they are conversing with learned men whose minds they wish to tranquillize rather than to excite, and so they speak on peaceful subjects which have no connexion with any violence, and for the sake of teaching, not of charming, so that even in the fact of their aiming at giving some pleasure by their diction, they appear to some people to be doing more than is necessary for them to do. it is not difficult, therefore, to distinguish between this kind of speaking and the eloquence which we are now treating of. for the address of philosophers is gentle, and fond of retirement, and not furnished with popular ideas or popular expressions, not fettered by any particular rhythm, but allowed a good deal of liberty. it has in it nothing angry, nothing envious, nothing energetic, nothing marvellous, nothing cunning, it is as it were a chaste, modest, uncontaminated virgin. therefore it is called a discourse rather than an oration. for although every kind of speaking is an oration, still the language of the orator alone is distinguished by this name as its own property. it appears more necessary to distinguish between it and the copy of it by the sophists, who wish to gather all the same flowers which the orator employs in his causes. but they differ from him in this that, as their object is not to disturb men's minds, but rather to appease them, and not so much to persuade as to delight, and as they do it more openly than we do and more frequently, they seek ideas which are neat rather than probable, they often wander from the subject, they weave fables into their speeches, they openly borrow terms from other subjects, and arrange them as painters do a variety of colours, they put like things by the side of like, opposite things by the side of their contraries, and very often they terminate period after period in similar manners. xx. now history is akin to this side of writing, in which the authors relate with elegance, and often describe a legion, or a battle, and also addresses and exhortations are intermingled, but in them something connected and fluent is required, and not this compressed and vehement sort of speaking. and the eloquence which we are looking for must be distinguished from theirs nearly as much as it must from that of the poets. for even the poets have given room for the question, what the point is in which they differ from the orators, formerly it appeared to be chiefly rhythm and versification, but of late rhythm has got a great footing among the orators. for whatever it is which offers the ears any regular measure, even if it be ever so far removed from verse, (for that is a fault in an oration,) is called "number" by us, being the same thing that in greek is called [greek: ruthmos]. and, accordingly, i see that some men have thought that the language of plato and democritus, although it is not verse, still, because it is borne along with some impetuosity and employs the most brilliant illustration that words can give, ought to be considered as poetry rather than the works of the comic poets, in which, except that they are written in verse, there is nothing else which is different from ordinary conversation. nor is that the principal characteristic of a poet, although he is the more to be praised for aiming at the excellences of an orator, when he is more fettered by verse. but, although the language of some poets is grand and ornamented, still i think that they have greater licence than we have in making and combining words, and i think too that they often, in their expressions, pay more attention to the object of giving pleasure to their leaders than to their subject. nor, indeed, does the fact of there being one point of resemblance between them, (i mean judgment and the selection of words,) make it difficult to perceive their dissimilarity on other points. but that is not doubtful, and if there be any question in the matter, still this is certainly not necessary for the object which is proposed to be kept in view. the orator, therefore, now that he has been separated from the eloquence of philosophers, and sophists, and historians, and poets, requires an explanation from us to show what sort of person he is to be xxi. the eloquent orator, then, (for that is what, according to antonius, we are looking for) is a man who speaks in the forum and in civil causes in such a manner as to prove, to delight, and to persuade. to prove, is necessary for him; to delight, is a proof of his sweetness, to persuade, is a token of victory. for that alone of all results is of the greatest weight towards gaining causes. but there are as many kinds of speaking as there are separate duties of an orator. the orator, therefore, ought to be a man of great judgment and of great ability, and he ought to be a regulator, as it were, of this threefold variety of duty. for he will judge what is necessary for every one, and he will be able to speak in whatever manner the cause requires. but the foundation of eloquence, as of all other things, is wisdom. for as in life, so in a speech, nothing is more difficult than to see what is becoming. the greeks call this [greek: prepon], we call it "decorum." but concerning this point many admirable rules are laid down, and the matter is well worth being understood. and it is owing to ignorance respecting it that men make blunders not only in life, but very often in poems, and in speeches. but the orator must consider what is becoming not only in his sentences, but also in his words. for it is not every fortune, nor every honour, nor every authority, nor every age, or place, or time, nor every hearer who is to be dealt with by the same character of expressions or sentiments. and at all times, in every part of a speech or of life, we must consider what is becoming, and that depends partly on the facts which are the subject under discussion, and also on the characters of those who are the speakers and of those who are the hearers. therefore this topic, which is of very wide extent and application, is often employed by philosophers in discussions on duty, not when they are discussing abstract right, for that is but one thing and the grammarians also too often employ it when criticising the poets, to show their eloquence in every division and description of cause. for how unseemly is it, when you are pleading before a single judge about a gutter, to use high sounding expressions and general topics, but to speak with a low voice and with subtle arguments in a cause affecting the majesty of the roman people. xxii. this applies to the whole genus. but some persons err as to the character either of themselves, or of the judges, or of their adversaries and not only in actual fact, but often in word. although there is no force in a word without a fact, still the same fact is often either approved of, or rejected, according as this or that expression is employed respecting it. and in every case it is necessary to take care how far it may be right to go, for although everything has its proper limit, still excess offends more than falling short. and that is the point in which apelles said that those painters made a blunder, who did not know what was enough. there is here, o brutus, an important topic, which does not escape your notice, and which requires another large volume. but for the present question this is enough, when we say that this is becoming, (an expression which we always employ in all words and actions, both great and small)--when, i say, we say that this is becoming and that that is not becoming, and when it appears to what extent each assertion is meant to be applicable, and when it depends on something else, and is quite another matter whether you say that a thing is becoming or proper, (for to say a thing is proper, declares the perfection of duty, which we and all men are at all times to regard to say a thing is becoming, as to say that it is fit as it were, and suitable to the time and person: which is often very important both in actions and words, and in a person's countenance and gestures and gait;)--and, on the other hand, when we say that a thing is unbecoming, (and if a poet avoids this as the greatest of faults, [and he also errs if he puts an honest sentiment in the mouth of a wicked man, or a wise one in the mouth of a fool,] or if that painter saw that, when calchas was sad at the sacrifice of iphigenia, and ulysses still more so, and menelaus in mourning, that agamemnon's head required to be veiled altogether, since it was quite impossible to represent such grief as his with a paint brush; if even the actor inquires what is becoming, what must we think that the orator ought to do?) but as this is a matter of so much importance, the orator must take care what he does in his causes, and in the different parts of them; that is plain, that not only the different parts of an oration, but that even whole causes are to be dealt with in different styles of oratory. xxiii. it follows that the characteristics and forms of each class must be sought for. it is a great and difficult task, as we have often said before; but it was necessary for us to consider at the beginning what we would discuss; and now we must set our sails in whatever course we are borne on. but first of all we must give a sketch of the man whom some consider the only orator of the attic style. he is a gentle, moderate man, imitating the usual customs, differing from those who are not eloquent in fact rather than in any of his opinions. therefore those who are his hearers, even though they themselves have no skill in speaking, still feel confident that they could speak in that manner. for the subtlety of his address appears easy of imitation to a person who ventures on an opinion, but nothing is less easy when he comes to try it; for although it is not a style of any extraordinary vigour, still it has some juice, so that even though it is not endowed with the most extreme power, it is still, if i may use such an expression, in perfect health. first of all, then, let us release it from the fetters of rhythm. for there is, as you know, a certain rhythm to be observed by an orator, (and of that we will speak presently,) proceeding on a regular system; but though it must be attended to in another kind of oratory, it must be entirely abandoned in this. this must be a sort of easy style, and yet not utterly without rules, so that it may seem to range at freedom, not to wander about licentiously. he should also guard against appearing to cement his words together; for the hiatus formed by a concourse of open vowels has something soft about it, and indicates a not unpleasing negligence, as if the speaker were anxious more about the matter than the manner of his speech. but as to other points, he must take care, especially as he is allowed more licence in these two,--i mean the rounding of his periods, and the combination of his words; for those narrow and minute details are not to be dealt with carelessly. but there is such a thing as a careful negligence; for as some women are said to be unadorned to whom that very want of ornament is becoming, so this refined sort of oratory is delightful even when unadorned. for in each case a result is produced that the thing appears more beautiful, though the cause is not apparent. then every conspicuous ornament will be removed, even pearls; even curling-irons will be put away; and all medicaments of paint and chalk, all artificial red and white, will be discarded; only elegance and neatness will remain. the language will be pure and latin; it will be arranged plainly and clearly, and great care will be taken to see what is becoming. xxiv. one quality will be present, which theophrastus calls the fourth in his praises of oratory;--full of ornament, sweetness, and fluency. clever sentiments, extracted from i know not what secret store, will be brought out, and will exert their power in the speeches of this perfect orator. there will be a moderate use of what i may call oratorical furniture; for there is to a certain degree what i may call our furniture, consisting of ornaments partly of things and partly of words. but the ornaments consisting of words are twofold: one kind consisting of words by themselves, the other consisting of them in combination. the simple embellishment is approved of in the case of proper and commonly employed words, which either sound very well, or else are very explanatory of the subject; in words which do not naturally belong to the subject,--it is either metaphorical, or borrowed from some other quarter; or else it is derived from the subject, whether it is a new term, or an old one grown obsolete; but even old and almost obsolete terms may be proper ones, only that we seldom employ them. but words when well arranged have great ornament if they give any neatness, which does not remain if the words are altered while the sense remains. for the embellishments of sentiments which remain, even if you alter the language in which they are expressed, are many, but still there are but few of them which are worth remarking. therefore a simple orator, provided he is elegant and not bold in the matter of making words, and modest in his metaphors, and sparing in his use of obsolete terms, and humble in the rest of his ornaments of words and sentences, will perhaps indulge in a tolerably frequent use of that kind of metaphor which is common in the ordinary conversation, not only of city people, but even of rustics; since they too are in the habit of saying, "that the vines sparkle with jewels," "that the fields are thirsty," "that the corn-fields are rejoicing," "that the crops are luxuriant." now there is not one of these expressions which is not somewhat bold; but the thing is either like that which you use metaphorically; or else, if it has no name of its own, the expression which you use appears to have been borrowed for the sake of teaching, not of jesting. and this quiet sort of orator will use this ornament with rather more freedom than the rest; and yet he will not do it with as much licence as if he were practising the loftiest kind of oratory. xxv. therefore that unbecomingness (and what that is may be understood from the definition we have given of what is becoming) is visible here also, when some sublime expression is used metaphorically, and is used in a lowly style of oration, though it might have been becoming in a different one. but the neatness which i have spoken of, which illuminates the arrangement of language by these lights which the greeks, as if they were some gestures of the speech, call [greek: schaemata], (and the same word is applied by them also to the embellishments of sentences,) is employed by the refined orator (whom some men call the attic orator, and rightly too, if they did not mean that he was the only one) but sparingly. for, as in the preparation of a feast, a man while on his guard against magnificence, is desirous to be thought not only economical but also elegant, he will choose what is best for him to use. for there are many kinds of economy suited to this very orator of whom i am speaking; for the ornaments which i have previously been mentioning are to be avoided by this acute orator,--i mean the comparing like with like, and the similarly sounding and equally measured ends of sentences, and graces hunted out as it were by the alteration of a letter; so that it may not be visible that neatness has been especially aimed at, and so that the orator may not be detected in having been hunting for means of pleasing the ears of his audience. again, if repetitions of the same expressions require a sort of vehemence and loudness of voice, they will then be unsuited to the simple style of oratory. the orator may use other embellishments promiscuously; only let him relax and separate the connexion of the words, and use as ordinary expressions as possible, and as gentle metaphors. let him even avail himself of those lights of sentiments, as long as they are not too brilliant. he will not make the republic speak; nor will he raise the dead from the shades below; nor will he collect together a number of particulars in one heap, and so fold them in one embrace. such deeds belong to more vigorous beings, nor are they to be expected or required from this man of whom we are giving a sketch; for he will be too moderate not only in his voice, but also in his style. but there are many embellishments which will suit his simple style, although he will use even them in a strict manner; for that is his character. he will have besides this, action, not tragic, nor suited to the stage, but he will move his body in a moderate degree, trusting a great deal to his countenance; not in such a way as people call making faces but in a manner sufficient to show in a gentlemanlike manner in what sense he means what he is saying to be understood. xxvi. now in this kind of speech sallies of wit are admissible, and they carry perhaps only too much weight in an oration. of them there are two kinds,--facetiousness and raillery,--and the orator will employ both; but he will use the one in relating anything neatly, and the other in darting ridicule on his adversaries. and of this latter kind there are more descriptions than one; however, it is a different thing that we are discussing now. nevertheless we may give this warning,--that the orator ought to use ridicule in such a way as neither to indulge in it too often, that it may not seem like buffoonery; nor in a covertly obscure manner, that it may not seem like the wit of a comedian; nor in a petulant manner, lest it should seem spiteful; nor should he ridicule calamity, lest that should seem inhuman; nor crime, lest laughter should usurp the place which hatred ought to occupy; nor should he employ this weapon when unsuitable to his own character, or to that of the judges, or to the time; for all such conduct would come under the head of unbecoming. the orator must also avoid using jests ready prepared, such as do not arise out of the occasion, but are brought from home; for they are usually frigid. and he must spare friendships and dignities. he will avoid such insults as are not to be healed; he will only aim at his adversaries, and not even always at them, nor at all of them, nor in every manner. and with these exceptions, he will employ his sallies of wit and his facetiousness in such a manner as i have never found any one of those men do who consider themselves attic speakers, though there is nothing more attic than that practice. this is the sketch which i conceive to be that of a plain orator, but still of a great one, and one of a genius very kindred to the attic; since whatever is witty or pleasant in a speech is peculiar to the attics. not, however, that all of them are facetious: lysias is said to be tolerably so, and hyperides; demades is so above all others. demosthenes is considered less so, though nothing appears to me to be more well-bred than he is; but he was not so much given to raillery as to facetiousness. and the former is the quality of a more impetuous disposition; the latter betokens a more refined art. xxvii. there is another style more fertile, and somewhat more forcible than this simple style of which we have been speaking; but nevertheless tamer than the highest class of oratory, of which i shall speak immediately. in this kind there is but little vigour, but there is the greatest possible quantity of sweetness; for it is fuller than the plain style, but more plain than that other which is highly ornamented and copious. every kind of ornament in speaking is suitable to this style; and in this kind of oratory there is a great deal of sweetness. it is a style in which many men among the greeks have been eminent; but demetrius phalereus, in my opinion, has surpassed all the rest; and while his oratory proceeds in calm and tranquil flow, it receives brilliancy from numerous metaphors and borrowed expressions, like stars. i call them metaphors, as i often do, which, on account of their similarity to some other idea, are introduced into a speech for the sake of sweetness, or to supply a deficiency in a language. by borrowed expressions i mean those in which, for the proper word, another is substituted which has the same sense, and which is derived from some subsequent fact. and though this too is a metaphorical usage; still ennius employed it in one manner when he said, "you are orphaning the citadel and the city;" and he would have used it in a different manner if he had used the word "citadel," meaning "country." again, when he says that "horrid africa trembles with a terrible tumult," he uses "africa" for "africans." the rhetoricians call this "hypallage," because one word as it were is substituted for another. the grammarians call it "metonymia," because names are transferred. but aristotle classes them all under metaphor, and so he does the misuse of terms which they call [greek: katachraesis]. as when we call a mind "minute" instead of "little," and misuse words which are near to others in sense; if there is any necessity for so doing, or any pleasure, or any particular becomingness in doing so. when many metaphors succeed one another uninterruptedly the sort of oration becomes entirely changed. therefore the greeks call it [greek: allaegoria], rightly as to name; but as to its class he speaks more accurately who calls all such usages metaphors. phalereus is particularly fond of these usages, and they are very agreeable; and although there is a great deal of metaphor in his speaking, yet there is no one who makes a more frequent use of the metonymia. the same kind of oratory, (i am speaking of the moderate and temperate kind), admits of all sorts of figures of expressions, and of many also of ideas. discussions of wide application and extensive learning are explained in it, and common topics are treated without any impetuosity. in a word, orators of this class usually come from the schools of philosophers, and unless the more vigorous orator, whom i am going to speak of presently, is at hand to be compared with them, the one whom i am now describing will be approved of. for there is a remarkable and flowery and highly-coloured and polished style of oratory, in which every possible elegance of expression and idea is connected together. and it is from the fountain of the sophist that all this has flowed into the forum; but still, being despised by the subtle arguers, and rejected by dignified speakers, it has taken its place in the moderate kind of oratory of which i am speaking. xxviii. the third kind of orator is the sublime, copious, dignified, ornate speaker, in whom there is the greatest amount of grace. for he it is, out of admiration for whose ornamented style and copiousness of language nations have allowed eloquence to obtain so much influence in states; but it was only this eloquence, which is borne along in an impetuous course, and with a mighty noise, which all men looked up to, and admired, and had no idea that they themselves could possibly attain to. it belongs to this eloquence to deal with men's minds, and to influence them in every imaginable way. this is the style which sometimes forces its way into and sometimes steals into the senses; which implants new opinions in men, and eradicates others which have been long established. but there is a vast difference between this kind of orator and the preceding ones. a man who has laboured at the subtle and acute style, in order to be able to speak cunningly and cleverly, and who has had no higher aim, if he has entirely attained his object, is a great orator, if not a very great one; he is far from standing on slippery ground, and if he once gets a firm footing, is in no danger of falling. but the middle kind of orator, whom i have called moderate and temperate, if he has only arranged all his own forces to his satisfaction, will have no fear of any doubtful or uncertain chances of oratory; and even if at any time he should not be completely successful, which may often be the case, still he will be in no great danger, for he cannot fall far. but this orator of ours, whom we consider the first of orators, dignified, vehement, and earnest, if this is the only thing for which he appears born, or if this is the only kind of oratory to which he applies himself, and if he does not combine his copiousness of diction with those other two kinds of oratory, is very much to be despised. for the one who speaks simply, inasmuch as he speaks with shrewdness and sense, is a wise man; the one who employs the middle style is agreeable; but this most copious speaker, if he is nothing else, appears scarcely in his senses. for a man who can say nothing with calmness, nothing with gentleness; who seems ignorant of all arrangement and definition and distinctness, and regardless of wit, especially when some of his causes require to be treated in that matter entirely, and others in a great degree; if he does not prepare the ears of his hearers before he begins to work up the case in an inflammatory style, he seems like a madman among people in their senses, or like a drunken man among sober men. xxix. we have then now, o brutus, the orator whom we are looking for; but only in our mind's eye. for if i had had hold of him in my hand, even he himself, with all his eloquence, should never have persuaded me to let him go. but, in truth, that eloquent man whom antonius never saw is now discovered. who then is he? i will define him in a few words, and then describe him at length. for he is an eloquent man who can speak of low things acutely, and of great things with dignity, and of moderate things with temper. such a man you will say there never was. perhaps there never was; for i am only discussing what i wish to see, and not what i have seen. and i come back to that sketch and idea of plato's which i mentioned before; and although we do not see it, yet we can comprehend it in our mind. for i am not looking for an eloquent man, or for any other mortal or transitory thing; but for that particular quality which whoever is master of is an eloquent man; and that is nothing but abstract eloquence, which we are not able to discern with any eyes except those of the mind. he then will be an eloquent man, (to repeat my former definition,) who can speak of small things in a lowly manner, of moderate things in a temperate manner, and of great things with dignity. the whole of the cause in which i spoke for caecina related to the language or an interdict: we explained some very involved matters by definitions; we praised the civil law; we distinguished between words of doubtful meaning. in a discussion on the manilian law it was requisite to praise pompey; and accordingly, in a temperate speech, we arrived at a copiousness of ornament. the whole question, of the rights of the people was contained in the cause of rabinius; and accordingly we indulged in every conceivable amplification. but these styles require at times to be regulated and restrained. what kind of argument is there which is not found in my five books of impeachment of verres? or in my speech for avitus? or in that for cornelius? or in the other numerous speeches in defence of different men? i would give instances, if i did not believe them to be well known, and that those who wanted them could select them for themselves; for there is no effort of an orator of any kind, of which there is not in our speeches, if not a perfect example, at least some attempt at and sketch of. if we cannot arrive at perfection, at all events we see what is becoming. nor are we at present speaking of ourselves, but of eloquence, in which we are so far from having a high opinion of our own proficiency, that we are so hard to please and exacting, that even demosthenes himself does not satisfy us. for he, although he is eminent above all men in every description of oratory, still he does not always satisfy my ears; so greedy and capacious are they, and so unceasingly desiring something vast and infinite. xxx. but still, since you became thoroughly well acquainted with this orator, in company with his devoted admirer pammenes, when you were at athens, and as you never put him down out of your hands, though, nevertheless, you are often reading my works, you see forsooth that he accomplishes many things, and that we attempt many things;--that he has the power, we the will to speak in whatever manner the cause requires. but he was a great man, for he came after great men, and he had consummate orators for his contemporaries. we should have done a great deal if we had been able to arrive at the goal which we proposed to ourselves in a city in which, as antonius says, no eloquent man had been ever heard before. but, if crassus did not appear to antonius to be eloquent, or if he did not think he was so himself, certainly cotta would never have seemed so to him, nor sulpicius, nor hortensius. for cotta never said anything sublime, sulpicius never said anything gently, hortensius seldom spoke with dignity. those former men were much more suited to every style; i mean crassus and antonius. we feel, therefore, that the ears of the city were not much accustomed to this varied kind of eloquence, and to an oratory so equally divided among all sorts of styles. and we, such as we were, and however insignificant were our attempts, were the first people to turn the exceeding fondness of the people for listening to this kind of eloquence. what an outcry was there when, as quite a young man i uttered that sentence about the punishment of parricides! and even a long time afterwards we found that it had scarcely entirely worn off. "for what is so common, as breath to living people, the earth to the dead, the sea to people tossed about by the waves, or the shore to shipwrecked mariners?--they live while they are let live, in such a way as to be unable to breathe the air of heaven; they die so that their bones do not touch the earth; they are tossed about by the waves without ever being washed by them; and at last they are cast up by them in such a manner, that when dead they are not allowed a resting-place even on the rocks." and so on. for all this is the language of a young man, extolled not on account of any real merit or maturity of judgment, as for the hopes and expectations which he gave grounds for. from the same turn of mind came that more polished invective,--"the wife of her son-in-law; the mother-in-law of her son, the invader of her daughter's bed." not, however, that this ardour was always visible in us, so as to make us say everything in this manner. for that very juvenile exuberance of speech in defence of roscius has many weak passages in it, and some merry ones, such as also occur in the speech for avitus, for cornelius, and many others. for no orator has ever, even in the greek language, written as many speeches as i have. and my speeches have the variety which i so much approve of. xxxi. should i permit homer, and ennius, and the rest of the poets, and especially the tragic poets, to forbear displaying the same vehemence on every occasion, and constantly to change their language, and sometimes even to come near to the ordinary language of daily conversation; and never myself descend from that fierce style of vehement expression? but why do i cite poets of godlike genius? we have seen actors, than whom nothing could be more admirable of their kind, who have not only given great satisfaction in the representation of the most different characters, and also in their own, but we have seen even a comedian gain great applause in tragedies, and a tragedian in comedies;--and shall not i attempt the same thing? when i say i, o brutus, i mean you also; for, as for myself, all that can be done has been done. but will you plead every cause in the same manner, or are there some kind of causes which you will reject? or will you employ the same uninterrupted vehemence in the same causes without any alteration? demosthenes, indeed, whose bust of brass i lately saw between the images of yourself and your ancestors, (a proof, i suppose, of your fondness for him,) when i was with you at your tusculan villa, does not yield at all to lysias in acuteness, nor in shrewdness and cleverness to hyperides, nor in gentleness or brilliancy of language to aeschines. many of his orations are very closely argued, as that against leptines; many are wholly dignified, as some of the philippics; many are of varied style, as those against aeschines, the one about the false embassy, and the one also, against the same aeschines in the cause of ctesiphon. as often as he pleases he adopts the middle style, and, departing from his dignified tone, he indulges in that lower one. but when he raises the greatest outcry on the part of his hearers, and makes the greatest impression by his speech, is when he employs the topics of dignity. however, let us leave demosthenes for awhile, since it is a class that we are inquiring about, and not an individual. let us rather explain the effect and nature of the thing; that is, of eloquence. and let us recollect what we have just said, that we are not going to say anything for the sake of giving rules; but that we are going to speak so as to be thought people expressing an opinion rather than teaching. though we often do advance further, because we see that you are not the only person who will read this; you who, in fact, know all this much better than we ourselves who appear to be teaching you; but it is quite certain that this book will be extensively known, if not from the recommendation which its being my work will give it, at all events, because of its appearing under the sanction of your name, by being dedicated to you. xxxii. i think, then, that it belongs to a perfectly eloquent man, not only to have the ability, which is his peculiar province, of speaking copiously and with the assertion of large principles, but also to possess its neighbouring and contiguous science of dialectics: although an oration appears one thing and a discussion another; nor is talking the same thing as speaking; though each belongs to discussing. let then the system of discussing and talking belong to the logicians; but let the province of the orators be to speak and to embellish their speeches. zeno, that great man, who founded the school of the stoics, was in the habit of showing with his hand what was the difference between these arts; for when he had compressed his fingers and made a fist, he said that dialectics were like that; but when he had opened his fingers and expanded his hand, he said that eloquence was like his open palm. and even before him aristotle, in the beginning of his rhetoric, said, that the art of eloquence in one portion of it corresponded to dialectics; so that they differ from one another in this, that the system of speaking is more wide, that of talking more contracted. i wish, then, that this consummate orator should be acquainted with the entire system of talking, as far as it can be applied to speaking; and that (as indeed you, who have a thorough acquaintance with these arts, are well aware) has a twofold method of teaching. for aristotle himself has given many rules for arguing: and those who followed him, and who are called dialecticians, have delivered many very difficult rules. therefore i think, that the man who is tempted by the glory of eloquence, is not utterly ignorant of those things; but that he has been brought up either in that old school, or in the school of chrysippus. let him first acquaint himself with the meaning and nature and classes of words, both single and combined; then let him learn in how many ways each word is used; then how it is decided, whether a thing is false or true; then what results from each proposition; then to what argument each result is a consequence, and to what it is contrary; and, as many things are stated in an ambiguous manner, he must also learn how each of them ought to be distinguished and explained. this is what must be acquired by an orator; for those things are constantly occurring; but, because they are in their own nature less attractive, it is desirable to employ some brilliancy of eloquence in explaining them. xxxiii. and since in all things which are taught in any regular method and system, it is first of all necessary to settle what each thing is, (unless it is agreed by those who are discussing the point, what the thing really is which is being discussed; nor otherwise is it possible to discuss anything properly, or ever to get to the end of the discussion,) we must often have recourse to words to explain our meaning about each thing; and we must facilitate the understanding of an involved and obscure matter by definition; since definition is a kind of speech which points out in the most concise possible manner what that is which is the subject of discussion. then, as you know, when the genus of each thing has been explained, we must consider what are the figures or divisions of that genus, so that our whole speech may be arranged with reference to them. this faculty, then, will exist in the eloquent man whom we are endeavouring to describe, so that he shall be able to define a thing; and shall do it in the same close and narrow terms which are commonly employed in those very learned discussions; but he shall be more explanatory and more copious, and he shall adopt his definition more to the ordinary judgment and usual intelligence of mankind. and again, when circumstances require it, he shall divide and arrange the whole genus into certain species, so that none shall be omitted and none be superfluous. but when he shall do this, or how, is nothing to the present question; since, as i have said before, i am here only expressing an opinion, not giving a lesson. nor, indeed, must he be learned only in dialectics, but he must have all the topics of philosophy familiar to him and at his fingers' ends. for nothing respecting religion, or death, or affection, or love for one's country, or good fortune, or bad fortune, or virtues, or vices, or duty, or pain, or pleasure, or the different motions of the mind, or mistakes, all which topics frequently occur in causes, but are treated usually in a very meagre manner, can be discussed and explained in a dignified and lofty and copious manner without that knowledge which i have mentioned. xxxiv. i am speaking at present concerning the subject matter of a speech, not about the kind of speaking requisite. for i would rather that an orator should first have a subject to speak of worthy of learned ears, before he considers in what words or in what manner he is to speak of everything; and, in order to make him grander, and in some sense loftier (as i have said above about pericles,) i should wish him not to be utterly ignorant of physical science; and then, when he descends again from heavenly matters to human affairs, he will have all his words and sentiments of a more sublime and magnificent character: and while he is acquainted with those divine laws, i do not wish him to be ignorant of those of men. he must be a master of civil law, which forensic debates are in daily need of. for what is more shameful than for a man to undertake the conduct of legal and civil disputes, while ignorant of the statutes and of civil law? he must be acquainted also with the history of past ages and the chronology of old time, especially, indeed, as far as our own state is concerned; but also he must know the history of despotic governments and of illustrious monarchs; and that toil is made easier for us by the labours of our friend atticus, who has preserved and made known the history of former times in such a way as to pass over nothing worth knowing, and yet to comprise the annals of seven hundred years in one book. for not to know what happened before one was born, is to be a boy all one's life. for what is the life of a man unless by a recollection of bygone transactions it is united to the times of his predecessors? but the mention of antiquity and the citation of examples give authority and credit to a speech, combined with the greatest pleasure to the hearers. xxxv. let him, therefore, come to his causes prepared in this kind of way; and he will in the first place be acquainted with the different kinds of causes. for he will be thoroughly aware that nothing can be doubted except when either the fact or the language gives rise to controversy. but the fact is doubted as to its truth, or its propriety, or its name. words give rise to dispute if they are ambiguous or inconsistent. for it ever appears to be the case, that one thing is meant and another expressed; then that is one kind of ambiguity which arises from the words which are employed; and in this we see that two things are meant, which is a property of all ambiguous sentences. as there are not many different kinds of causes, so also the rules for arguments to be used in them are few. two kinds of topics are given from which they may be derived; one from the circumstances themselves, the others assumed. the handling, then, of the matters themselves makes the speech better; for the matters themselves are usually easy to be acquainted with. for what remains afterwards, which at least belongs to art, except to begin the speech in such a manner that the hearer may be conciliated, or have his attention roused, or may be made eager to learn? then after that to explain with brevity, and probability, and clearness, so that it may be understood what is the question under discussion; to establish his own arguments; to overturn those of the opposite party; and to do all that, not in an irregular and confused manner, but with separate arguments, concluded in such a manner, that everything may be established which is a natural consequence of those principles which are assumed for the confirmation of each point: and after everything else is done, then to wind up with a peroration which shall inflame or cool the hearers, as the case may require. now, how the consummate orator handles each separate division of his subject, it is hard to explain in this place; nor, indeed, are they handled at all times in the same manner. but since i am not seeking a pupil to teach, but a model to approve of, i will begin by praising the man who sees what is becoming. for this is above all others the wisdom which the eloquent man wants, namely--to be the regulator of times and persons. for i do not think that a man ought to speak in the same manner at all times, or before all people, or against every one, or in defence of every one, or to every one. xxxvi. he, then, will be an eloquent man who can adapt his speech to whatever is becoming. and when he has settled that point, then he will say everything as it ought to be said; nor will he speak of rich subjects in a meagre manner, nor of great subjects in a petty manner, and vice versa; but his oration will be equal to, and corresponding to, his subject; his exordium will be moderate, not inflamed with exaggerated expressions, but acute in its sentiments, either in the way of exciting his hearers against his adversary, or in recommending himself to them. his relations of facts will be credible, explained clearly, not in historical language, but nearly in the tone of every day conversation. then if his cause is but a slight one, so also will the thread of his argument be slight, both in asserting and in refuting. and it will be maintained in such a way, that there will be just as much force added to the speech as is added to the subject. but when a cause offers in which all the force of eloquence can be displayed, then the orator will give himself a wider scope, then he will influence and sway men's minds, and will move them just as he pleases, that is to say, just as the nature of the cause and the occasion requires. but all that admirable embellishment of his will be of a twofold character; on account of which it is that eloquence gains such great honour. for as every part of a speech ought to be admirable, so that no word should be let drop by accident which is not either grave or dignified; so also there are two parts of it which are especially brilliant and lively: one of which i place in the question of the universal genus, which (as i have said before) the greeks call [greek thesis]; the other is shown in amplifying and exaggerating matters, and is called by the same people [greek auxaesis]. and although that ought to be spread equally over the whole body of the oration, still it is most efficacious in dealing with common topics; which are called common, because they appear to belong to many causes, but still ought to be considered as peculiar to some individual ones. but that division of a speech which refers to the universal genus often contains whole causes; for whatever that is on which there is, as it were, a contest and dispute, which in greek is called [greek krinomenon], that ought to be expressed in such a manner that it may be transferred to the general inquiry and be spoken of the whole genus; except when a doubt is raised about the truth; which is often endeavoured to be ascertained by conjecture. but it shall be discussed, not in the fashion of the peripatetics (for it is a very elegant exercise of theirs, to which they are habituated ever since the time of aristotle), but with rather more vigour; and common topics will be applied to the subject in such a manner, that many things will be said gently in behalf of accused persons, and harshly against the adversaries. but in amplifying matters, and, on the other hand, in discarding them, there is nothing which oratory cannot effect. and that must be done amid the arguments, as often as any opportunity is afforded one, of either amplifying or diminishing: and may be done to an almost infinite extent in summing up. xxxvii. there are two things, which, when well handled by an orator, make eloquence admirable. one of which is, that which the greeks call [greek: haethikon], adapted to men's natures, and manners, and to all their habits of life; the other is, that which they call [greek: pathaetikon], by which men's minds are agitated and excited, which is the especial province of oratory. the former one is courteous, agreeable, suited to conciliate good-will; the latter is violent, energetic, impetuous, by which causes are snatched out of the fire, and when it is hurried on rapidly it cannot by any means be withstood. and by the use of this kind of oratory we, who are but moderate orators, or even less than that, but who have at all times displayed great energy, have often driven our adversaries from every part of their case. that most consummate orator, hortensius, was unable to reply to me, on behalf of one of his intimate friends; that most audacious of men, catiline, was dumb when impeached in the senate by me. when curio, the father, attempted in a private cause of grave importance to reply to me, he suddenly sat down, and said, that he was deprived of his memory by poison. why need i speak of the topics used to excite pity? which i have employed to the greater extent, because, even if there were many of us employed in one cause, still all men at all times yielded me the task of summing up; and it was owing not so much to my ability as to my sensibility, that i appeared to excel so much in that part. and those qualities of mine, of whatever sort they are, and i am ashamed that they are not of a higher class, appear in my speeches: although my books are without that energy, on account of which those same speeches appear more excellent when they are delivered than when they are read. xxxviii. nor is it by pity alone that it is desirable to move the minds of the judges, (though we have been in the habit of using that topic ourselves in so piteous a manner that we have even held an infant child by the hand while summing up; and in another cause, when a man of noble birth was on his trial, we lifted up his little son, and filled the forum with wailing and lamentations;) but we must also endeavour to cause the judge to be angry, to appease him to make him feel ill-will, and favour, to move him to contempt or admiration, to hatred or love, to inspire him with desire or disgust, with hope or fear, with joy or pain; in all which variety the speeches of prosecutors will supply instances of the sterner kinds, and my speeches in defence will furnish examples of the softer ones. for there is no means by which the mind of the hearer can be either excited or softened, which has not been tried by me; i would say, brought to perfection, if i thought it was the case; nor should i fear the imputation of arrogance while speaking the truth. but, as i have said before, it is not any particular force of genius, but an exceeding energy of disposition which inflames me to such a degree that i cannot restrain myself; nor would any one who listens to a speech ever be inflamed, if the speech which reached his ears was not itself a fiery one. i would use examples from my own works if you had not read them; i would use them from the works of others, if i could find any; or greek examples, if it were becoming to do so. but there are very few speeches of crassus extant, and those are not forensic speeches. there is nothing extant of antonius's, nothing of cotta's, nothing of sulpicius's. hortensius spoke better than he wrote. but we must form our own opinions as to the value of this energy which we are looking for, since we have no instance to produce; or if we are still on the look out for examples, we must take them from demosthenes, and we must cite them from that passage in the speech on the trial of ctesiphon, where he ventures to speak of his own actions and counsels and services to the republic. that oration in truth corresponds so much to that idea which is implanted in our minds that no higher eloquence need be looked for. xxxix. but now there remains to be considered the form and character of the eloquence which we are searching for; and what it ought to be like may be understood from what has been said above. for we have touched upon the lights of words both single and combined, in which the orator will abound so much that no expression which is not either dignified or elegant will ever fall from his mouth. and there will be frequent metaphors of every sort; because they, on account of their resemblance to something else, move the minds of the hearers, and turn them this way and that way; and the very agitation of thought when operating in quick succession is a pleasure of itself. and those other lights, if i may so call them, which are derived from the arrangement of words, are a great ornament to a speech. for they are like those things which are called decorations in the splendid ornamenting of a theatre or a forum; not because they are the only ornaments, but because they are the most excellent ones. the principle is the same in the case of these things which are the lights, and as one may say, the decorations of oratory: when words are repeated and reiterated, or are put down with slight alterations; or when the sentences are often commenced with the same word, or end with the same word; or both begin and end alike; or when the same word occurs in the same place in consecutive sentences; or when one word is repeated in different senses; or when sentences end with similar sounds; or when contrary circumstances are related in many contrary manners; or when the speech proceeds by gradations; or when the conjunctions are taken away and each member of the sentence is uttered unconnectedly; or when we pass over some points and explain why we do so; or when we of our own accord correct ourselves, as if we blamed ourselves; or if we use any exclamation of admiration, or complaint; or when the same noun is often repeated in different cases. but the ornaments of sentiments are more important; and because demosthenes employs them very frequently, some people think that that is the principal thing which makes his eloquence so admirable. and indeed there is hardly any topic treated by him without a careful arrangement of his sentences; nor indeed is speaking anything else except illuminating all, or at least nearly all, one's sentences with a kind of brilliancy: and as you are thoroughly aware of all this, o brutus, why need i quote names or instances. i only let the place where they occur be noted. xl. if then that consummate orator whom we are looking for, should say that he often treats one and the same thing in many different manners; and dwells a long time on the same idea; and that he often extenuates some point, and often turns something into ridicule; that he occasionally appears to change his intention and vary his sentiments; that he proposes beforehand the points which he wishes to prove; that when he has completed his argument on any subject he terminates it; that he often recals himself back, and repeats what he has already said; that he winds up his arguments with fresh reasons; that he beats down the adversary with questions; again, that he himself answers questions which as it were he himself has put; that he sometimes wishes to be understood as meaning something different from what he says; that he often doubts what he had best say, or how he had best say it; that he arranges what he has to say under different heads; that he leaves out or neglects some points; while there are some which he fortifies beforehand; that he often throws the blame on his adversary for the very thing for which he himself is found fault with; that he often appears to enter into deliberation with his hearers, and sometimes even with his adversary; that he describes the conversation and actions of men; that he introduces some dumb things, as speaking; that he diverts men's minds from the subject under discussion; that he often turns the discussion into mirth and laughter; that he sometimes preoccupies ground which he sees is attached; that he adduces comparisons; that he cites precedents; that he attributes one thing to one person and another to another; that he checks any one who interrupts him; that he says that he is keeping back something; that he adds threatening warnings of what his hearers must beware of; that he often takes a bolder licence; that he is sometimes even angry; that he sometimes utters reproaches, deprecates calamity, uses the language of supplication, and does away with unfavourable impressions; that he sometimes departs a very little from his subject, to express wishes or to utter execrations, or to make himself a friend of those men before whom he is speaking. he ought also to aim at other virtues, if i may so call them, in speaking; at brevity, if the subject requires it. he will often, also, by his speech, bring the matter before people's eyes; and often extol it beyond what appears possible; his meaning will be often more comprehensive than his speech; he will often assume a cheerful language, and often give an imitation of life and nature. xli. in this kind of speaking, for you may look upon oratory as a vast wood, all the importance of eloquence ought to shine forth. but these qualities, unless they are well arranged and as it were built up together and connected by suitable language, can never attain that praise which we wish that it should. and as i was aware that it would be necessary for me to speak on this point next, although i was influenced by the considerations which i had mentioned before, still i was more disturbed by those which follow. for it occurred to me, that it was possible that men should be found, i do not mean envious men, with whom all places are full, but even favourers of my glory, who did not think that it became a man with reference to whose services the senate had passed such favourable votes with the approbation of the whole roman people, as they never did in the case of any one else, to write so many books about the method of speaking. and if i were to give them no other answer than that i was unwilling to refuse the request of marcus brutus, it would be a reasonable excuse, as t might well wish to satisfy a man who was my greatest friend and a most excellent man, and who only asked what was right and honourable. but if i were to profess (what i wish that i could) that i was about to give rules, and paths, as it were, to lead to eloquence those who are inclined to study oratory, what man who set a proper value on things would find fault with me? for who has ever doubted that eloquence has at all times been of the very highest estimation in our republic, among all the accomplishments of peace, and of our domestic life in the city; and that next to it is the knowledge of the law? and that the one had in it the greatest amount of influence, and credit, and protection; and the other contains rules for prosecutions and defence; and this latter would often of its own accord beg for assistance from eloquence; but if it were refused, would scarcely be able to maintain its own rights and territories. why then has it been at all times an honourable thing to teach civil law, and why have the houses of the most eminent professors of this science been at all times crowded with pupils? and yet if any one attempts to excite people to the study of oratory, or to assist the youth of the city in that pursuit, should he be blamed? for, if it be a vicious thing to speak in an elegant manner, then let eloquence be expelled altogether from the state. but if it not only is an ornament to those who possess it, but the whole republic also, then why is it discreditable to learn what it is honourable to know; of, why should it be anything but glorious to teach what it is most excellent to be acquainted with? xlii. but the one is a, common study, and the other a novel one. i admit that; but there is a reason for both these facts. for it was sufficient to listen to the lawyers giving their answers, so that they who acted as instructors set aside no particular time for that purpose, but were at one and the same time satisfying the wants both of their pupils and their clients. but the other men, as they devoted all their time, when at home, to acquiring a correct understanding of the causes entrusted to them, and arranging the arguments which they were to employ; all their time when in the forum to pleading the cause, and all the rest of their time in recruiting their own strength; what time had they for giving rules or lessons? and i do not know whether most of our orators have not excelled more in genius than in learning; therefore, they have been able to speak better than they could teach, while our ability is perhaps just the contrary. but there is no dignity in teaching.--certainly not, if it is done as if one kept a school; but if a man teaches by warning, by exhorting, by asking questions, by giving information, sometimes by reading with his pupils and hearing them read, then i do not know, if by teaching anything you can sometimes make men better, why you should be unwilling to do it. is it honourable to teach a man what are the proper words to alienate consecrated property with, and not honourable to teach him those by which consecrated property may be maintained and defended? "but," men say, "many people profess law who know nothing about it; but even the very men who have acquired eloquence conceal their attainment of it, because wisdom is a thing agreeable to men, but eloquence is suspected by them." is it possible then for eloquence to escape notice, or does that which a man conceals cease to exist? or is there any danger of any one thinking with respect to an important and glorious art that it is a discreditable thing to teach others that which it was very honourable to himself to learn? but perhaps others may be better hands at concealment; i have always openly avowed that i have learnt the art. for what could i have done, having left my home when very young, and crossed the sea for the sake of those studies; and having had my house full of the most learned men, and when there were perhaps some indications of learning in my conversation; and when my writings were a good deal read; could i then have concealed the fact of my having learnt it? how could i justify myself except by showing that i had made some progress in those studies? xliii. and as this is the case still, the things which have been already mentioned, have had more dignity in the discussion of them than those which have got to be discussed. for we are now to speak about the arrangement of words, and almost about the counting and measuring of syllables. and, although these things are, as it appears to me, necessary, yet there is more show in the execution than in the teaching of them. now that is true of everything, but it has a peculiar force with respect to this pursuit. for in the case of all great arts, as in that of trees, it is the height which delights us, but we take no pleasure in the roots or trunks; though the one cannot exist without the other. but as for me, whether it is that that well-known verse which forbids a man "to fear to own the art he practises," does not allow me to conceal that i take delight in it; or whether it is your eagerness which has extorted this volume from me; still it was worth while to make a reply to those whom i suspected of being likely to find fault with me. but if the circumstances which i have mentioned had no existence, still who would be so harsh and uncivilised as not to grant me this indulgence, so that, when my forensic labours and my public exertions were interrupted, i might devote my time to literature rather than to inactivity of which i am incapable, or to melancholy which i resist? for it was a love of letters which formerly led me into the courts of justice and the senate-house, and which now delights me when i am at home. nor am i occupied only with such subjects as are contained in this book, but with much more weighty and important, ones; and if they are brought to perfection, then my private literary labours will correspond to my forensic exertions. however, at present let us return to the discussion we had commenced. xliv. our words then must be arranged either so that the last may as correctly as possible be consistent with the first, and also so that our first expressions may be as agreeable as possible; or so that the very form of our sentences and their neatness may be well rounded off; or so that the whole period may end in a musical and suitable manner. and, in the first place, let us consider what kind of thing that is which above all things requires our diligence, so that a regular structure as it were may be raised, and yet that this may be effected without any labour. for the labour would be not only infinite, but childish. as in lucilius, scaevola is represented as attacking albucius very sensibly: "how neatly all your phrases are arranged; like tesselated pavement, or a box inlaid with deftly wrought mosaic." the care taken in the construction must not be too visible. but still a practised pen will easily perfect this manner of arranging its phrases. for as the eye does in reading, so in speaking, the eye will see beforehand what follows, so that the combination of the last words of a sentence with the first may not leave the whole sentence either gaping or harsh. for sentiments ever so agreeable or dignified offend the ears if they are set down in ill-arranged sentences; for the judgment of the ears is very fastidious. and the latin language is so particular on this point, that no one can be so ignorant as to leave quantities of open vowels. though this is a point on which men blame theopompus, because he was so ostentatious in his avoidance of such letters, although his master isocrates did the same; but thucydides did not; nor did that other far superior writer, plato. and he did this not only in those conversations which are called dialogues, when it ought to have been done designedly; but even in that oration[ ] addressed to the people, in which it is customary at athens for those men to be extolled who have been slain in fighting for their country. and that oration was so greatly approved of that it was, as you know, appointed to be recited every year; and in that there is a constant succession of open vowels, which demosthenes avoided in a great degree as vicious. xlv. however, the greeks must judge of that matter for themselves. we are not allowed to use our words in that manner, not even if we wish to; and this is shown even by those unpolished speeches of cato. it is shown by all the poets except those who sometimes had recourse to a hiatus in order to finish their verse; as naevius-- "vos, qui accolitis istrum fluvium, atque algidam." and again-- "quam nunquam vobis graii atque barbari." but ennius does so only once-- "scipio invicte." and we too have written,-- "hinc motu radiantis etesiae in vada ponti." for our countrymen would not have endured the frequent use of such a liberty, though the greeks even praise it. but why should i talk about vowels? even without counting vowels, they often used contractions for the sake of brevity, so as to say-- multi' modis for imdtis modis. vas' argenteis for vasis argenteis. palmi et crinibus for palmis et crinibus. tecti' fractis for tectis fractis. and what would be a greater liberty than to contract even men's names, so as to make them more suitable to verse? for as they contracted _duellum_ into _bellum_, and _duis_ into _bis_, so they called _duellius_ (the man i mean who defeated the carthaginians in a naval action) _bellius_, though his ancestors were always called _duellii_. moreover, they often contract words, not in obedience to any particular usage, but only to please the ear. for how was it that axilla was made ala, except by the flight of the larger letter? and so the elegant usage of latin conversation takes this letter _x_ out of _maxilla_, and _taxilla_, and _vexillum_, and _paxillum_. they also joined words by uniting them at their pleasure; so as to say--_sodes_ for _si audes_, _sis_ for _si vis_. and in this word _capsis_ there are no less than three[ ] words. so _ain_ for _aisne, nequire_ for _non quire, malle_ for _magis velle, nolle_ for _son velle_. and again, we often say _dein_ for _deinde_, and _exin_ for _exinde_. well, need i give any more instances? cannot we see easily from whence it arises that we say _cum illis_, but we do not say _cum nobis_, but _nobiscum_? because if it were said in the other way, the letters would clash in a discordant manner; as they would have clashed a minute ago if i had not put _autem_ between them. this is the origin of our saying _mecum_ and _tecum_, not _cum me_, and _cum te_, so that they too might be like _nobiscum_ and _vobiscum_. xlvi. and some men find fault with all this; men who are rather late in mending antiquity; for they wish us, instead of saying _deûm atque hominum fidem_, to say _deorum_. very likely it may be right, but were our ancestors ignorant of all this, or was it usage that gave them this liberty? therefore the same poet who had used these uncommon contractions-- "patris mei mecûm factûm pudet," for meorum factorum, and, "texitur: exitiûm examen rapit," for exitiorum, does not say "_liberûm_" as many of us do say in such an expression as _cupidos liberûm_, or in _liberûm loco_, but, as these men approve, "neque tuum unquam in gremium extollas liberorum ex te genus." and again he says,-- "namque aesculapi liberorum...." and another of these poets says in his chryses, not only "cives, antiqui amici majorum meûm," which was common enough; but he says, with a much more unmusical sound,-- "consiliûm, auguriûm, atque extûm interpretes." and again he goes on-- "postquam prodigiûm horriferûm, putentfûm pavos," which are not at all usual contractions in a string of words which are all neuter. nor should i much like to say _armûm judicium_, though the expression occurs in that same poet,-- "nihilne ad te de judicio armûm accidit?" instead of _armorum_. but i do venture (following the language of the censor's returns) to say _jabrûm_ and _procûm_, instead of _fabrorum_ and _procorum_. and i actually never by any chance say _duorum virorum judicium_, or _triumvirorum capitalium_, or _decemvirorum litibus judicandis_. and attius said-- "video sepulchra dua duorum corporam." and at another time he has said,-- "mulier una duûm virûm." i know which is proper; but sometimes i speak according to the licence of the present fashion, so far as to say _proh deûm_, or _proh deorum_; and at other times i speak as i am forced to, when i say _trium virûm_, not _virorum_, and _sestertiûm nummûm_, not _nummorum_; because with respect to these words there is no variety of usage. xlvii. what am i to say is the reason why they forbid us to say _nôsse, judicâsse_, and enjoin us to use _novisse_ and _judicavisse_? as if we did not know that in words of this kind it is quite correct to use the word at full length, and quite in accordance with usage to use it in its contracted form. and so terence does use both forms, and says,-- "eho, tu cognatum tuum non nôras?" and afterwards he has,-- "stilphonem, inquam, noveras?" _siet_ is the word at full length; _sit_ is the contracted form. one may use either; and so we find in the same passage,-- "quam cara sint, quae post carendo intelligunt, quamque attinendi magni dominatus sient." nor should i find fault with "scripsere alii rem." i am aware that _scripserunt_ is the more correct form; but i willingly comply with a fashion which is agreeable to the ears. "idem campus habet," says eunius; and in another place he has given us,-- "in templis îsdem;" but _eisdem_ would be more regular; but yet it would not have been so musical: and _iisdem_ would have sounded ill. but custom has sanctioned our departing from strict rules for the sake of euphony; and i should prefer saying _pomeridianas quadrigas_ to _postmeridianas_, and _mehercule_ to _mehercules. non scire_ already appears a barbarism; _nescire_ is sweeter. the word _meridiem_ itself, why is it not _medidiem_? i suppose because it sounded worse. there is one preposition, _abs_, which has now only an existence in account books; but in all other conversation of every sort is changed: for we say _amovit_, and _abegit_, and _abstulit_, so that you cannot now tell whether _ab_ is the correct form or _abs_. what shall we say if even _abfugit_ has seemed inadmissible, and if men have discarded _abfer_ and preferred _aufer_? and that preposition is found in no word whatever except these two verbs. there were the words _noti_, and _navi_, and _nari_, and when _in_ was forced to be prefixed to them, it seemed more musical to say _ignoti, ignavi, ignari_, than to adhere to the strict rules. men say _ex usu_ and _republicâ_, because in the one phrase a vowel followed the preposition, and in the other there would have been great harshness if you had not removed the consonant, as in _exegit, edixit, effecit, extulit, edidit_. and sometimes the preposition has sustained an alteration, regulated by the first letter of the verb to which it is added, as _suffugit, summutavit, sustulit_. xlviii. what are we to say of compound words? how neat is it to say _insipientem_, not _insapientem_; _iniquum_, not _incequum_; _tricipitem_, not _tricapitem_; _concisum_, not concoesum! and, because of this last instance, some people wish also to say _pertisum_; but the same fashion which regulates the other changes, has not sanctioned this one. but what can be more elegant than this, which is not caused by nature, but by some regular usage?--we say _inclytus_, with the first letter short; _insanus_, with the first letter long; _inkumanus_, with a short letter; _infelix_, with a long one: and, not to detain you with many examples, in those words in which the first letters are those which occur in _sapiente_ and _felice_, it is used long; in all others it is short. and so, too, we have _composuit, consuevit, concrvpuit, confecit_. consult the truth, it will reprove you; refer the matter to your ears, they will sanction the usage. why so? because they will say that that sound is the most agreeable one to them; and an oration ought to consult that which gives pleasure to the ears. moreover, i myself, as i knew that our ancestors spoke so as never to use an aspirate except before a vowel, used to speak in this way: _pulcros, cetegos, triumpos, cartaginem_; when at last, and after a long time, the truth was forced upon me by the admonition of my own ears, i yielded to the people the right of settling the rule of speaking; and was contented to reserve to myself the knowledge of the proper rules and reasons for them. still we say _orcivii_, and _matones_ and _otones, coepiones, sepulchra, coronas, lacrymas_, because that pronunciation is always sanctioned by the judgment of our ears. ennius always used _burrum_, never _pyrrhum_: he says,-- "vi patefecerunt bruges;" not _phryges_; and so the old copies of his poems prove, for they had no greek letters in them. but now those words have two; and though when they wanted to say _phrygum_ and _phrygibus_, it was absurd either to use a greek character in the barbarous cases only, or else in the nominative case alone to speak greek, still we say _phrygum_ and _phrygibus_ for the sake of harmonizing our ears. moreover (at present it would seem like the language of a ploughman, though formerly it was a mark of politeness) our ancestors took away the last letter of those words in which the two last letters were the same, as they are in _optumus_, unless the next word began with a vowel. and so they avoided offending the ear in their verse; as the modern poets avoid it now in a different manner. for we used to say,-- "qui est omnibu' princeps," not "omnibus princeps;" and-- "vitâ illâ, dignu' locoquc," not "dignus." but if unlettered custom is such an artist of euphony, what must we think is required by scientific art and systematic learning? i have put all this more briefly than if i were discussing this matter by itself; (for this topic is a very extensive one, concerning the use and nature of words;) but still i have been more prolix than the plan i originally proposed to myself required. xlix. but because the choice of subjects and words is in the department of prudence, but of sounds and rhythm it is the ears that are the judges; because the one is referable to one's understanding, the other only to one's pleasure; therefore in the one case it is reason and in the other sensation that has been the inventor of the system. for it was necessary for us either to disregard the pleasure of those men by whom we wished to be approved of; or else it was necessary to discover a system by which to gain their good-will. there are then two things which soothe the ears; _sound_ and _rhythm_. concerning rhythm we will speak presently; at this moment we are inquiring into sound. as i said before, words must be selected which as much as possible shall sound well; but they must not be, like the words of a poet, sought purely for sound, but taken from ordinary language. "qua ponto a helles" is an extravagant expression; but "auratua aries colehorum" is a verse illuminated with splendid names. but the next verse is polluted by ending with a most inharmonious letter; "frugifera et ferta arva asiae tenet." let us therefore use the propriety of words of our own language, rather than the brilliancy of the greeks; unless perchance we are ashamed of speaking in such a way as this-- "quâ tempestate paris helenam," and the rest of that sentence. let us, i say, pursue that plan and avoid harshness of sound. "habeo istam ego perterricrepam.... versutiloquas malitias." nor is it enough to have one's words arranged in a regular system, but the terminations of the sentences must be carefully studied, since we have said that that is a second sort of judgment of the ears. but the harmonious end of a sentence depends on the arrangement itself, which is so of its own accord, if i may so express myself, or on some particular class of words in which there is a certain neatness; and whether such words have cases the terminations of which are similar, or whether one word is matched with another which resembles it, or whether contrary words are opposed to one another, they are harmonious of their own nature, even if nothing has been done on purpose. in the pursuit of this sort of neatness gorgias is reported to have been the leader; and of this style there is an example in our speech in defence of milo: "for this law, o judges, is not a written one, but a natural one, one which we have not learnt, or received from others, or gathered from books; but which we have extracted, and pressed out, and imbibed from nature itself; it is one in which we have not been educated, but born; we have not been brought up in it, but imbued with it. for these sentences are such that, because they are referred to the principles to which they ought to be referred, we see plainly that harmony was not the thing that was sought in them, but that which followed of its own accord. and this is also the case when contraries are opposed to one another; as those phrases are by which not only a harmonious sentence, but even a verse is made. "eam, quam nihil accusas, damnas." a man would say _condemnas_ if he wished to avoid making a verse. "bene quam meritam esse autumas, dicis male mereri. id, quod scis, prodest nihil; id, quod nescis, obest." the very relation of the contrary effects makes a verse that would be harmonious in a narration. "quod scis, nihil prodest; quod nescis, multum obest." these things, which the greeks call [greek: antitheta], as in them contraries are opposed to contraries, of sheer necessity produce oratorical rhythm; and that too without any intention on the part of the orator that they should do so. this was a kind of speaking in which the ancients used to take delight, even before the time of isocrates; and especially gorgias; in whose orations his very neatness generally produces an harmonious rhythm. we too frequently employ this style; as in the fourth book of our impeachment of verres:--"compare this peace with that war; the arrival of this praetor with the victory of that general; the debauched retinue of this man, with the unconquerable army of the other; the lust of this man with the continence of that one; and you will say that syracuse was founded by the man who in reality took it; and was stormed by this one, who in reality received it in an admirable and settled condition." this sort of rhythm then must be well understood. l. we must now explain that third kind of an harmonious and well-arranged speech, and say of what character it is; and what sort of ears those people have who do not understand its character, or indeed what there is in them that is like men at all, i do not know. my ears delight in a well-turned and properly finished period of words, and they like conciseness, and disapprove of redundancy. why do i say my ears? i have often seen a whole assembly raise a shout of approval at hearing a musical sentence. for men's ears expect that sentences shall be strung together of well-arranged words. this was not the case in the time of the ancients. and indeed it was nearly the only thing in which they were deficient: for they selected their words carefully, and they gave utterance to dignified and sweet sounding ideas; but they paid little attention to arranging them or filling them up. "this is what delights me," one of them would say. what are we to say if an old primitive picture of few colours delights some men more than this highly finished one? why, i suppose, the style which succeeds must be studied again; and this latter style repudiated. people boast of the names of the ancients. but antiquity carries authority with it in precedents, as old age does in the lives of individuals; and it has indeed very great weight with me myself. nor am i more inclined to demand from antiquity that which it has not, than to praise that which it has; especially as i consider what it has as of more importance than what it has not. for there is more good in well chosen words and ideas in which they excel, than in the rounding off of phrases in which they fail. it is after their time that the working up of the termination of a sentence has been introduced; which i think that those ancients would have employed, if it had been known and employed in their day; as since it has been introduced we see that all great orators have employed it. li. but it looks like envy when what we call "number," and the greeks [greek: ruthmos] is said to be employed in judicial and forensic oratory. for it appears like laying too many plots for the charming of people's ears if rhythm is also aimed at by the orator in his speeches. and relying on this argument those critics themselves utter broken and abrupt sentences, and blame those men who deliver well rounded and neatly turned discourses. if they blame them because their words are ill adapted and their sentiments are trifling, they are right; but if their arguments are sound, their language well chosen, then why should they prefer a lame and halting oration to one which keeps pace with the sentiments contained in it? for this rhythm which they attack so has no other effect except to cause the speaker to clothe his ideas in appropriate language; and that was done by the ancients also, not unusually by accident, and often by nature; and those speeches of theirs which are exceedingly praised, are so generally because they are concisely expressed. and it is now near four hundred years since this doctrine has been established among the greeks; we have only lately recognised it. therefore was it allowable for ennius, despising the ancient examples, to say:-- "in verses such as once the fauns and ancient poets sang:" and shall it not be allowed me to speak of the ancients in the same manner? especially as i am not going to say, "before this man ..." as he did; nor to proceed as he did, "we have ventured to open ..." for i have read and heard of some speakers whose orations were rounded off in an almost perfect manner. and those who cannot do this are not content with not being despised; they wish even to be praised for their inability. but i do praise those men, and deservedly too, whose imitators they profess to be; although i see something is wanting in them. but these men i do not praise at all, who imitate nothing of the others except their defects, and are as far removed as possible from their good qualities. but if their own ears are so uncivilised and barbarous, will not the authority of even the most learned men influence them? i say nothing of isocrates, and his pupils ephorus and naucrates; although those men who are themselves consummate orators ought also to be the highest authorities on making and ornamenting a speech. but who of all men was ever more learned, or more acute, or a more accurate judge of the discovery of, or decision respecting all things than aristotle? moreover, who ever took more pains to oppose isocrates? aristotle then, while he warns us against letting verses occur in our speeches, enjoins us to attend to rhythm. his pupil theodectes, one of the most polished of writers, (as aristotle often intimates,) and a great artist, both felt and enjoined the same thing. and theophrastus is more distinct still in laying down the same rule. who then can endure those men who do not agree with such authorities as these? unless indeed they are ignorant that they ever gave any such rules. and if that is the case, (and i really believe it is,) what then? have they no senses of their own to be guided by? have they no natural idea of what is useless? none of what is harsh, cramped, lame, or superfluous? when verses are being repeated, the whole theatre raises an outcry if there is one syllable too few or too many. not that the mob knows anything about feet or metre; nor do they understand what it is that offends them, or know why or in what it offends them. but nevertheless nature herself has placed in our ears a power of judging of all superfluous length and all undue shortness in sounds, as much as of grave and acute syllables. lii. do you wish then, o brutus, that we should give a more accurate explanation of this whole topic, than those men themselves have done who have delivered these and other rules to us? or may we be content with those which have been delivered by them? but why do i ask whether you wish this? when i know from your letters, written in a most scholar-like spirit, that you wish for it above all things. first of all, then, the origin of a well-adapted and rhythmical oration shall be explained, then the cause of it, then its nature, and last of all its use. for they who admire isocrates above all things, place this among his very highest panegyrics, that he was the first person who added rhythm to prose writing. for they say that, as he perceived that orators were listened to with seriousness, but poets with pleasure, he then aimed at rhythm so as to use it in his orations both for the sake of giving pleasure, and also that variety of sound might prevent weariness. and this is said by them in some degree correctly, but not wholly so. for we must confess that no one was ever more thoroughly skilled in that sort of learning than isocrates; but still the original inventor of rhythm was thrasymachus; all whose writings are even too carefully rhythmical. for, as i said a little while ago, the principle of things like one another being placed side by side, sentence after sentence being ended in a similar manner, and contraries being compared with contraries, so that, even if one took no pains about it, most sentences would end musically, was first discovered by gorgias; but he used it without any moderation. and that is, as i have said before one of the three divisions of arrangement. both of these men were predecessors of isocrates; so that it was in his moderation, not in his invention, that he is superior to them. for he is more moderate in the way in which he inverts or alters the sense of words; and also in his attention to rhythm. but gorgias is a more insatiable follower of this system, and (even according to his own admission) abuses these elegances in an unprecedented way; but isocrates (who while a young man had heard gorgias when he was an old man in thessaly) put all these things under more restraint. moreover he himself, as he advanced in age, (and he lived nearly a hundred years,) relaxed in his ideas of the exceeding necessity for rhythm; as he declares in that book which he wrote to philip of macedon, when he was a very old man, in which he says that he is less attentive to rhythm than he had formerly been. and so he had corrected not only his predecessors, but himself also. liii. since, then, we have those men whom we have mentioned as the authors and originators of a well-adapted oration, and since its origin has been thus explained, we must now seek for the cause. and that is so evident, that i marvel that the ancients were not influenced by it; especially when, as is often the case, they often by chance made use of well-rounded and well-arranged periods. and when they had produced their impression on the minds and ears of men, so as to make it very plain that what chance had effected had been received with pleasure, certainly they ought to have taken note of what had been done, and have imitated themselves; for the ears, or the mind by the report of the ears, contains in itself a natural measurement of all sounds. that is how it distinguishes between long and short sounds; and always watches for well-wrought and moderate periods. it feels that some are mutilated and curtailed, as it were, and with those it is offended, as if it were defrauded of its due; others it feels to be too long, and running out to an immoderate length, and those the ears reject even more than the first; for as in most cases, so especially in this kind of thing, it happens that what is in excess is much more offensive than that which errs on the side of deficiency. as, therefore, poetry and verse was invented by the nicety of the ear, and the careful observation of clever men; so it has been noticed in oratory, much later, indeed, but still in deference to the promptings of the same nature, that there are some certain rules and bounds, within which words and paragraphs ought to be confined. since, therefore, we have thus shown the cause, we will now, if you please, explain the nature of it; for that was the third division; and that involves a discussion which has no reference to the original plan of this treatise, but which belongs rather to the arcana of the art. for the question may be asked, what is the rhythm of a speech; and where it is placed; and in what it originates; and whether it is one thing, or two, or more; and on what principles it is arranged; and for what purpose; and how and in what part it is situated, and in what way it is employed so as to give any pleasure. but as in most cases, so also in this one, there are two ways of looking at the question; one of which is longer, the other shorter, and at the same time plainer. liv. but in the longer way the first question is, whether there actually is any such thing as a rhythmical oration at all; (for some persons do not think that there is, because there is not in oratory any positive rule, as there is in verses, and because the people who assert that there is that rhythm cannot give any reason why there is.) in the next place, if there is rhythm in an oration, what sort of rhythm it is; and whether it is of more than one kind; and whether it consists of poetical rhythm, or of some other kind; and if it consists of poetical rhythm, of which poetical rhythm, (for some think that there is but one sort of poetical rhythm, while others think there are many kinds.) in the next place, the question arises, whatever sorts of rhythm there may be, whether one or more, whether they are common to every kind of oratory, (since there is one kind used in narrating, another kind in persuading, and another in teaching,) or whether the different kinds are all adapted equally to every sort of oratory. if the different kinds are common to each kind of oratory, what are they? if there is a difference, then what is the difference, and why is the rhythm less visible in a speech than in a verse? besides, there is a question whether what is rhythmical in a speech is made so solely by rhythm, or also by some especial arrangement of words, or by the kind of words employed; or whether each division has its component parts, so that rhythm consists of intervals, arrangement of words, while the character of the words themselves is visible being a sort of shape and light of the speech; and whether arrangement is not the principal thing of all, and whether it is not by that that rhythm is produced, and those things which i have called the forms and light of a speech, and which, as i have said, the greeks call [greek: schaemata]. but that which is pleasant when uttered by the voice, and that which is made perfect by careful regulation, and brilliant by the nature of the words employed, are not one and the same thing, although they are both akin to rhythm, because each is perfect of itself; but an arrangement differs from both, and is wholly dependent on the dignity or sweetness of the language employed. these are the main questions which arise out of an inquiry into the nature of oratory. lv. it is, then, not hard to know that there is a certain rhythm in a speech: for the senses decide that. and it is absurd not to admit an evident fact, merely because we cannot find out why it happens. and verse itself was not invented by _à priori_ reasoning, but by nature and the senses, and these last were taught by carefully digested reason what was the fact; and accordingly it was the careful noticing and observation of nature which produced art. but in verses the matter is more evident. for although there are some kinds of verse which, if they be not chanted, appear but little to differ from prose; and this is especially the case in all the very best of those poets who are called [greek: lyriloi] by the greeks; for when you have stripped them of the singing, the language remains almost naked. and some of our countrymen are like them. like that line in thyestes:-- "quemnam te esse dicam, qui tarda in senectute" ... and so on; for except when the flute-player is at hand to accompany them, those verses are very like prose. but the iambics of the common poets are, on account of their likeness to ordinary conversation, very often in such a very low style, that sometimes it is hardly possible to discover any metre, or even rhythm in them. and it may easily be understood that there is more difficulty in discovering the rhythm in an oration than in verses. altogether there are two things which season oratory--the sweetness of the language, and the sweetness of the rhythm. in the language is the material, and in the rhythm the polish. but, as in other things, the older inventions are the children of necessity rather than of pleasure; so also has it happened in this, that oratory was for many ages naked and unpolished, aiming only at expressing the meaning conceived in the mind of the speaker, before any system of rhythm for the sake of tickling the ears was invented. lvi. therefore herodotus also, and his age, and the age preceding him, had no idea of rhythm, except at times by chance, as it seems. and the very ancient writers have left us no rules at all about rhythm, though they have given us many precepts about oratory. for that which is the more easy and the more necessary will always be the first thing known. therefore, words used in a metaphorical sense, or inverted, or combined, were easily invented because they were derived from ordinary use, and from daily conversation. but rhythm was not drawn from a man's own house, nor had it any connexion of relationship to oratory. and therefore it was later in being noticed and observed, bringing as it did the last touch and lineaments to oratory. but if there is one style of oratory narrow and concise, and another more vague and diffuse, that must clearly be owing, not to the nature of letters, but to the difference between long and short paragraphs; because an oration made up and compounded of these two kinds is sometimes steady, sometimes fluent, and so each character must be kept up by corresponding rhythm. for that circuitous way of speaking, which we have often mentioned already, goes on more impetuously, and hurries along, until it can arrive at its end, and come to a stop. it is quite plain, therefore, that oratory ought to be confined to rhythm, and kept clear of metre. but the next question is, whether this rhythm is poetical, or whether it is of some other kind. there is, then, no rhythm whatever that is not poetical; because the different kinds of rhythm are clearly defined. for all rhythm is one of three kinds. for the foot which is employed in rhythm is divided into three classes; so that it is necessary that one part of the foot must be either equal to the other part, or as large again, or half as large again. accordingly, the dactyl is of the first class, the paeon of the last, the iambic of the second. and how is it possible to avoid such feet in an oration? and then when they are arranged with due consideration rhythm is unavoidably produced. but the question arises, what rhythm is to be employed; either absolutely, or in preference to others. but that every kind of rhythm is at times suitable to oratory, may be seen from this,--that in speaking we often make a verse without intending it, (which, however, is a great fault, but we do not notice it, nor do we hear what we say ourselves;) and as for iambics, whether regular or hipponactean, those we can scarcely avoid, for our common conversation often consists of iambics. but still the hearer easily recognises those verses, for they are the most usual ones. but at times we unintentionally let fall others which are less usual, but which still are verses; and that is a faulty style of oratory, and one which requires to be guarded against with great care. hieronymus, a peripatetic of the highest character, out of all the numerous compositions of isocrates, picked out about thirty verses, chiefly iambics, but some also anapaests. and what can be worse? though in picking them out he acted in an unfair manner, for he took away sometimes the first syllable in the first word of a sentence; and again, he sometimes added to the last word the first syllable of the following sentence. and in this way he made that sort of anapaest which is called the aristophanic anapaest. and such accidents as these cannot be guarded against, nor do they signify. but still this critic, in the very passage in which he finds this fault with him, (as i noticed when i was examining his work very closely,) himself makes an iambic without knowing it. this, then, may be considered as an established point, that there is rhythm also in prose, and that oratorical is the same as the poetical rhythm. lvii. it remains, therefore, for us to consider what rhythm occurs most naturally in a well-arranged oration. for some people think that it is the iambic rhythm, because that is the most like a speech, on which account it happens that it is most frequently employed in fables, because of its resemblance to reality--because the dactylic hexameter rhythm is better suited to a lofty and magniloquent subject but ephorus himself, an inconsiderable orator, though coming from an excellent school, inclines to the paeon, or dactyl, but avoids the spondee and trochee. for because the paeon has three short syllables and the dactyl two, he thinks that the words come more trippingly off on account of the shortness and rapidity of utterance of the syllables; and that a contrary effect is produced by the spondee and trochee, because the one consists of long syllables and the other of short ones; so that a speech made up of the one is too much hurried, it made up of the other is too slow; and neither is well, regulated. but those accents are all in the wrong, and ephorus is wholly in fault. for those who pass over the paeon, do not perceive that a most delicate, and at the same time most dignified rhythm is passed over by them. but aristotle's opinion is very different, for he considers that the heroic rhythm is a grander one than is admissible in prose, and that an iambic is too like ordinary conversation. accordingly, he does not approve of a style which is lowly and abject, or of one which is too lofty and, as it were, on stilts: but still he wishes for one full of dignity, in order to strike those who hear it with the greater admiration. but he calls a trochee, which occupies the same time as a choreus, [greek: kordax], because its contracted and brief character is devoid of dignity. accordingly, he approves of the paeon; and says that all men employ it, but that all men are not themselves aware when they do employ it; and that there is a third or middle way between those two, but that those feet are formed in such a way, that in every one of them there is either a time, or a time and a half, or two times. therefore, those men of whom i have spoken have considered convenience only, and disregarded dignity. for the iambic and the dactyl are those which are most usually employed in verse; and, therefore, as we avoid verses in making speeches, so also a recurrence of these feet must be avoided. for oratory is a different thing from poetry, nor are there any two things more contrary to one another than that is to verses. but the paeon is that foot which, of all others, is least adapted to verse, on which account oratory admits it the more willingly. but ephorus will not even admit that the spondee, which he condemns, is equivalent to the dactyl, which he approves of. for he thinks that feet ought to be measured by their syllables, not by their quantity; and he does the same in regard to the trochee, which in its quantity and times is equivalent to an iambic; but which is a fault in an oration, if it be placed at the end, because a sentence ends better with a long syllable. and all this, which is also contained in aristotle, is said by theophrastus and theodectes about the paeon. but my opinion is, that all feet ought to be jumbled together and confused, as it were, in an oration; and that we could not escape blame if we were always to use the same feet; because an oration ought to be neither metrical, like a poem, nor inharmonious, like the conversation of the common people. the one is so fettered by rules that it is manifest that it is designedly arranged as we see it; the other is so loose as to appear ordinary and vulgar; so that you are not pleased with the one, and you hate the other. let oratory then be, as i have said above, mingled and regulated with a regard to rhythm; not prosaic, nor on the other hand sacrificed wholly to rhythm; composed chiefly of the paeon, (since that is the opinion of the wisest author on the subject,) with many of the other feet which he passes over intermingled with it. lviii. but what feet ought to be mingled with others, like purple, must be now explained; and we must also show to what kind of speech each sort of foot and rhythm is the best adapted. for the iambic is most frequent in those orations which are composed in a humble and lowly style; but the paeon is suited to a more dignified style; and the dactyl to both. therefore, in a varied and long-continued speech these feet should be mingled together and combined. and in this way the fact of the orator aiming at pleasing the senses, and the careful attempt to round off the speech, will be the less visible, and they will at all times be less apparent if we employ dignified expressions and sentiments. for the hearers observe these two things, and think them agreeable: (i mean, expressions and sentiments.) and while they listen to them with admiring minds, the rhythm escapes their notice; and even if it were wholly wanting they would still be delighted with those other things. nor indeed is the rhythm, i mean in a speech, (for the case as to verse is very different,) so exacting that nothing may ever be expressed except according to rule; for then it would be a poem. but every oration which does not halt or if i may so say, fluctuate, and which proceeds on with an equal and consistent pace, is considered rhythmical. and it is considered rhythmical in the delivery; not because it consists wholly of some regular rhythm; but because it comes as near to a musical rhythm as possible: on which account it is more difficult to make a speech than to make verses; because these last have certain definite rules which it is necessary to follow; but, in speaking, there is nothing settled, except that the speech must not be intemperate, or too compressed, or prosaic, or too fluent. therefore there are no regular bars in it as a flute-player has; but the whole principle and system of an oration is regulated by general rules of universal application; and they are judged of on the principle of pleasing the ear. lix. but people often ask, whether in every portion of a paragraph it is necessary to have a regard to rhythm, or whether it is sufficient to do so at the beginning and end of a sentence. for many people think that it is sufficient for a sentence to end and be wound up in a rhythmical manner. but although that is the main point, it is not the only one; for the sounding of the periods is only to be laid aside, not to be thrown away. and therefore, as men's ears are always on the watch for the end of a sentence, and are greatly influenced by that, that certainly ought never to be devoid of rhythm; but harmony ought to pervade the whole sentence from beginning to end; and the whole ought to proceed from the beginning so naturally that the end shall be consistent with every previous part. but that will not be difficult to men who have been trained in a good school, who have written many things, and who have made also all the speeches which they have delivered without written papers like written speeches. for the sentence is first composed in the mind; and then words come immediately: and then they are immediately sent forth by the mind, than which nothing is more rapid in its movements; so that each falls into its proper place. and then their regular order is settled by different terminations in different sentences; and all the expressions at the beginning and in the middle of the sentence ought to be composed with reference to the end. for sometimes the torrent of an oration is rapid; sometimes its progress is moderate; so that from the very beginning one can see how one wishes to come to the end. nor is it in rhythm more than in the other embellishments of a speech that we behave exactly as poets do; though still, in an oration, we avoid all resemblance to a poem. lx. for there is in both oratory and poetry, first of all the material, then the execution. the material consists in the words, the execution in the arrangement of the words. but there are three divisions of each,--of words there is the metaphorical, the new, and the old-fashioned; for of appropriate words we say nothing at present; but of arrangement there are those which we have mentioned, composition, neatness, and rhythm. but the poets are the most free and frequent in the use of each; for they use words in a metaphorical sense not only more frequently, but also more daringly; and they use old-fashioned words more willingly, and new ones more freely. and the case with respect to rhythm is the same; in which they are obliged to comply with a kind of necessity: but still these things must be understood as being neither too different, nor yet in any respect united. accordingly we find that rhythm is not the same in an oration as in a poem; and that that which is pronounced to be rhythmical in an oration is not always effected by a strict attention to the rules of rhythm; but sometimes either by neatness, or by the casual arrangement of the words. accordingly, if the question is raised as to what is the rhythm of an oration, it is every sort of rhythm; but one sort is better and more suitable than another. if the question is, what is the place of this rhythm? it is in every portion of the words. if you ask where it has arisen; it has arisen from the pleasure of the ears. if the principle is sought on which the words are to be arranged; that will be explained in another place, because that relates to practice, which was the fourth and last division which we made of the subject. if the question is, when; always: if, in what place; it consists in the entire connexion of the words. if we are asked, what is the circumstance which causes pleasure? we reply, that it is the same as in verse; the method of which is determined by art; but the ears themselves define it by their own silent sensations, without any reference to principles of art. lxi. we have said enough of the nature of it. the practice follows; and that we must discuss with greater accuracy. and in this discussion inquiry has been made, whether it is in the whole of that rounding of a sentence which the greeks call [greek: periodos], and which we call "_ambitus_" or "_circuitus_," or "_comprehensio_" or "_continuatio_" or "_circumscriptio_," or in the beginning only, or in the end, or in both, that rhythm must be maintained? and, in the next place, as rhythm appears one thing and a rhythmical sentence another, what is the difference between them? and again, whether it is proper for the divisions of a sentence to be equal in every sort of rhythm, or whether we should make some shorter and some longer; and if so, when, and why, and in what parts; whether in many or in one; whether in unequal or equal ones; and when we are to use one, and when the other; and what words may be most suitably combined together, and how; or whether there is absolutely no distinction; and, what is most material to the subject of all things, by what system oratory may be made rhythmical. we must also explain from whence such a form of words has arisen; and we must explain what periods it may be becoming to make, and we must also discuss their parts and sections, if i may so call them; and inquire whether they have all one appearance and length, or more than one; and if many, in what place; or when we may use them, and what kinds it is proper to use; and, lastly, the utility of the whole kind is to be explained, which indeed is of wider application; for it is adapted not to any one particular thing, but to many. and a man may, without giving replies on each separate point, speak of the entire genus in such a way that his answer may appear sufficient as to the whole matter. leaving, therefore, the other kinds out of the question, we select this one, which is conversant with actions and the forum, concerning which we will speak. therefore in other kinds, that is to say, in history and in that kind of argument which we call [greek: epideiktikon], it seems good that everything should be said after the example of isocrates and theopompus, with that sort of period and rounding of a sentence that the oration shall run on in a sort of circle, until it stops in separate, perfect, and complete sentences. therefore after this _circumscriptio_, or _continuatio_, or _comprehensio_, or _ambitus_, if we may so call it, was once introduced, there was no one of any consideration who ever wrote an oration of that kind which was intended only to give pleasure, and unconnected with judicial proceedings or forensic contests, who did not reduce almost all his sentences to a certain set form and rhythm. for, as his hearers are men who have no fear that their own good faith is being attempted to be undermined by the snare of a well-arranged oration, they are even grateful to the orator for studying so much to gratify their ears. lxii. but this kind of oratory is neither to be wholly appropriated to forensic causes, nor is it entirely to be repudiated. for if you constantly employ it, when it has produced weariness then even unskilful people can recognise its character. besides, it takes away the indignation which is intended to be excited by the pleading; it takes away the manly sensibility of the pleader; it wholly puts an end to all truth and good faith. but since it ought to be employed at times, first of all, we should see in what place; secondly, how long it is to be maintained; and lastly, in how many ways it may be varied. we must, then, employ a rhythmical oratory, if we have occasion either to praise anything in an ornate style,--as we ourselves spoke in the second book of our impeachment of verres concerning the praise of sicily; and in the senate, of my own consulship; or a narration must be delivered which requires more dignity than indignation,--as in the fourth book of that same impeachment we spoke concerning the ceres of enna, the diana of segeste, and the situation of syracuse. often also when employed in amplifying a case, an oration is poured forth harmoniously and volubly with the approbation of all men. that perhaps we have never quite accomplished; but we have certainly very often attempted it; as our perorations in many places show that we have, and indeed that we have been very eager to effect it. but this is most effective when the hearer is already blockaded, as it were, and taken prisoner by the speaker. for he then no longer thinks of watching and guarding against the orator, but he is already on his side; and wishes him to proceed, admitting the force of his eloquence, and never thinking of looking for anything with which to find fault. but this style is not to be maintained long; i do not mean in the peroration which it concludes, but in the other divisions of the speech. for when the orator has employed those topics which i have shown to be admissible, then the whole of his efforts must be transferred to what the greeks call, i know not why, [greek: kommata] and [greek: kola], and which we may translate, though not very correctly, "incisa" and "membra." for there cannot be well-known names given to things which are not known; but when we use words in a metaphorical sense, either for the sake of sweetness or because of the poverty of the language, this result takes place in every art, that when we have got to speak of that which, on account of our ignorance of its existence, had no name at all previously, necessity compels us either to coin a new word, or to borrow a name from something resembling it. lxiii. but we will consider hereafter in what way sentences ought to be expressed in short clauses or members. at present we must explain in how many ways those different conclusions and terminations may be changed. rhythm flows in from the beginning, at first more rapidly, from the shortness of the feet employed, and afterwards more slowly as they increase in length. disputes require rapidity; slowness is better suited to explanations. but a period is terminated in many ways; one of which has gained especial favour in asia, which is called the _dichoreus_, when the two last feet are _chorei_, consisting each of one long and one short syllable; for we must explain that the same feet have different names given them by different people. now that dichoreus is not inherently defective as part of a clause, but in the rhythm of an orator there is nothing so vicious as to have the same thing constantly recurring. by itself now and then it sounds very well, on which account we have the more reason to guard against satiety. i was present when caius carbo, the son of caius, a tribune of the people, uttered these words in the assembly of the people: "o maree druse, patrem appello." here are two clauses, each of two feet. then he gave us some more periods: "tu dicere solebas, sacram esse rempublicam." here each clause consists of three feet. then comes the conclusion: "quicunque eam violavissent ab omnibus esse ei poenas persolutas." here is the dichoreus;--for it does not signify whether the last syllable is long or short. then comes, "patris dictum sapiens, temeritas filii comprobavit." and this last dichoreus excited such an outcry as to be quite marvellous. i ask, was it not the rhythm which caused it? change the order of the words; let them stand thus: "comprobavit filii temeritas:" there will be no harm in that, though _temeritas_ consists of three short syllables and one long one; which aristotle considers as the best sort of word to end a sentence, in which i do not agree with him. but still the words are the same, and the meaning is the same. that is enough for the mind, but not enough for the ears. but this ought not to be done too often. for at first rhythm is acknowledged; presently it wearies; afterwards, when the ease with which it is produced is known, it is despised. lxiv. but there are many little clauses which sound rhythmically and agreeably. for there is the cretic, which consists of a long syllable, then a short one, then a long; and there is its equivalent the paeon; which is equal in time, but longer by one syllable; and which is considered a very convenient foot to be used in prose, as it is of two kinds. for it consists either of one long syllable and three short ones, which rhythm is admirable at the beginning of a sentence, but languid at the end; or of three short syllables and then the long one, which the ancients consider the most musical foot of the two: i do not object to it; though there are other feet which i prefer. even the spondee is not utterly to be repudiated; although, because it consists of two long syllables, it appears somewhat dull and slow; still it has a certain steady march not devoid of dignity; but much more is it valuable in short clauses and periods; for then it makes up for the fewness of the feet by its dignified slowness. but when i am speaking of these feet as occurring in clauses, i do not speak of the one foot which occurs at the end; i add (which however is not of much consequence) the preceding foot, and very often even the foot before that. even the iambic, which consists of one short and one long syllable; or that foot which is equal to the choreus, having three short syllables, being therefore equal in time though not in the number of syllables; or the dactyl, which consists of one long and two short syllables, if it is next to the last foot, joins that foot very trippingly, if it is a choreus or a spondee. for it never makes any difference which of these two is the last foot of a sentence. but these same three feet end a sentence very badly if one of them is placed at the end, unless the dactyl comes at the end instead of a cretic; for it does not signify whether the dactyl or the cretic comes at the end, because it does not signify even in verse whether the last syllable of all is long or short. wherefore, whoever said that that paeon was more suitable in which the last syllable was long, made a great mistake; since it has nothing to do with the matter whether the last syllable is long or not. and indeed the paeon, as having more syllables than three, is considered by some people as a rhythm, and not a foot at all. it is, as is agreed upon by all the ancients, aristotle, theophrastus, theodectes, and ephorus, the most suitable of all for an oration, either at the beginning or in the middle; they think that it is very suitable for it at the end also; in which place the cretic appears to me to be better. but a dochmiac consists of five syllables, one short, two long, one short, and one long; as thus:--_[)a]m[=i]c[=o]s t[)e]n[=e]s_; and is suitable for any part of the speech, as long as it is used only once. if repeated or often renewed it then makes the rhythm conspicuous and too remarkable. if we use these changes, numerous and varied as they are, it will not be seen how much of our rhythm is the result of study, and we shall avoid wearying our hearers. lxv. and because it is not only rhythm which makes a speech rhythmical, but since that effect is produced also by the arrangement of the words, and by a kind of neatness, as has been said before, it may be understood by the arrangement when words are so placed that rhythm does not appear to have been purposely aimed at, but to have resulted naturally, as it is said by crassus:-- "nam ubi libido dominatur innocentiae leve praesidium est." for here the order of the words produces rhythm without any apparent design on the part of the orator. therefore, the suitable and rhythmical sentences which occur in the works of the ancients, i mean herodotus, and thucydides, and all the writers of that age, were produced, not by any deliberate pursuit of rhythm, but by the arrangement of the words. for there are some forms of oratory in which there is so much neatness, that rhythm unavoidably follows. for when like is referred to like, or contrary opposed to contrary, or when words which sound alike are compared to other words, whatever sentence is wound up in that manner must usually sound rhythmically. and of this kind of sentence we have already spoken and given instances, so that this abundance of kinds enables a man to avoid always ending a sentence in the same manner. nor are these rules so strict and precise that we are unable to relax them when we wish to. it makes a great difference whether an oration is rhythmical--that is to say, like rhythm--or whether it consists of nothing but rhythm. if it is the latter, that is an intolerable fault; if it is not the former, then it is unconnected, and barbarous, and languid. lxvi. but since it is not only not a frequent occurrence, but actually even a rare one, that we ought to speak in compressed and rhythmical periods, in serious or forensic causes, it appears to follow that we ought to consider what these clauses and short members which i have spoken of are. for in serious causes they occupy the greater part of the speech. for a full and perfect period consists of four divisions, which we call members, so as to fill the ears, and not be either shorter or longer than is just sufficient. although each of those defects does happen sometimes, or indeed often, so that it is necessary either to stop abruptly, or else to proceed further, lest our brevity should appear to have cheated the ears of our hearers, or our prolixity to have exhausted them. but i prefer a middle course; for i am not speaking of verse, and oratory is not so much confined. a full period, then, consists of four divisions, like hexameter verses. in each of these verses, then, there are visible the links, as it were, of the connected series which we unite in the conclusion. but if we choose to speak in a succession of short clauses, we stop, and when it is necessary, we easily and frequently separate ourselves from that sort of march which is apt to excite dislike; but nothing ought to be so rhythmical as this, which is the least visible and the most efficacious. of this kind is that sentence which was spoken by crassus:-- "missos faciant patronos; ipsi prodeant." if he had not paused before "ipsi prodeant," he would have at once seen that an iambic had escaped him,--"prodeant ipsi" would sound in every respect better. but at present i am speaking of the whole kind. "cur clandestinis consiliis nos oppugnant? cur de perfugis nostris copias comparant inter nos?" the first two are such sentences as the greeks call [greek: kommata], and we "incisa." the third is such as they term [greek: kolon], and we "membrum." then comes a short clause; for a perfect conclusion is made up of two verses, that is to say members, and falls into spondees. and crassus was very much in the habit of employing this termination, and i myself have a good opinion of this style of speaking. lxvii. but those sentiments which are delivered in short clauses, or members, ought to sound very harmoniously, as in a speech of mine you will find:-- "domus tibi deerat? at habebas. pecunia superabat? at egebas." these four clauses are as concise as can be; but then come the two following sentences uttered in members:-- "incurristi amens in columnas: in alienos insanus insanîsti." after these clauses everything is sustained by a longer class of sentences, as if they were erected on these as their pedestal:-- "depressam, caecam, jacentem domum pluris, quam te, et quam fortunas tuas, aestimâsti." it is ended with a dichoreus; but the next sentence terminates with a double spondee. for in those feet which speakers should use at times like little daggers, the very brevity makes the feet more free. for we often must use them separately, often two together, and a part of a foot may be added to each foot, but not often in combinations of more than three. but an oration when delivered in brief clauses and members, is very forcible in serious causes, especially when you are accusing or refuting an accusation, as in my second cornelian speech:-- "o callidos homines! o rem excogitatam! o ingenia metuenda!" hitherto this is spoken in members. after that we spoke in short clauses. then again in members:-- "testes dare volumus." at last comes the conclusion, but one made up of two members, than which nothing can be more concise:-- "quem, quaeso, nostrûm fefellit, ita vos esse facturos?" nor is there any style of speaking more lively or more forcible than that which strikes with two or three words, sometimes with single words; very seldom with more than two or three, and among these various clauses there is occasionally inserted a rhythmical period. and hegesias, who perversely avoided this usage, while seeking to imitate lysias, who is almost a second demosthenes, dividing his sentences into little bits, was more like a dancer than an orator. and he, indeed, errs not less in his sentences than in his single words, so that a man who knows him has no need to look about for some one whom he may call foolish. but i have cited those sentences of crassus's and my own, in order that whoever chose might judge by his own ears what was rhythmical even in the most insignificant portions of a speech. and since we have said more about rhythmical oratory than any one of those who have preceded us, we will now speak of the usefulness of that style. lxviii. for speaking beautifully and like an orator is, o brutus, nothing else (as you, indeed, know better than any one) except speaking with the most excellent sentiments and in the most carefully selected language. and there is no sentiment which produces any fruit to an orator, unless it is expressed in a suitable and polished manner. nor is there any brilliancy of words visible unless they are carefully arranged; and rhythm it is which sets off both these excellences. but rhythm (for it is well to repeat this frequently) is not only not formed in a poetical manner, but even avoids poetry, and is as unlike it as possible. not but that rhythm is the same thing, not only in the writings of orators and poets, but even in the conversation of every one who speaks, and in every imaginable sound which we can measure with our ears. but it is the order of the feet which makes that which is uttered appear like an oration or like a poem. and this, whether you choose to call it composition, or perfection, or rhythm, must be employed if a man wishes to speak elegantly, not only (as aristotle and theophrastus say) that the discourse may not run on interminably like a river, but that it may come to a stop as it ought, not because the speaker wants to take breath, or because the copyist puts down a stop, but because it is compelled to do so by the restrictions of rhythm, and also because a compact style has much greater force than a loose one. for as we see athletes, and in a similar manner gladiators, act cautiously, neither avoiding nor aiming at anything with too much vehemence, (for over-vehement motions can have no rule;) so that whatever they do in a manner advantageous for their contest, may also have a graceful and pleasing appearance; in like manner oratory does not strike a heavy blow, unless the aim was a well-directed one; nor does it avoid the attack of the adversary successfully, unless even when turning aside the blow it is aware of what is becoming. and therefore the speeches of those men who do not end their sentences rhythmically seem to me like the motions of those whom the greeks call [hapalaistrous]. and it is so far from being the case, (as those men say who, either from a want of proper instructors, or from the slowness of their intellect, or from an unwillingness to exert due industry, have not arrived at this skill,) that oratory is enervated by too much attention to the arrangement of words, that without it there can be no energy and no force. lxix. but the matter is one which requires much practice, lest we should do anything like those men who, though they have aimed at this style, have not attained it; so that we must not openly transpose our words in order to make our language sound better; a thing which lucius coelius antipater, in the opening of his history of the punic war, promises not to do unless it should be absolutely necessary. oh the simple man! to conceal nothing from us; and at the same time wise, inasmuch as he is prepared to comply with necessity. but still this is being too simple. but in writing or in sober discussion the excuse of necessity is not admissible, for there is no such thing as necessity; and if there were, it would still be necessary not to admit it. and this very man who demands this indulgence of laelius, to whom he is writing, and to whom he is excusing himself, uses this transposition of words, and yet does not fill up and conclude his sentences any the more skilfully. among others, and especially among the asiatics, who are perfect slaves to rhythm, you may find many superfluous words inserted, as if on purpose to fill up vacancies in rhythm. there are men also, who through that fault, which originated chiefly with hegesias, by breaking up abruptly, and cutting short their rhythm, have fallen into an abject style of speaking, very much like that of the sicilians. there is a third kind adopted by those brothers, the chiefs of the asiatic rhetoricians, hierocles and maecles, men who are not at all to be despised, in my opinion at least. for although they do not quite keep to the real form of oratory and to the principles of the attic orators, still they make amends for this fault by their ability and fluency. still there was no variety in them, because nearly all their sentences were terminated in one manner. but a man who avoids all these faults, so as neither to transpose words in such a manner that every one must see that it is done on purpose, nor cramming in unnecessary words, as if to fill up leaks, nor aiming at petty rhythm, so as to mutilate and emasculate his sentences, and who does not always stick to one kind of rhythm without any variation, such a man avoids nearly every fault. for we have said a good deal on the subject of perfections, to which these manifest defects are contrary. lxx. but how important a thing it is to speak harmoniously, you may know by experience if you dissolve the carefully-contrived arrangement of a skilful orator by a transposition of his words; for then the whole thing would be spoilt, as in this instance of our language in the cornelian oration, and in all the following sentences:-- "neque me divitiae movent, quibus omnes africanos et laelios milt, venalitii mercatoresque superârunt." change the order a little, so that the sentence shall stand, "multi superârunt mercatores venalitiique," and the whole effect is lost. and the subsequent sentences: "neque vestis, ant caelatum aurum et argentum, quo nostros veteres marcellos maximosque multi eunuchi e syriâ aegyptoque vicerunt." alter the order of the words, so that they shall stand, "vicerunt eunuchi e syriâ aegyptoque." take this third sentence:-- "neque vero ornamenta ista villarum, quibus lucium paullum et lucium mummium, qui rebus his urbem italiamque omnem referserunt, ab aliquo video perfacile deliaco aut syro potuisse superari." place the words thus:-- "potuisse superari ab aliquo syro aut deliaco." do you not see that by making this slight change in the order of the words, the very same words (though the sense remains as it was before) lose all their effect the moment they are disjoined from those which were best suited to them? or if you take any carelessly-constructed sentence of any unpolished orator, and reduce it into proper shape, by making a slight alteration in the order of his words, then that will be made harmonious which was before loose and unmethodical come now, take a sentence from the speech of gracchus before the censors:-- "obesse non potest, quin ejusdem hominis sit, probos improbare, qui improbos probet." how much better would it have been if he had said, "quin ejusdem hominis sit, qui improbos probet, probos improbare!" no one ever had any objection to speaking in this manner; and no one was ever able to do so who did not do it. but those who have spoken in a different manner have not been able to arrive at this excellence. and so on a sudden they have set up for orators of the attic school. as if demosthenes was a man of tralles; but even his thunderbolts would not have shone so if they had not been pointed by rhythm. lxxi. but if there be any one who prefers a loose style of oratory, let him cultivate it; keeping in view this principle,--if any one were to take to pieces the shield of phidias, he would destroy the beauty of the collective arrangement, not the exquisite workmanship of each fragment: and as in thucydides i only miss the roundness of his periods; all the graces of style are there. but these men, when they compose a loose oration, in which there is no matter, and no expression which is not a low one, appear to me to be taking to pieces, not a shield, but, as the proverb says, (which, though but a low one, is still very apt,) only a broom. and in order that there may be no mistake as to their contempt of this style which i am praising, let them write something either in the style of isocrates, or in that which aeschines or demosthenes employs, and then i will believe that they have not shrunk from this style out of despair of being able to arrive at it, but that they have avoided it deliberately on account of their bad opinion of it: or else i will find a man myself who may be willing to be bound by this condition,--either to say or write, in whichever language you please, in the style which those men prefer. for it is easier to disunite what is connected than to connect what is disjointedly strung together. however, the fact is, (to be brief in explaining my real opinion,) to speak in a well-arranged and suitable manner without good ideas is to act like a madman. but to speak in a sententious manner, without any order or method in one's language, is to behave like a child: but still it is childishness of that sort, that those who employ it cannot be considered stupid men, and indeed may often be accounted wise men. and if a man is contented with that sort of character, why let him speak in that way. but the eloquent man, who, if his subject will allow it, ought to excite not only approbation, but admiration and loud applause, ought to excel in everything to such a degree, that he should think it discreditable that anything should be beheld or listened to more gladly than his speech. you have here, o brutus, my opinion respecting an orator. if you approve of it, follow it; or else adhere to your own, if you have formed any settled opinion on the subject. and i shall not be offended with you, nor will i affirm that this opinion of mine which i have asserted so positively in this book is more correct than yours; for it is possible not only that my opinion should be different from yours, but even that my own may be different at different times. and not only in this matter, which has reference to gaining the assent of the common people and to the pleasure of the ears, which are two of the most unimportant points as far as judgment is concerned; but even in the most important affairs, i have never found anything firmer to take hold of, or to guide my judgment by, than the extremity of probability as it appeared to me, when actual truth was hidden or obscure. but i wish that you, if you do not approve entirely of the things which i have urged in this treatise, would believe either that i proposed to myself a work of too great difficulty for me to accomplish properly, or else that, while wishing to comply with your request, i undertook the impudent task of writing this, from being ashamed to refuse you. the treatise of m. t. cicero on topics, dedicated to caius trebatius. * * * * * the argument. this treatise was written a short time before the events which gave rise to the first philippic. cicero obtained an honorary lieutenancy, with the intention of visiting his son at athens; on his way towards rhegium he spent an evening at velia with trebatius, where he began this treatise, which he finished at sea, before he arrived in greece. it is little more than an abstract of what had been written by aristotle on the same subject, and which trebatius had begged him to explain to him; and middleton says, that as he had not aristotle's essay with him, he drew this up from memory, and he appears to have finished it in a week, as it was the nineteenth of july that he was at velia, and he sent this work to trebatius from rhegium on the twenty-seventh. he himself apologizes to trebatius in the letter which accompanied it, (ep. fam. vii. ,) for its obscurity, which however, he says, was unavoidably caused by the nature of the subject. i. we had begun to write, o caius trebatius, on subjects more important and more worthy of these books, of which we have published a sufficient number in a short time, when your request recalled me from my course. for when you were with me in my tusculan villa, and when each of us was separately in the library opening such books as were suited to our respective tastes and studies, you fell on a treatise of aristotle's called the topics; which he has explained in many books; and, excited by the title, you immediately asked me to explain to you the doctrines laid down in those books. and when i had explained them to you, and told you that the system for the discovery of arguments was contained in them, in order that we might arrive, without making any mistake, at the system on which they rested by the way discovered by aristotle, you urged me, modestly indeed, as you do everything, but still in a way which let me plainly see your eagerness to be gratified, to make you master of the whole of aristotle's method. and when i exhorted you, (not so much for the sake of saving myself trouble, as because i really thought it advantageous for you yourself,) either to read them yourself, or to get the whole system explained to you by some learned rhetorician, you told me that you had already tried both methods. but the obscurity of the subject deterred you from the books; and that illustrious rhetorician to whom you had applied answered you, i suppose, that he knew nothing of these rules of aristotle. and this i was not so much surprised at, namely, that that philosopher was not known to the rhetorician, inasmuch as he is not much known even to philosophers, except to a very few. and such ignorance is the less excusable in them, because they not only ought to have been allured by those things which he has discovered and explained, but also by the incredible richness and sweetness of his eloquence. i could not therefore remain any longer in your debt, since you often made me this request, and yet appeared to fear being troublesome to me, (for i could easily see that,) lest i should appear unjust to him who is the very interpreter of the law. in truth, as you had often written many things for me and mine, i was afraid that if i delayed obliging you in this, it would appear very ungrateful or very arrogant conduct on my part. but while we were together, you yourself are the best witness of how i was occupied; but after i left you, on my way into greece, when neither the republic nor any friends were occupying my attention, and when i could not honourably remain amid the armies, (not even if i could have done so safely,) as soon as i came to velia and beheld your house and your family, i was reminded of this debt; and would no longer be wanting to your silent request. therefore, as i had no books with me, i have written these pages on my voyage, from memory; and i have sent them to you while on my journey, in order that by my diligence in obeying your commands, i might rouse you to a recollection of my affairs, although you do not require a reminder. but, however, it is time to come to the object which we have undertaken. ii. as every careful method of arguing has two divisions,--one of discovering, one of deciding,--aristotle was, as it appears to me, the chief discoverer of each. but the stoics also have devoted some pains to the latter, for they have diligently considered the methods of carrying on a discussion by that science which they call dialectics; but the art of discovering arguments, which is called topics, and which was more serviceable for practical use, and certainly prior in the order of nature, they have wholly disregarded. but we, since both parts are of the greatest utility, and since we intend to examine each if we have time, will now begin with that which is naturally the first. as therefore the discovery of those things which are hidden is easy, if the place where they are hidden is pointed out and clearly marked; so, when we wish to examine any argument, we ought to know the topics,--for so they are called by aristotle, being, as it were, seats from which arguments are derived. therefore we may give as a definition, that a topic is the seat of an argument, and that an argument is a reason which causes men to believe a thing which would otherwise be doubtful. but of those topics in which arguments are contained, some dwell on that particular point which is the subject of discussion; some are derived from external circumstances. when derived from the subject itself, they proceed at times from it taken as a whole, at times from its parts, at times from some sign, and at others from things which are disposed in some manner or other towards the subject under discussion; but those topics are derived from external circumstances which are at a distance and far removed from the same subject. but a definition is employed with reference to the entire matter under discussion which unfolds the matter which is the subject of inquiry as if it had been previously enveloped in mystery. the formula of that argument is of this sort: "civil law is equity established among men who belong to the same city, for the purpose of insuring each man in the possession of his property and rights: and the knowledge of this equity is useful: therefore the knowledge of civil law is useful." then comes the enumeration of the parts, which is dealt with in this manner: "if a slave has not been declared free either by the censor, or by the praetor's rod, or by the will of his master, he is not free: but none of those things is the case: therefore he is not free." then comes the sign; when some argument is derived from the meaning of a word, in this way:--as the aelian sentian law orders an assiduus[ ] to support an assiduus, it orders a rich man to support a rich man, for a rich man is an assiduus, called so, as aelius says, from _asse dando_. iii. arguments are also derived from things which bear some kind of relation to that which is the object of discussion. but this kind is distributed under many heads; for we call some connected with one another either by nature, or by their form, or by their resemblance to one another, or by their differences, or by their contrariety to one another, or by adjuncts, or by their antecedents, or by their consequents, or by what is opposed to each of them, or by causes, or by effects, or by a comparison with what is greater, or equal, or less. arguments are said to be connected together which are derived from words of the same kind. but words are of the same kind which, originating from one word, are altered in various ways; as, "_sapiens, sapienter, sapientia_." the connexion of these words is called [greek: suxugia]; from which arises an argument of this kind: "if the land is common, every one has a right to feed his cattle on it." an argument is derived from the kind of word, thus: "since all the money has been bequeathed to the woman, it is impossible that that ready money which was left in the house should not have been bequeathed. for the species is never separated from the genus as long as it retains its name: but ready money retains the name of money: therefore it is plain that it was bequeathed." an argument is derived from the species, which we may sometimes name, in order that it may be more clearly understood; in this manner: "if the money was bequeathed to fabia by her husband, on the supposition that she was the mother of his family; if she was not his wife, then nothing is due to her." for the wife is the genus: there are two kinds of wife; one being those mothers of a family which become wives by _coemptio_; the other kind are those which are only considered wives: and as fabia was one of those last, it appears that nothing was bequeathed to her. an argument is derived from similarity, in this way: "if those houses have fallen down, or got into disrepair, a life-interest in which is bequeathed to some one, the heir is not bound to restore or to repair them, any more than he is bound to replace a slave, if a slave, a life-interest in whom has been bequeathed to some one, has died." an argument is derived from difference, thus: "it does not follow, if a man has bequeathed to his wife all the money which belonged to him, that therefore he bequeathed all which was down in his books as due to him; for there is a great difference whether the money is laid up in his strong box, or set down as due in his accounts." an argument is derived from contraries, thus: "that woman to whom her husband has left a life-interest in all his property, has no right, if his cellars of wine and oil are left full, to think that they belong to her; for the use of them is what has been bequeathed to her, and not the misuse: and they are contrary to one another." iv. an argument is derived from adjuncts, thus: "if a woman has made a will who has never given up her liberty by marriage, it does not appear that possession ought to be given by the edict of the praetor to the legatee under that will; for it is added, that in that case possession would seem proper to be given by that same edict, according to the wills of slaves, or exiles, or infants." arguments are derived from antecedents, and consequents, and contradictories, in this way. from antecedents: "if a divorce has been caused by the fault of the husband, although the woman has demanded it, still she is not bound to leave any of her dowry for her children." from consequents: "if a woman having married a man with whom she had no right of intermarriage, has demanded a divorce, since the children who have been born do not follow their father, the father has no right to keep back any portion of the woman's dowry." from contradictories: "if the head of a family has left to his wife in reversion after his son the life-interest in the female slaves, and has made no mention of any other reversionary heir, if the son dies, the woman shall not lose her life-interest. for that which has once been given to any one by will, cannot be taken away from the legatee to whom it has been given without his consent; for it is a contradiction for any one to have a right to receive a thing, and yet to be forced to give it up against his will." an argument is derived from efficient causes, in this way: "all men have a right to add to a common party wall, a wall extending its whole length, either solid or on arches; but if any one in demolishing the common wall should promise to pay for any damages which may arise from his action, he will not be bound to pay for any damage sustained or caused by such arches: for the damage has been done, not by the party which demolished the common wall, but in consequence of some fault in the work, which was built in such a manner as to be unable to support itself." an argument is derived from what has been done, in this way: "when a woman becomes the wife of a man, everything which has belonged to the woman now becomes the property of the husband under the name of dowry." but in the way of comparison there are many kinds of valid arguments; in this way: "that which is valid in a greater affair, ought to be valid in a less: so that, if the law does not regulate the limits in the city, still more will it not compel any one to turn off the water in the city." again, on the other hand: "whatever is valid in a smaller matter ought to be valid also in a greater one. one may convert the preceding example." also, "that which is valid in a parallel case ought to be valid in this which is a parallel case." as, "since the usurpation of a farm depends on a term of two years, the law with respect to houses ought to be the same." but in the law houses are not mentioned, and so they are supposed to come under the same class as all other things, the property in which is determined by one year's use. equity then must prevail, which requires similar laws in similar cases.[ ] but those arguments which are derived from external circumstances are deduced chiefly from authority. therefore the greeks call argumentations of that kind [greek: atechuoi], that is, devoid of art. as if you were to answer in this way:--"in the case of some one building a roof for the purpose of covering a common wall, publius scaevola asserted that there was no right of carrying that roof so far that the water which ran off it should run on to any part of any building which did not belong to the owner of the roof. this i affirm to be law." v. by these topics then which have been explained, a means of discovering and proving every sort of argument is supplied, as if they were elements of argument. have we then said enough up to this point? i think we have, as far at least as you, an acute man and one deeply skilled in law, are concerned. but since i have to deal with a man who is very greedy when the feast in question is one of learning, i will prosecute the subject so that i will rather put forth something more than is necessary, than allow you to depart unsatisfied. as, then, each separate one of those topics which i have mentioned has its own proper members, i will follow them out as accurately as i can; and first of all i will speak of the definition itself. definition is a speech which explains that which is defined. but of definitions there are two principal kinds: one, of those things which exist; the other, of those which are understood. the things which i call existing are those which can be seen or touched; as a farm, a house, a wall, a gutter, a slave, an ox, furniture, provisions, and so on; of which kind of things some require at times to be defined by us. those things, again, i say have no existence, which are incapable of being touched or proved, but which can be perceived by the mind and understood; as if you were to define usucaption, guardianship, nationality, or relationship; all, things which have no body, but which nevertheless have a certain conformation plainly marked out and impressed upon the mind, which i call the notion of them. they often require to be explained by definition while we are arguing about them. and again, there are definitions by partition, and others by division: by partition, when the matter which is to be defined is separated, as it were, into different members; as if any one were to say that civil law was that which consists of laws, resolutions of the senate, precedents, the authority of lawyers, the edicts of magistrates, custom, and equity. but a definition by division embraces every form which comes under the entire genus which is defined; in this way: "alienation is the surrender of anything which is a man's private property, or a legal cession of it to men who are able by law to avail themselves of such cession." vi. there are also other kinds of definitions, but they have no connexion with the subject of this book; we have only got to say what is the manner of expressing a definition. this, then, is what the ancients prescribe: that when you have taken those things which are common to the thing which you wish to define with other things, you must pursue them till you make out of them altogether some peculiar property which cannot be transferred to anything else. as this: "an inheritance is money." up to this point the definition is common, for there are many kinds of money. add what follows: "which by somebody's death comes to some one else." it is not yet a definition, for money belonging to the dead can be possessed in many ways without inheritance. add one word, "lawfully." by this time the matter will appear distinguished from general terms, so that the definition may stand thus:--"an inheritance is money which by somebody's death has lawfully come to some one else." it is not enough yet. add, "without being either bequeathed by will, or held as some one else's property." the definition is complete. again, take this:--"those are _gentiles_ who are of the same name as one another." that is insufficient. "and who are born of noble blood." even that is not enough. "who have never had any ancestor in the condition of a slave." something is still wanting. "who have never parted with their franchise." this, perhaps, may do. for i am not aware that scaevola, the pontiff, added anything to this definition. and this principle holds good in each kind of definition, whether the thing to be defined is something which exists, or something which is understood. vii. but we have shown now what is meant by partition, and by division. but it is necessary to explain more clearly wherein they differ. in partition, there are as it were members; as of a body--head, shoulders, hands, sides, legs, feet, and so on. in division there are forms which the greeks call [greek: ideae]; our countrymen who treat of such subjects call them species. and it is not a bad name, though it is an inconvenient one if we want to use it in different cases. for even if it were latin to use such words, i should not like to say _specierum_ and _speciebus_. and we have often occasion to use these cases. but i have no such objection to saying _formarum_ and _formis_; and as the meaning of each word is the same, i do not think that convenience of sound is wholly to be neglected. men define genus and species or form in this manner:--"genus is a notion relating to many differences. species is a notion, the difference of which can be referred to the head and as it were fountain of the genus." i mean by notion that which the greeks call sometimes [greek: _ennoia_], and sometimes [greek: _enoprolaepsis_]. it is knowledge implanted and previously acquired of each separate thing, but one which requires development. species, then, are those forms into which genus is divided without any single one being omitted; as if any one were to divide justice into law, custom, and equity. a person who thinks that species are the same things as parts, is confounding the art; and being perplexed by some resemblance, he does not distinguish with sufficient acuteness what ought to be distinguished. often, also, both orators and poets define by metaphor, relying on some verbal resemblance, and indeed not without giving a certain degree of pleasure. but i will not depart from your examples unless i am actually compelled to do so. aquillius, then, my colleague and intimate friend, was accustomed, when there was any discussion about shores, (all of which you lawyers insist upon it are public,) to define them to men who asked to whom that which was shore belonged, in this way: "wherever the waves dashed;" that is, as if a man were to define youth as the flower of a man's age, or old age as the setting of life. using a metaphor, he departs from the words proper to the matter in hand and to his own art. this is enough as to definition. let us now consider the other points. viii. but we must employ partition in such a manner as to omit no part whatever. as if you wish to partition guardianship, you would act ignorantly if you were to omit any kind. but if you were partitioning off the different formulas of stipulations or judicial decisions, then it is not a fault to omit something in a matter which is of boundless extent. but in division it is a fault; for there is a settled number of species which are subordinate to each genus. the distribution of the parts is often more interminable still, like the drawing streams from a fountain. therefore in the art of an orator, when the genus of a question is once laid down, the number of its species is added absolutely; but when rules are given concerning the embellishments of words and sentences, which are called [greek: _schaemata_], the case is different; for the circumstances are more infinite: so that it may be understood from this also what the difference is which we assert to exist between partition and division. for although the words appear nearly equivalent to one another still, because the things are different, the expressions are also established as not synonymous to one another. many arguments are also derived from observation, and that is when they are deduced from the meaning of a word, which the greeks call [greek: _etumologia_]; or as we might translate it, word for word, _veriloquium_. but we, while avoiding the novel appearance of a word which is not very suitable, call this kind of argument _notatio_, because words are the notes by which we distinguish things. and therefore aristotle calls the same source of argument [greek: _sunbolou_], which is equivalent to the latin _nota_. but when it is known what is meant we need not be so particular about the name. in a discussion then, many arguments are derived from words by means of observation; as when the question is asked, what is a _postliminium_--(i do not mean what are the objects to which this word applies, for that would be division, which is something of this sort: "_postliminium_ applies to a man, a ship, a mule with panniers, a horse, a mare who is accustomed to be bridled")--but when the meaning of the word itself, _postliminium_, is asked, and when the word itself is observed. and in this our countryman, servius, as it seems, thinks that there is nothing to be observed except _post_, and he insists upon it that _liminium_ is a mere extension of the word; as in _finitimus, legitimus, ceditimus, timus_ has no more meaning than _tullius_ has in _meditullius_. but scaevola, the son of publius scaeaevola, thinks the word is a compound one, so that it is made up of _post_ and _limen_. so that those things which have been alienated from us, when they have come into the possession of our enemies, and, as it were, departed from their own threshold, then when they have returned behind that same threshold, appear to have returned _postliminio_. by which definition even the cause of mancinus may be defended by saying that he returned _postliminio_,--that he was not surrendered, inasmuch as he was not received. for that no surrender and no gift can be understood to have taken place if there has been no reception of it. ix. we next come to that topic which is derived from those things which are disposed in some way or other to that thing which is the subject of discussion. and i said just now that it was divided into many parts. and the first topic is derived from combination, which the greeks call [greek: sizugia], being a kindred thing to observation, which we have just been discussing, as, if we were only to understand that to be rain-water which we saw to have been collected from rain, mucius would come, who, because the words _pluna_ and _pluendo_ were akin, would say that all water ought to be kept out which had been increased by raining. but when an argument is derived from a genus, then it will not be necessary to trace it back to its origin, we may often stop on this side of that point, provided that which is deduced is higher than that for which it is deduced, as, "rain water in its ultimate genus is that which descends from heaven and is increased by showers," but in reference to its more proximate sense, under which the right of keeping it off is comprised, the genus is, mischievous rain water. the subordinate species of that genus are waters which injure through a natural defect of the place, or those which are injurious on account of the works of man: for one of these kinds may be restrained by an arbitrator, but not the other. again, this argumentation is handled very advantageously, which is derived from a species when you pursue all the separate parts by tracing them back to the whole, in this way "if that is _dolus malus_ when one thing is aimed at, and another pretended," we may enumerate the different modes in which that can be done, and then under some one of them we may range that which we are trying to prove has been done _dolo malo_. and that kind of argument is usually accounted one of the most irrefragable of all. x. the next thing is similarity, which is a very extensive topic, but one more useful for orators and for philosophers than for men of your profession. for although all topics belong to every kind of discussion, so as to supply arguments for each, still they occurs more abundantly in discussions on some subjects, and more sparingly in others. therefore the genera are known to you, but when you are to employ them the questions themselves will instruct you. for there are resemblances which by means of comparisons arrive at the point they aim at, in this manner. "if a guardian is bound to behave with good faith, and a partner, and any one to whom you have entrusted anything, and any one who has undertaken a trust then so ought an agent." this argument, arriving at the point at which it aims by a comparison of many instances, is called induction, which in greek is called [greek: _ipago_]. and it is the kind of argument which socrates employed a great deal in his discourses. another kind of resemblance is obtained by comparison, when one thing is compared to some other single thing, and like to like, in this way "as if in any city there is a dispute as to boundaries because the boundaries of fields appear more extensive than those of cities, you may find it impossible to bring an arbitrator to settle the question of boundaries, so if rain water is injurious in a city, since the whole matter is one more for country magistrates, you may not be able to bring an arbitrator to settle the question of keeping off rain-water" again, from the same topic of resemblance, examples are derived, as, "crassus in cunus's trial used many examples, speaking of the man who by his will had appointed his heir in such a manner, that if he had had a son born within ten months of his death, and that son had died before coming into possession of the property held in trust for him, the revisionary heir would succeed to the inheritance. and the enumeration of precedents which crassus brought forward prevailed". and you are accustomed to use this style of argument very frequently in replies. even fictitious examples have all the force of real ones, but they belong rather to the orator than to you lawyers, although you also do use them sometimes, but in this way. "suppose a man had given a slave a thing which a slave is by law incapable of receiving, is it on that account the act of the man who received it? or has he, who gave that present to his slave on that account taken any obligations on himself?" and in this kind of argument orators and philosophers are allowed to make even dumb things talk, so that the dead man be raised from the shades below, or that anything which intrinsically is absolutely impossible, may, for the sake of adding force to the argument, or diminishing, be spoken of as real and that figure is called hyperbole. and they may say other marvellous things, but theirs is a wider field. still, out of the same topics, as i have said before, arguments are derived for the most important and the most trivial inquiries. xi after similarity there follows difference between things, which is as different as possible from the preceding topic, still it is the same art which finds out resemblances and dissimilarities. these are instances of the same sort--"if you have contracted a debt to a woman, you can pay her without having recourse to a trustee, but what you owe to a minor, whether male or female; you cannot pay in the same manner." the next topic is one which is derived from contraries. but the genera of contraries are several. one is of such things as differ in the same kind; as wisdom and jolly. but those things are said to be in the same kind, which, when they are proposed, are immediately met by certain contraries, as if placed opposite to them: as slowness is contrary to rapidity, and not weakness. from which contraries such arguments as these are deduced:--"if we avoid folly, let us pursue wisdom; and if we avoid wickedness, let us pursue goodness." these things, as they are contrary qualities in the same class, are called opposites. for there are other contraries, which we may call in latin, _privantia_, and which the greeks call [greek: _steraetika_]. for the preposition _in_ deprives the word of that force which it would have if _in_ were not prefixed; as, "dignity, indignity--humanity, inhumanity," and other words of the same kind, the manner of dealing with which is the same as that of dealing with other kinds which i have called opposites. for there are also other kinds or contraries; as those which are compared to something or other; as, "twofold and simple; many and few; long and short; greater and less." there are also those very contrary things which are called negatives, which the greeks call [greek: _steraetika_]: as, "if this is the case, that is not." for what need is there for an instance? only let it be understood that in seeking for an argument it is not every contrary which is suitable to be opposed to another. xii. but i gave a little while ago an instance drawn from adjuncts; showing that many things are added as accessories, which ought to be admitted, if we decided that possession ought to be given by the praetor's edict, in compliance with the will which that person made who had no right whatever to make a will. but this topic has more influence in conjectural causes, which are frequent in courts, of justice, when we are inquiring either what is, or what has been, or what is likely to be, or what possibly may happen. and the form of the topic itself is as follows. but this topic reminds us to inquire what happened before the transaction of which we are speaking, or at the same time with the transaction, or after the transaction. "this has nothing to do with the law, you had better apply to cicero," our friend gallus used to say, if any one brought him any cause which required an inquiry into matters of fact. but you will prefer that no topic of the art which i have begun to treat of should be omitted by me, lest if you should think that nothing was to be written here except what had reference to yourself, you should seem to be too selfish. this then is for the most part an oratorical topic; not only not much suited to lawyers, but not even to philosophers. for the circumstances which happened before the matter in question are inquired into, such as any preparation, any conferences, any place, any prearranged convivial meeting. and the circumstances which happened at the same time with the matter in question, are the noise of footfalls, the noise of men, the shadow of a body, or anything of that sort. the circumstances subsequent to the matter in question are, blushing, paleness, trepidation, or any other tokens of agitation or consciousness; and besides these, any such fact as a fire extinguished, a bloody sword, or any circumstance which can excite a suspicion of such an act. xiii. the next topic is one peculiar to dialecticians; derived from consequents, and antecedents, and inconsistencies; and this one is very different from that drawn from differences. for adjuncts, of which we were speaking just now, do not always exist, but consequents do invariably. i call those things consequents which follow an action of necessity. and the same rule holds as to antecedents and inconsistencies; for whatever precedes each thing, that of necessity coheres with that theme; and whatever is inconsistent with it is of such a nature that it can never cohere with it. as then this topic is distributed in three divisions, into consequence, antecession, and inconsistency, there is one single topic to help us find the argument, but a threefold way of dealing with it. for what difference does it make, when you have once assumed that the ready money is due to the woman to whom all the money has been bequeathed, whether you conclude your argument in this way:--"if coined money is money, it has been bequeathed to the woman; but coined money is money; therefore it has been bequeathed to her;"--or in this way: "if ready money has not been bequeathed to her, then ready money is not money; but ready money is money; therefore it has been bequeathed to her;"--or in this way: "the cases of money not having been bequeathed, and of ready money not having been bequeathed, are identical; but money was bequeathed to her; therefore ready money was bequeathed to her?" but the dialecticians call that conclusion of the argument in which, when you have first made an assumption, that which is connected with it follows as a consequence of the assumption, the first mood of the conclusion; and when, because you have denied the consequence, it follows that that also to which it was a consequence must be denied also, that is the second mood. but when you deny some things in combination, (and then another negation is added to them,) and from these things you assume something, so that what remains is also done away with, that is called the third mood of the conclusion. from this are derived those results of the rhetoricians drawn from contraries, which they call enthymemes. not that every sentence may not be legitimately called an enthymeme; but, as homer on account of his preeminence has appropriated the general name of poet to himself as his own among all the greeks; so, though every sentence is an enthymeme, still, because that which is made up of contraries appears the most acute argument of the kind, that alone has possessed itself of the general name as its own peculiar distinction. its kinds are these:--"can you fear this man, and not fear that one?"--"you condemn this woman, against whom you bring no accusation; and do you say that this other one deserves punishment, whom you believe to deserve reward?"--"that which you do know is no good; that which you do not know is a great hindrance to you." xiv. this kind of disputing is very closely connected with the mode of discussion adopted by you lawyers in reply, and still more closely with that adopted by philosophers, as they share with the orators in the employment of that general conclusion which is drawn from inconsistent sentences, which is called by dialecticians the third mood, and by rhetoricians an enthymeme. there are many other moods used by the rhetoricians, which consist of disjunctive propositions:--"either this or that is the case; but this is the case; then that is not the case." and again:--"either this or that is the case; but this is not the case; then that is the case." and these conclusions are valid, because in a disjunctive proposition only one alternative can be true. and from those conclusions which i have mentioned above, the former is called by the dialecticians the fourth mood, and the latter the fifth. then they add a negation of conjunctive propositions; as, "it is not both this and that; but it is this; therefore it is not that." this is the sixth mood. the seventh is, "it is not both this and that; but it is not this; therefore it is that." from these moods innumerable conclusions are derived, in which nearly the whole science of dialectics consists. but even those which i have now explained are not necessary for this present discussion. xv. the next topic is drawn from efficient circumstances which are called causes; and the next from the results produced by these efficient causes. i have already given instances of these, as of the other topics, and those too drawn from civil law; but these have a wider application. there are then two kinds of causes; one which of its own force to a certainty produces that effect which is subordinate to it; as, "fire burns;" the other is that which has no nature able to produce the effect in question, though still that effect cannot be produced without it; as, if any one were to say, that "brass was the cause of a statue; because a statue cannot be made without it." now of this kind of causes which are indispensable to a thing being done, some are quiet some passive, some, as it were, senseless; as, place, time, materials, tools, and other things of the same sort. but some exhibit a sort of preparatory process towards the production of the effect spoken of; and some of themselves do contribute some aid to it; although it is not indispensable; as meeting may have supplied the cause to love; love to crime. from this description of causes depending on one another in infinite series, is derived the doctrine of fate insisted on by the stoics. and as i have thus divided the genera of causes, without which nothing can be effected, so also the genera of the efficient causes can be divided in the same manner. for there are some causes which manifestly produce the effect, without any assistance from any quarter; others which require external aid; as for instance, wisdom alone by herself makes men wise; but whether she is able alone to make men happy is a question. xvi. wherefore, when any cause efficient as to some particular end has inevitably presented itself in a discussion, it is allowable without any hesitation to conclude that what that cause must inevitably effect is effected. but when the cause is of such a nature that it does not inevitably effect the result, then the conclusion which follows is not inevitable and that description of causes which has an inevitable effect does not usually engender mistakes; but this description, without which a thing cannot take place, does often cause perplexity. for it does not follow, because sons cannot exist without parents, that there was therefore any unavoidable cause in the parents to have children. this, therefore, without which an effect cannot be produced, must be carefully separated from that by which it is certainly produced. for that is like-- "would that the lofty pine on pelion's brow had never fall'n beneath the woodman's axe!" for if the beam of fir had never fallen to the ground, that argo would not have been built; and yet there was not in the beams any unavoidably efficient power. but when "the fork'd and fiery bolt of jove" was hurled at ajax's vessel, that ship was then inevitably burnt. and again, there is a difference between causes, because some are such that without any particular eagerness of mind, without any expressed desire or opinion, they effect what is, as it were, their own work; as for instance, "that everything must die which has been born." but other results are effected either by some desire or agitation of mind, or by habit, or nature, or art, or chance. by desire, as in your case, when you read this book; by agitation, as in the case of any one who fears the ultimate issue of the present crisis; by habit, as in the case of a man who gets easily and rapidly in a passion; by nature, as vice increases every day; by art, as in the case of a man who paints well; by chance, as in the case of a man who has a prosperous voyage. none of these things are without some cause, and yet none of them are wholly owing to any single cause. but causes of this kind are not necessary ones. xvii. but in some of these causes there is a uniform operation, and in others there is not. in nature and in art there is uniformity; but in the others there is none. but still of those causes which are not uniform, some are evident, others are concealed. those are evident which touch the desire or judgment of the mind; those are concealed which are subject to fortune: for as nothing is done without some cause, this very obscure cause, which works in a concealed manner, is the issue of fortune. again, these results which are produced are partly unintended, partly intentional. those are unintended which are produced by necessity; those are intentional which are produced by design. but those results which are produced by fortune are either unintended or intentional. for to shoot an arrow is an act of intention; to hit a man whom you did not mean to hit is the result of fortune. and this is the topic which you use like a battering-ram in your forensic pleadings; if a weapon has flown from the man's hand rather than been thrown by him. also agitation of mind may be divided into absence of knowledge and absence of intention. and although they are to a certain extent voluntary, (for they are diverted from their course by reproof or by admonition,) still they are liable to such emotions that even those acts of theirs which are intentional sometimes seem either unavoidable, or at all events unintentional. the whole topic of these causes then being now fully explained, from their differences there is derived a great abundance of arguments in all the important discussions of orators and philosophers. and in the cases which you lawyers argue, if there is not so plentiful a stock, what there are, are perhaps more subtle and shrewd. for in private actions the decisions in the most important cases appear to me to depend a great deal on the acuteness of the lawyers. for they are constantly present, and are taken into counsel; and they supply weapons to able advocates whenever they have recourse to their professional wisdom. in all those judicial proceedings then, in which the words "according to good faith" are added, or even those words, "as ought to be done by one good man to another;" and above all, in all cases of arbitration respecting matrimonial rights, in which the words "juster and better" occur, the lawyers ought to be always ready. for they know what "dishonest fraud," or "good faith," or "just," or "good" mean. they are acquainted with the law between partners; they know what the man who has the management of the affairs of another is bound to do with respect to him whose affairs he manages; they have laid down rules to show what the man who has committed a charge to another, and what he who has had it committed to him, ought to do; what a husband ought to confer on his wife, and a wife on her husband. it will, therefore, when they have by diligence arrived at a proper understanding of the topics from which the necessary arguments are derived, be in the power not only of orators and philosophers, but of lawyers also, to discuss with abundance of argument all the questions which can arise for their consideration. xviii. conjoined to this topic of causes is that topic which is supplied by causes. for as cause indicates effect, so what has been effected points out what the efficient cause has been. this topic ordinarily supplies to orators and poets, and often to philosophers also, that is to say, to those who have an elegant and argumentative and rich style of eloquence, a wonderful store of arguments, when they predict what will result from each circumstance. for the knowledge of causes produces a knowledge of effects. the remaining topic is that of comparison, the genus and instances of which have been already explained, as they have in the case of the other topics. at present we must explain the manner of dealing with this one. those things then are compared which are greater than one another, or less than one another, or equal to one another. in which these points are regarded; number, appearance, power, and some particular relation to some particular thing. things will be compared in number thus: so that more advantages may be preferred to fewer; fewer evils to more; more lasting advantages to those which are more short-lived; those which have an extensive application to those the effect of which is narrowed: those from which still further advantages may be derived, and those which many people may imitate and reproduce. things again will be compared with reference to their appearance, so that those things may be preferred which are to be desired for their own sake, to those which are only sought for the sake of something else: and so that innate and inherent advantages may be preferred to acquired and adventitious ones; complete good to mixed good; pleasant things to things less pleasant; honourable things to such as are merely useful; easy things to difficult ones; necessary to unnecessary things; one's own advantage to that of others; rare things to common ones; desirable things to those which you can easily do without; things complete to things which are only begun; wholes to parts; things proceeding on reason to things void of reason; voluntary to necessary things; animate to inanimate things; things natural to things not natural; things skilfully produced by art to things with which art has no connexion. but power in a comparison is perceived in this way: an efficient cause is more important than one which effects nothing; those causes which can act by themselves are superior to those which stand in need of the aid of others; those which are in our power are preferable to those which are in the power of another; lasting causes surpass those which are uncertain; things of which no one can deprive us are better than things which can be easily taken away. but the way in which people or things are disposed towards some things is of this sort: the interests of the chief citizens are more important than those of the rest: and also, those things which are more agreeable, which are approved of by more people, or which are praised by the most virtuous men, are preferable. and as in a comparison these things are the better, so those which are contrary to them are the worse. but the comparison between things like or equal to each other has no elation or submission; for it is on equal terms: but there are many things which are compared on account of their very equality; which are usually concluded in this manner: "if to assist one's fellow-citizens with counsel and personal aid deserves equal praise, those men who act as counsellors ought to enjoy an equal glory with those who are the actual defenders of a state." but the first premiss is certainly the case; therefore so must the consequent be. every rule necessary for the discovery of arguments is now concluded; so that as you have proceeded from definition, from partition, from observation, from words connected with one another, from genus, from species, from similarity, from difference, from contraries, from accessories, from consequents, from antecedents, from things inconsistent with one another, from causes, from effects, from a comparison with greater, or lesser, or equal things,--there is no topic of argument whatever remaining to be discovered. xix. but since we originally divided the inquiry in such a way that we said that other topics also were contained in the very matter which was the subject of inquiry; (but of those we have spoken at sufficient length:) that others were derived from external subjects; and of these we will say a little; although those things have no relation whatever to your discussions. but still we may as well make the thing complete, since we have begun it. nor are you a man who take no delight in anything except civil law; and since this treatise is dedicated to you, though not so exclusively but that it will also come into the hands of other people, we must take pains to be as serviceable as possible to those men who are addicted to laudable pursuits. this sort of argumentation then which is said not to be founded on art, depends on testimony. but we call everything testimony which is deduced from any external circumstances for the purpose of implanting belief. now it is not every one who is of sufficient weight to give valid testimony; for authority is requisite to make us believe things. but it is either a man's natural character or his age which invests him with authority. the authority derived from a man's natural character depends chiefly on his virtue; but on his age there are many things which confer authority; genius, power, fortune, skill, experience, necessity, and sometimes even a concourse of accidental circumstances. for men think able and opulent men, and men who have been esteemed during a long period of their lives, worthy of being believed perhaps they are not always right; but still it is not easy to change the sentiments of the common people; and both those who form judgments and those who adopt vague opinions shape everything with reference to them. for those men who are eminent for those qualities which i have mentioned, seem to be eminent for virtue itself. but in the other circumstances also which i have just enumerated, although there is in them no appearance of virtue, still sometimes belief is confirmed by them, if either any skill is displayed,--for the influence of knowledge in inspiring belief is very great; or any experience--for people are apt to believe those who are men of experience. xx. necessity also engenders belief, which sways both bodies and minds. for what men say when worn out with tortures, and stripes, and fire, appears to be uttered by truth itself. and those statements which proceed from agitation of mind, such as pain, cupidity, passion, and fear, because those feelings have the force of necessity, bring authority and belief. and of this kind are those circumstances from which at times the truth is discovered; childhood, sleep, ignorance, drunkenness, insanity. for children have often indicated something, though ignorant to what it related; and many things have often been discovered by sleep, and wine, and insanity. many men also have without knowing it fallen into great difficulties, as lately happened to stalenus; who said things in the hearing of certain excellent men, though a wall was between them, which, when they were revealed and brought before a judicial tribunal, were thought so wicked that he was rightly convicted of a capital offence. and we have heard something similar concerning pausanias the lacedaemonian. but the concourse of fortuitous events is often of this kind; when anything has happened by chance to interrupt, when anything was being done or said which it was desirable should not have been done or said. of this kind is that multitude of suspicions of treason which were heaped upon palamedes. and circumstances of this kind are sometimes scarcely able to be refuted by truth itself. of this kind too is ordinary report among the common people; which is as it were the testimony of the multitude. but those things which create belief on account of the virtue of the witness are of a two-fold kind; one of which is valid on account of nature, the other by industry. for the virtue of the gods is eminent by nature; but that of men, because of their industry. testimonies of this kind are nearly divine, first of all, that of oration, (for oracles were so called from that very same word, as there is in them the oration of the gods;) then that of things in which there are, as it were, many divine works; first of all, the word itself, and its whole order and ornaments; then the airy flights and songs of birds; then the sound and heat of that same air; and the numerous prodigies of divers kinds seen on the earth; and also, the power of foreseeing the future by means of the entrails of victims: many things, too, which are shown to the living by those who are asleep: from all which topics the testimonies of the gods are at times adduced so as to create belief. in the case of a man, the opinion of his virtue is of the greatest weight. for opinion goes to this extent, that those men have virtue, not only who do really possess it, but those also who appear to possess it. therefore, those men whom they see endowed with genius and diligence and learning, and whose life they see is consistent and approved of, like cato and laelius, and scipio, and many others, they consider such men as they themselves would wish to be. and not only do they think them such who enjoy honours conferred on them by the people, and who busy themselves with affairs of state, but also those who are orators, and philosophers, and poets, and historians; from whose sayings and writings authority is often sought for to establish belief. xxi. having thus explained all the topics serviceable for arguing, the first thing to be understood is, that there is no discussion whatever to which some topic or other is not applicable; and on the other hand, that it is not every topic which is applicable to every discussion; but that different topics are suited to different subjects. there are two kinds of inquiry: one, infinite; the other, definite. the definite one is that which the greeks call [greek: hupothesis], and we, a cause; the infinite one, that which they call [greek: thesis], and which we may properly term a proposition. a cause is determined by certain persons, places, times, actions, and things, either all or most of them; but a proposition is declared in some one of those things, or in several of them, and those not the most important: therefore, a proposition is a part of a cause. but the whole inquiry is about some particular one of those things in which causes are contained; whether it be one, or many, or sometimes all. but of inquiries, concerning whatever thing they are, there two kinds; one theoretical, the other practical. theoretical inquiries are those of which the proposed aim is science; as, 'if it is inquired whether right proceeds from nature, or from some covenant, as it were, and bargain between men. but the following are instances of practical inquiry: "whether it is the part of a wise man to meddle with statesmanship." the inquiries into theoretical matters are threefold; as what is inquired is, whether a thing exists, or what it is, or what its character is. the first of these queries is explained by conjecture; the second, by definition; the third, by distinctions of right and wrong. the method of conjecture is distributed into four parts; one of which is, when the inquiry is whether something exists; a second, when the question is, whence it has originated; a third, when one seeks to know what cause produced it; the fourth is that in which the alterations to which the subject is liable are examined: "whether it exists or not; whether there is anything honourable, anything intrinsically and really just; or whether these things only exist in opinion." but the inquiry whence it has originated, is when an inquiry is such as this, "whether virtue is implanted by nature, or whether it can be engendered by instruction." but the efficient cause is like this, as when an inquiry is, "by what means eloquence is produced." concerning the alterations of anything, in this manner: "whether eloquence can by any alteration be converted into a want of eloquence." xxii. but when the question is what a thing is; the notion is to be explained, and the property, and the division, and the partition. for these things are all attributed to definition. description also is added, which the greeks call [greek: charaktaer]. a notion is inquired into in this way: "whether that is just which is useful to that person who is the more powerful." property, in this way: "whether melancholy is incidental to man alone, or whether beasts also are liable to it." division, and also partition, in this manner: "whether there are three descriptions of good things." description, like this: "what sort of person a miser is; what sort of person a flatterer;" and other things of that sort, by which the nature and life of a man are described. but when the inquiry is what the character of something is, the inquiry is conducted either simply, or by way of comparison. simply, in this way: "whether glory is to be sought for." by way of comparison, in this way: "whether glory is to be preferred to riches." of simple inquiries there are three kinds; about seeking for or avoiding anything, about the right and the wrong; about what is honourable and what is discreditable. but of inquiries by way of comparison there are two; one of the thing itself and something else; one of something greater and something else. of seeking for and avoiding a thing, in this way: "whether riches are to be sought for: whether poverty is to be avoided." concerning right and wrong: "whether it is right to revenge oneself, whoever the person may be from whom one has received an injury." concerning what is honourable and what is discreditable: "whether it is honourable to die for one's country." but of the other kind of inquiry, which has been stated to be twofold, one is about the thing in question and something else; as if it were asked, "what is the difference between a friend and a flatterer, between a king and a tyrant?" the other is between something greater and something less; as if it were asked, "whether eloquence is of more consequence than the knowledge of civil law." and this is enough about theoretical inquiries. it remains to speak of practical ones; of which there are two kinds: one relating to one's duty, the other to engendering, or calming, or utterly removing any affection of the mind. relating to duty thus: as when the question is, "whether children ought to be bad." relating to influencing the mind, when exhortations are delivered to men to defend the republic, or when they are encouraged to seek glory and praise: of which kind of addresses are complaints, and encouragements, and tearful commiseration; and again, speeches extinguishing anger, or at other times removing fear, or repressing the exultation of joy, or effacing melancholy. as these different divisions belong to general inquiries, they are also transferable to causes. xxiii. but the next thing to be inquired is, what topics are adapted to each kind of inquiry; for all those which we have already mentioned are suitable to most kinds; but still, different topics, as i have said before, are better suited to different investigations. those arguments are the most suitable to conjectural discussion which can be deduced from causes, from effects, or from dependent circumstances. but when we have need of definition, then we must have recourse to the principles and science of defining. and akin to this is that other argument also which we said was employed with respect to the subject in question and something else; and that is a species of definition. for if the question is, "whether pertinacity and perseverance are the same thing," it must be decided by definitions. and the topics which are incidental to a discussion of this kind are those drawn from consequents, or antecedents, or inconsistencies, with the addition also of those two topics which are deduced from causes and effects. for if such and such a thing is a consequence of this, but not a consequence of that; or if such and such a thing is a necessary antecedent to this, but not to that; or if it is inconsistent with this, but not with that; or if one thing is the cause of this, and another the cause of that; or if this is effected by one thing, and that by another thing; from any one of these topics it may be discovered whether the thing which is the subject of discussion is the same thing or something else. with respect to the third kind of inquiry, in which the question is what the character of the matter in question is, those things are incidental to the comparison which were enumerated just now under the topic of comparison. but in that kind of inquiry where the question is about what is to be sought for or avoided, those arguments are employed which refer to advantages or disadvantages, whether affecting the mind or body, or being external. and again, when the inquiry is not what is honourable or discreditable, all our argument must be addressed to the good or bad qualities of the mind. but when right and wrong are being discussed, all the topics of equity are collected. these are divided in a two-fold manner, as to whether they are such by nature or owing to institutions. nature has two parts to perform, to defend itself, and to indicate right. but the agreements which establish equity are of a threefold character: one part is that which rests on laws; one depends on convenience; the third is founded on and established by antiquity of custom. and again, equity itself is said to be of a threefold nature: one division of it having reference to the gods above; another, to the shades below; a third, to mankind. the first is called piety; the second, sanctity; the third, justice or equity. xxiv. i have said enough about propositions. there are now a few things which require to be said about causes. for they have many things in common with propositions. there are then three kinds of causes; having for their respective objects, judgment, deliberation, and panegyric. and the object of each points out what topics we ought to employ in each. for the object of judicial judgment is right; from which also it derives its name. and the divisions of right were explained when we explained the divisions of equity. the object of deliberation is utility; of which the divisions have also been already explained when we were treating of things to be desired. the object of panegyric is honour; concerning which also we have already spoken. but inquiries which are definite are all of them furnished with appropriate topics, as if they belonged to themselves, being divided into accusation and defence. and in them there are these kinds of argumentation. the accuser accuses a person of an act; the advocate for the defence opposes one of these excuses: either that the thing imputed has not been done; or that, if it has been done, it deserves to be called by a different name; or that it was done lawfully and rightly. therefore, the first is called a defence either by way of denial or by way of conjecture; the second is called a defence by definition; the third, although it is an unpopular name, is called the judicial one. xxv. the arguments proper to these excuses, being derived from the topics which we have already set forth, have been explained in our oratorical rules. but the refutation of an accusation, in which there is a repelling of a charge, which is called in greek [greek: stasis], is in latin called _status_. on which there is founded, in the first place, such a defence as may effectually resist the attack. and also, in the deliberations and panegyrics the same refutations often have place. for it is often denied that those things are likely to happen which have been stated by some or other in his speech as sure to take place; if it can be shown either that they are actually impossible, or that they cannot be brought about without extreme difficulty. and in this kind of argumentation the conjectural refutation takes place. but when there is any discussion about utility, or honour, or equity, and about those things which are contrary to one another, then come in denials, either of the law or of the name of the action. and the same is the case in panegyrics. for one may either deny that that has been done which the person is praised for; or else that it ought to bear that name which the praiser has conferred on it, or else one may altogether deny that it deserves any praise at all, as not having been done rightly or lawfully. and caesar employed all these different kinds of denial with exceeding impudence when speaking against my friend cato. but the contest which arises from a denial is called by the greeks [greek: krinomenon]; i, while writing to you, prefer calling it "the precise point in dispute." but for the parts within which this discussion on the point in dispute is contained, they may be called the containing parts; being as it were the foundations of the defence; and if they are taken away there would be no defence at all. but since in arguing controversies there ought to be nothing which has more weight than the law itself, we must take pains to have the law as our assistant and witness. and in this there are, as it were, other new denials, which are called legitimate subjects of discussion. for then it is urged in defence, that the law does not say what the adversary states it to say, but something else. and that happens when the terms of the law are ambiguous, so that they can be understood in two different senses. then the intention of the framer is opposed to the letter of the law; so that the question is, whether the words or the intention ought to have the greatest validity? then again, another law is adduced contrary to this law. so there are three kinds of doubts which can give rise to a dispute with respect to every written document; ambiguity of expression, discrepancy between the expression and the intention, and also written documents opposed to the one in question. for this is evident; that these kinds of disputes are no more incidental to laws than to wills, or covenants, or to anything else which is contained in writing. and the way to treat these topics is explained in other books. xxvi. nor is it only entire pleadings which are assisted by these topics, but the same are useful in the separate parts of an orator; being partly peculiar and partly general. as in the opening of a speech, in which the orator must employ peculiar topics in order to render his hearers well disposed to him, and docile, and attentive. and also he must attend to his relations of facts, so that they may have a bearing on his object, that is to say, that they may be plain, and brief, and intelligible, and credible, and respectable, and dignified: for although these qualities ought to be apparent throughout the whole speech, still they are peculiarly necessary in any narration. but since the belief which is given to a narration is engendered by persuasiveness, we have already, in the treatises which we have written on the general subject of oratory, explained what topics they are which have the greatest power to persuade the hearers. but the peroration has other points to attend to, and especially amplification; the effect of which ought to be, that the mind of the hearer is agitated or tranquillized by it; and if it has already been affected in that way, that the whole speech shall either increase its agitation, or calm it more completely. for this kind of peroration, by which pity, and anger, and hatred, and envy, and similar feelings of the mind are excited, rules are furnished in those books, which you may read over with me whenever you like. but as to the point on which i have known you to be anxious, your desires ought now to be abundantly satisfied. for, in order not to pass over anything which had reference to the discovery of arguments in every sort of discussion, i have embraced more topics than were desired by you; and i have done as liberal sellers often do, when they have sold a house or a farm, the movables being all excepted from the sale, still give some of them to the purchaser, which appear to be well placed as ornaments or conveniences. and so we have chosen to throw in some ornaments that were not strictly your due, in addition to that with which we had bound ourselves to furnish you. * * * * * a dialogue concerning oratorical partitions. by marcus tullius cicero. * * * * * the persons introduced in this dialogue are cicero and his son. it is not known when, or under what circumstances it was written. i. _cicero fil._ i wish, my father, to hear from you in latin the rules which you have already given me in greek, concerning the principles of speaking, if at least you have leisure and inclination to instruct me in them. _cicero pat._ is there anything, my cicero, which i can be more desirous of than that you should be as learned as possible? and in the first place, i have the greatest possible leisure, since i have been able to leave rome for a time; and in the next place, i would willingly postpone even my own most important occupations to the furthering of your studies. _c. f._ will you allow me, then, to ask you questions in my turn, in latin, about the same subjects on which you are accustomed to put questions to me in regular order in greek? _c. p._ certainly, if you like; for by that means i shall perceive that you recollect what you have been told, and you will hear in regular order all that you desire. _c. f._ into how many parts is the whole system of speaking divided? _c. p._ into three. _c. f._ what are they? _c. p._ first of all, the power of the orator; secondly, the speech; thirdly, the subject of the speech. _c. f._ in what does the power of the orator consist? _c. p._ in ideas and words. but both ideas and words have to be discovered and arranged. but properly the expression "to discover" applies to the ideas, and the expression "to be eloquent" to the language; but the arranging, though that is common to both, still is usually referred rather to the discovery. voice, gesture, expression of countenance, and all action, are companions of eloquence; and the guardian of all these things is memory. _c. f._ what? how many parts of an oration are there? _c. p._ four: two of them relate to explaining any subject,--namely, relation and confirmation; two to exciting the minds of the hearers,--the opening and the peroration. _c. f._ what? has the manner of inquiry any divisions? _c. p._ it is divided into the infinite, which i term consultation; and the definite, which i call the cause. ii. _c. f._ since, then, the first business of the orator is discovery, what is he to look for? _c. p._ he is to seek to find out how to inspire those men whom he is desirous to persuade, with belief in his words; and how to affect their minds with such and such feelings. _c. f._ by what means is belief produced? _c. p._ by arguments, which are derived from topics either existing in the subject itself, or assumed. _c. f._ what do you mean by topics? _c. p._ things in which arguments are concealed. _c. f._ what is an argument? _c. p._ something discovered which has a probable influence in producing belief. _c. f._ how, then, do you divide these two heads? _c. p._ those things which come into the mind without art i call remote arguments, such as testimony. _c. f._ what do you mean by those topics which exist in the thing itself? _c. p._ i cannot give a clearer explanation of them. _c. f._ what are the different kinds of testimony? _c. p._ divine and human. divine,--such as oracles, auspices, prophecies, the answers of priests, soothsayers, and diviners: human,--which is derived from authority, from inclination, and from speech either voluntary or extorted; and under this head come written documents, covenants, promises, oaths, inquiries. _c. f._ what are the arguments which you say belong to the cause? _c. p._ those which are fixed in the things themselves, as definition, as a contrary, as those things which are like or unlike, or which correspond to or differ from the thing itself or its contrary, as those things which have as it were united, or those which are as it were inconsistent with one another, or the causes of those things which are under discussion, or the results of causes, that is to say, those things which are produced by causes, as distributions, and the genera of parts, or the parts of genera, as the beginnings and as it were outriders of things, in which there is some argument, as the comparisons between things, as to which is greater, which is equal, which is less, in which either the natures or the qualities of things are compared together. iii. _c. f._ are we then to derive arguments from all these topics? _c. p._ certainly we must examine into them all, and seek them from all, but we must exercise our judgment in order at all times to reject what is trivial, and sometimes pass over even common topics, and those which are not necessary. _c. f._ since you have now answered me as to belief, i wish to hear your account of how one is to raise feelings. _c. p._ it is a very reasonable question, but what you wish to know will be explained more clearly when i come to the system of orations and inquiries themselves. _c. f._ what, then, comes next? _c. p._ when, you have discovered your arguments, to arrange them properly, and in an extensive inquiry the order of the topics is very nearly that which i have set forth, but in a definite one, we must use those topics also which relate to exciting the required feelings in the minds of the hearers. _c. f._ how, then, do you explain them? _c. p._ i have general precepts for producing belief and exciting feelings. since belief is a firm opinion, but feelings are an excitement of the mind either to pleasure, or to vexation, or to fear, or to desire, (for there are all these kinds of feelings, and many divisions of each separate genus,) i adapt all my arrangement to the object of the inquiry. for the end in a proposition is belief, in a cause, both belief and feeling wherefore, when i have spoken of the cause, in which proposition is involved, i shall have spoken of both. _c. f._ what have you then to say about the cause? _c. p._ that it is divided according to the divisions of hearers. for they are either listeners, who do nothing more than hear; or judges, that is to say, regulators both of the fact and of the decision; so as either to be delighted or to determine something. but he decides either concerning the past as a judge, or concerning the future as a senate. so there are three kinds,--one of judgment, one of deliberation, one of embellishment; and this last, because it is chiefly employed in panegyric, has its peculiar name from that. iv. _c. f._ what objects shall the orator propose to himself in these three kinds of oratory? _c. p._ in embellishment, his aim must be to give pleasure; in judicial speaking, to excite either the severity or the clemency of the judge; but in persuasion, to excite either the hope or the fear of the assembly which is deliberating. _c. f._ why then do you choose this place to explain the different kinds of disputes? _c. p._ in order to adapt my principles of arrangement to the object of each separate kind. _c. f._ in what manner? _c. p._ because in those orations in which pleasure is the object aimed at, the orders of arrangement differ. for either the degrees of opportunities are preserved, or the divisions of genera; or we ascend from the less to the greater, or we glide down from the greater to the less; or we distinguish between them with a variety of contrasts, when we oppose little things to great ones, simple things to complex ones, things obscure to things which are plain, what is joyful to what is sad, what is incredible to what is probable; all which topics are parts of embellishment. _c. f._ what? what is your aim in a deliberative speech? _c. p._ there must either be a short opening, or none at all. for the men who are deliberating are ready for their own sake to hear what you have to say. and indeed it is not often that there is much to be related; for narration refers to things either present or past, but persuasion has reference to the future. wherefore every speech is to be calculated to produce belief, and to excite the feelings. _c. f._ what next? what is the proper arrangement in judicial speeches? _c. p._ the arrangement suitable to the accuser is not the same as that which is good for the accused person; because the accuser follows the order of circumstances, and puts forward vigorously each separate argument, as if he had a spear in his hand; and sums them up with vehemence; and confirms them by documents, and decrees, and testimonies; and dwells carefully on each separate proof; and avails himself of all the rules of peroration which are of any force to excite the mind; and in the rest of his oration he departs a little from the regular tenor of his argument; and above all, is he earnest in summing up, for his object is to make the judge angry. v. _c. f._ what, on the other hand, is the person accused to do? _c. p_. he is to act as differently as possible in every respect. he must employ an opening calculated to conciliate good-will. any narrations which are disagreeable must be cut short; or if they are wholly mischievous, they must be wholly omitted; the corroborative proofs calculated to produce belief must be either weakened or obscured, or thrown into the shade by digressions. and all the perorations must be adapted to excite pity. _c. f._ can we, then, always preserve that order of arrangement which we desire to adopt? _c. p._ surely not; for the ears of the hearers are guides to a wise and prudent orator; and whatever is unpleasing to them must be altered or modified. _c. f._ explain to me then now, what are the rules for the speech itself, and for the expressions to be contained in it. _c. p._ there is, then, one kind of eloquence which seems fluent by nature; another which appears to have been changed and modified by art. the power of the first consists in simple words; that of the second, in words in combination. simple words require discovery; combined expressions stand in need of arrangement. and simple expressions are partly natural, partly discovered. those are natural which are simply appellative; those are discovered which are made of those others, and remodelled either by resemblance, or by imitation, or by inflection, or by the addition of other words. and again, there is this distinction between words: some are distinguished according to their nature; some according to the way in which they are handled: some by nature, so that they are more sonorous, more grave, or more trivial, and to a certain extent neater: but others by the way in which they are handled, when either the peculiar names of things are taken, or else others which are added to the proper name, or new, or old-fashioned, or in some way or other modified and altered by the orator,--such as those which are used in borrowed senses, or changed, or those which we as it were misuse; or those which we make obscure; which we in some incredible manner remove altogether; and which we embellish in a more marvellous manner than the ordinary usage of conversation sanctions. vi. _c. f._ i understand you now as far as simple expressions go; now i ask about words in combination. _c. p_. there is a certain rhythm which must be observed in such combination, and a certain order in which words must follow one another. our ears themselves measure the rhythm; and guard against your failing to fill up with the requisite words the sentence which you have begun, and against your being too exuberant on the other hand. but the order in which words follow one another is laid down to prevent an oration being a confused medley of genders, numbers, tenses, persons, and cases; for, as in simple words, that which is not latin, so in combined expressions, that which is not well arranged, deserves to be blamed. but there are these five lights, as it were, which are common to both single words and combined expressions,--they must be clear, concise, probable, intelligible, agreeable. clearness is produced by common words, appropriate, well arranged, in a well-rounded period: on the other hand, obscurity is caused by either too great length, or a too great contraction of the sentence; or by ambiguity; or by any misuse or alteration of the ordinary sense of the words. but brevity is produced by simple words, by speaking only once of each point, by aiming at no one object except speaking clearly. but an oration is probable, if it is not too highly decorated and polished; if there is authority and thought in its expressions; if its sentiments are either dignified, or else consistent with the opinions and customs of men. but an oration is brilliant, if expressions are used which are chosen with gravity, and used in metaphorical and hyperbolical senses; and if it is also full of words suited to the circumstances, and reiterated, and having the same sense, and not inconsistent with the subject under discussion, and with the imitation of things: for this is one part of an oration which almost brings the actual circumstances before our eyes, for then the sense is most easily arrived at but still the other senses also, and especially the mind itself, can be influenced by it. but the things which have been said about a clear speech, all have reference also to the brilliant one which we are now speaking of, for this is only a kind somewhat more brilliant than that which i have called clear. by one kind we are made to understand, but by the other one we actually appear to see. but the kind of speaking which is agreeable, consists first of all of an elegance and pleasantness of sounding and sweet words, secondly, of a combination which has no harsh unions of words, nor any disjoined and open vowels, and it must also be bounded with limited periods, and in paragraphs easily to be pronounced, and full of likeness and equality in the sentences. then again, arguments derived from contrary expressions must be added, so that repetitions must answer to repetitions, like to like and expressions must be added, repeated, redoubled, and even very frequently reiterated, the construction of the sentences must at one time be compacted by means of conjunctions, and at another relaxed by separation of the clauses. for an oration becomes agreeable when you say anything unexpected, or unheard of, or novel, for whatever excites wonder gives pleasure. and that oration especially influences the hearer which unites several affections of the mind, and which indicate the amiable manners of the orator himself, which are represented either by signifying his own opinion, and showing it to proceed from a humane and liberal disposition, or by a turn in the language, when for the sake either of extolling another or of disparaging himself, the orator seems to say one thing and mean another, and that too seems to be done out of courtesy rather than out of levity. but there are many rules for sweetness in speaking, which may make a speech either more obscure or less probable, therefore, while on this topic, we must decide for ourselves what the cause requires. vii _c. f._ it remains, then, now for you to speak of the alterations and changes in a speech. _c. p._ the whole of that, then, consists in the alteration of words, and that alteration is managed in such a way in the case of single words, that the style may either be dilated by words, or contracted. it may be dilated, when a word which is either peculiar, or which has the same signification, or which has been coined on purpose, is extended by paraphrase. or again, in another way, when a definition is held down to a single word, or when expressions borrowed from something else are banished, or made use of in a roundabout sense, or when one word is made up out of two. but in compound words a threefold change can be made, not of words, but only of order, so that when a thing has once been said plainly, as nature itself prompts, the order may be inverted, and the expression may be repeated, turned upside down, as it were, or backwards and forwards. then again the same expression may be reiterated in a mutilated, or re arranged, form. but the practice of speaking is very much occupied in all these kinds of conversion. _c. f._ the next point is action, if i do not mistake. _c. p._ it is so, and that must be constantly varied by the orator, in correspondence with the importance of his subjects and of his expressions. for the orator makes an oration clear, and brilliant, and probable, and agreeable, not only by his words, but also by the variety of his tones, by the gestures of his body, by the changes of his countenance, which will be of great weight if they harmonize with the character of his address, and follow its energy and variety. _c. f._ is there nothing remaining to be said about the orator himself? _c. p._ nothing at all, except as to memory, which is in a certain manner the sister of writing, and though in a different class greatly resembles it. for as it consists of the characters of letters, and of that substance on which those characters are impressed, so a perfect memory uses topics, as writing does wax, and on them arranges its images as if they were letters. viii _c. f._ since, then, you have thus explained all the power of an orator, what have you to tell me about the rules for an oration? _c. p._ that there are four divisions in an oration, of which the first and last are of avail to excite such and such feelings in the mind, for they are to be excited by the openings and perorations of speeches: the second is narration: and the third, being confirmation, adds credibility to a speech. but although amplification has its own proper place, being often in the opening of a speech, and almost always at the end still it may be employed also in other parts of the speech especially when any point has been established, or when the orator has been finding fault with something. therefore, it is of the very greatest influence in producing belief. for amplification is a sort of vehement argumentation; the one being used for the sake of teaching, the other with the object of acting on the feelings. _c. f._ proceed, then, to explain to me these four divisions in regular order. _c. p._ i will do so; and i will begin with the opening of a speech, which is usually derived either from the persons concerned, or from the circumstances of the case. and openings are employed with three combined objects, that we may be listened to with friendly feelings, intelligently and attentively. and the first topic employed in openings has reference to ourselves, to our judges, and to our adversaries; from which we aim at laying the foundations of good-will towards us, either by our own merits, or by our dignity, or by some kind of virtue, and especially by the qualities of liberality, duty, justice, and good faith; and also by imputing opposite qualities to our adversaries, and by intimating that the judges themselves have some interest on our side, either in existence, or in prospect. and if any hatred has been excited against, or any offence been given by us, we then apply ourselves to remove or diminish that, by denying or extenuating the cause, or by atoning for it, or by deprecating hostility. but in order that we may be listened to in an intelligent and attentive manner, we must begin with the circumstances of the case themselves. but the hearer learns and understands what the real point in dispute is most easily if you, from the first beginning of your speech, embrace the whole genus and nature of the cause,--if you define it, and divide it, and neither perplex his discernment by the confusion, nor his memory by the multitude, of the several parts of your discourse; and all the things which will presently be said about lucid narration may also with propriety be considered as bearing on this division too. but that we may be listened to with attention, we must do one of these things. for we must advance some propositions which are either important, or necessary, or connected with the interests of those before whom the discussion is proceeding. this also may be laid down as a rule, that, if ever the time itself, or the facts of the case, or the place, or the intervention of any one, or any interruption, or anything which may have been said by the adversary, and especially in his peroration, has given us any opportunity of saying anything well suited to the occasion, we must on no account omit it. and many of the rules, which we give in their proper place, about amplification, may be transferred here to the consideration of the opening of a speech. ix. _c. f._ what next? what rules, then, are to be attended to in narration? _c. p._ since narration is an explanation of facts, and a sort of base and foundation for the establishment of belief, those rules are most especially to be observed in it, which apply also, for the most part, to the other divisions of speaking; part of which are necessary, and part are assumed for the sake of embellishment. for it is necessary for us to narrate events in a clear and probable manner; but we must also attend to an agreeable style. therefore, in order to narrating with clearness, we must go back to those previous rules for explaining and illustrating facts, in which brevity is enjoined and taught. and brevity is one of the points most frequently praised in narration, and we have already dwelt enough upon it. again, our narrative will be probable, if the things which are related are consistent with the character of the persons concerned, with the times and places mentioned,--if the cause of every fact and event is stated,--if they appear to be proved by witnesses,--if they are in accordance with the opinions and authority of men, with law, with custom, and with religion,--if the honesty of the narrator is established, his candour, his memory, the uniform truth of his conversation, and the integrity of his life. again, a narration is agreeable which contains subjects calculated to excite admiration, expectation, unlooked-for results, sudden feelings of the mind, conversations between people, grief, anger, fear, joy, desires. however, let us proceed to what follows. _c. f._ what follows is, i suppose, what relates to producing belief. _c. p._ just so; and those topics are divided into confirmation and reprehension. for in confirmation we seek to establish our own assertion; in reprehension, to invalidate those of our adversaries. since, then, everything which is ever the subject of a dispute, is so because the question is raised whether it exists or not, or what it is, or of what character it is, in the first question conjecture has weight, in the second, definition, and in the third, reasoning. x. _c. f._ i understand this division. at present, i ask, what are the topics of conjecture? _c. p._ they arise from probabilities, and turn wholly on the peculiar characteristics of things. but for the sake of instructing you, i will call that probable which is generally done in such and such a way as it is probable that youth should be rather inclined to lust. but the indication of an appropriate characteristic is something which never happens in any other way, and which declares something which is certain as smoke is a proof of fire. probabilities are discovered from the parts and, as it were, members of a narration. they exist in persons, in places, in times, in facts, in events, in the nature of the facts and circumstances which may be under discussion. but in persons, the first things considered are the natural qualities of health, figure, strength, age, and whether they are male or female. and all these concern the body alone. but the qualities of the mind, or how they are affected, depends on virtues, vices, arts, and want of art, or in another sense, on desire, fear, pleasure, or annoyance. and these are the natural circumstances which are principally considered. in fortune, we look at a man's race, his friends, his children, his relations, his kinsmen, his wealth, his honours, his power, his estates, his freedom, and also at all the contraries to these circumstances. but in respect of place, some things arise from nature as, whether a place is on the coast or at a distance from the sea, whether it is level or mountainous, whether it is smooth or rough, wholesome or pestilential, shady or sunny, these again are fortuitous circumstances,--whether a place is cultivated or uncultivated frequented or deserted, full of houses or naked, obscure or ennobled by the traces of mighty exploits, consecrated or profane. xi. but in respect of time, one distinguishes between the present, and the past, and the future. and in these divisions there are the further subdivisions of ancient, recent, immediate, likely to happen soon, or likely to be very remote. in time there are also these other divisions, which mark, as it were natural sections of time as winter, spring, summer and autumn. or again, the periods of the year: as a month, a day, a night, an hour, a season, all these are natural divisions. there are other accidental divisions such as days of sacrifice, days of festival, weddings. again, facts and events are either designed or unintentional, and these last arise either from pure accident, or from some agitation of mind, by accident when a thing has happened in a different way from what was expected,--from some agitation, when either forgetfulness, or mistake, or fear, or some impulse of desire has been the acting cause. necessity, too, must be classed among the causes of unintentional actions or results. again, of good and bad things there are three classes. for they can exist either in men's minds or bodies, or they may be external to both of these materials, then, as far as they are subordinate to argument, all the parts must be carefully turned over in the mind, and conjectures bearing on the subject before us must be derived from each part. there is also another class of arguments which is derived from traces of a fact, as a weapon, blood, an outcry which has been raised, trepidation, changes of complexion, inconsistency of explanation, trembling, or any of these circumstances which can be perceived by our senses, or if anything appears to have been prepared, or communicated to any one, or if anything has been seen or heard, or if any information has been given. but of probabilities some influence us separately by their own weight, some, although they appear trifling by themselves, still, when all collected together, have great influence. and in such probabilities as these there are sometimes some unerring and peculiar distinguishing characteristics of things. but what produces the surest belief in a probability is, first of all, a similar instance, then the similarity of the present case to that instance sometimes even a fable, though it is an incredible one, has its influence, nevertheless, on men's minds. xii. _c. f._ what next? what is the principle of definition, and what is the system of it? _c. p._ there is no doubt but that definition belongs to the genus, and is distinguishable by a certain peculiarity of the characteristics which it mentions, or else by a number of common circumstances, from which we may extract something which looks like a peculiar property. but since there is often very great disagreement about what are peculiar properties, we must often derive our definitions from contraries, often from things dissimilar, often from things parallel. wherefore descriptions also are often suitable in this kind of address, and an enumeration of consequences, and above all things, an explanation of the names and terms employed, is most effectual. _c. f._ you have now then explained nearly all the questions which arise about a fact, or about the name given to such fact. the next thing is, when the fact itself and its proper title are agreed upon, that a doubt arises as to what its character is. _c. p._ you are quite right. _c. f._ what divisions, then, are there in this part of the argument? _c. p._ one urges either that what has been done has been lawfully done, for the sake either of warding off or of avenging an injury, or under pretext of piety, or chastity, or religion, or one's country, or else that it has been done through necessity, out of ignorance, or by chance. for those things which have been done in consequence of some motion or agitation of the mind, without any positive intention, have, in legal proceedings, no defence if they are impeached, though they may have an excuse if discussed on principles unfettered by strict rules of law. in this class of discussion, in which the question is, what the character of the act is, one inquires, in the terms of the controversy, whether the act has been rightly and lawfully done or not; and the discussion on these points turns on a definition of the before-mentioned topics. _c. f._ since, then, you have divided the topics to give credit to an oration into confirmation and reprehension, and since you have fully discussed the one, explain to me now the subject of reprehension. _c. p._ you must either deny the whole of what the adversary has assumed in argumentation, if you can show it to be fictitious or false, or you must refute what he has assumed as probable. first of all, you must urge that he has taken what is doubtful as if it were certain; in the next place, that the very same things might be said in cases which were evidently false; and lastly, that these things which he has assumed do not produce the consequences which he wishes to be inferred from them. and you must attack his details, and by that means break down his whole argument. instances also must be brought forward which were overruled in a similar discussion; and you must wind up with the complaints of the condition of the general danger, if the life of innocent men is exposed to the ingenuity of men devoted to calumny. xiii. _c. f._ since i know now whence arguments can be derived which have a tendency to create belief, i am waiting to hear how they are severally to be handled in speaking. _c. p._ you seem to be inquiring about argumentation, and as to how to develop arguments. _c. f._ that is the very thing that i want to know. _c. p._ the development, then, of an argument is argumentation; and that is when you assume things which are either certain or at least probable, from which to derive a conclusion, which taken by itself is doubtful, or at all events not very probable. but there are two kinds of arguing, one of which aims directly at creating belief, the other principally looks to exciting such and such feelings. it goes straight on when it has proposed to itself something to prove, and assumed grounds on which it may depend; and when these have been established, it comes back to its original proposition, and concludes. but the other kind of argumentation, proceeding as it were backwards and in an inverse way, first of all assumes what it chooses, and confirms it; and then, having excited the minds of the hearers, it throws on to the end that which was its original object. but there is this variety, and a distinction which is not disagreeable in arguing, as when we ask something ourselves, or put questions, or express some command, or some wish, as all these figures are a kind of embellishment to an oration. but we shall be able to avoid too much sameness, if we do not always begin with the proposition which we desire to establish, and if we do not confirm each separate point by dwelling on it separately, and if we are at times very brief in our explanation of what is sufficiently clear, and if we do not consider it at all times necessary to sum up and enumerate what results from these premises when it is sufficiently clear. xiv. _c. f._ what comes next? is there any way or any respect in which those things which are said to be devoid of art, and which you said just now were accessories to the main argument, require art? _c. p._ indeed they do. nor are they called devoid of art because they really are so, but because it is not the art of the orator which produces them, but they are brought to him from abroad, as it were, and then he deals with them artistically; and this is especially the case as to witnesses. for it is often necessary to speak of the whole class of witnesses, and to show how weak it is; and to urge that arguments refer to facts, testimony to inclination; and one must have recourse to precedents of cases where witnesses were not believed; and with respect to individual witnesses, if they are by nature vain, trifling, discreditable, or if they have been influenced by hope, by fear, by anger, by pity, by bribery, by interest; and they must be compared with the authority of the witnesses in the case cited, where the witnesses were not believed. often, also, one must resist examinations under torture, because many men, out of a desire to avoid pain, have often told lies under torture; and have preferred dying while confessing a falsehood to suffering pain while persisting in their denial. many men, also, have been indifferent to the preservation of their own life, as long as they could save those who were dearer to them than they were to themselves; others, owing to the nature of their bodies, or to their being accustomed to pain, or because they feared punishment and execution, have endured the violence of torture; others, also, have told lies against those whom they hated. and all these arguments are to be fortified by instances. nor is it at all uncertain that (since there are instances on both sides of a question, and topics also for forming conjectures on both sides) contrary arguments must be used in contrary cases. there is, also, another method of disparaging witnesses, and examinations under torture; for often those answers which have been given may be attacked very cleverly, if they have been expressed rather ambiguously or inconsistently, or with any incredible circumstances; or in different ways by different witnesses. xv. _c. f._ the end of the oration remains to be spoken of by you; and that is included in the peroration, which i wish to hear you explain? _c. p._ the explanation of the peroration is easy; for it is divided into two parts, amplification and enumeration. and the proper place for amplification is in the peroration, and also in the course of the oration there are opportunities of digressing for the purpose of amplification, by corroborating or refuting something which has been previously said. amplification, then, is a kind of graver affirmation, which by exciting feelings in the mind conciliates belief to one's assertion. it is produced by the kind of words used, and by the facts dwelt upon. expressions are to be used which have a power of illustrating the oration; yet such as are not unusual, but weighty, full-sounding, sonorous, compound, well-invented, and well-applied, not vulgar; borrowed from other subjects, and often metaphorical, not consisting of single words, but dissolved into several clauses, which are uttered without any conjunction between them, so as to appear more numerous. amplification is also obtained by repetition, by iteration, by redoubling words, and by gradually rising from lower to loftier language; and it must be altogether a natural and lively sort of speech, made up of dignified language, well suited to give a high idea of the subject spoken of. this then is amplification as far as language goes. to the language there must be adapted expression of tone, of countenance, and gesture, all in harmony together and calculated to rouse the feelings of the hearers. but the cause must be maintained both by language and action, and carried on according to circumstances. for, because these appear very absurd when they are more vehement than the subject will bear, we must diligently consider what is becoming to each separate speaker, and in each separate case. xvi. the amplification of facts is derived from all the same topics as those arguments which are adduced to create belief. and above all things, a number of accumulated definitions carries weight with it, and a repeated assertion of consequents, and a comparison of contrary and dissimilar facts, and of inconsistent circumstances. causes too, and those things which arise from causes, and especially similarities and instances, are efficacious; so also are imaginary characters. lastly, mute things may be introduced as speaking, and altogether all things are to be employed (if the cause will allow of them) which are considered important; and important things are divisible into two classes. for there are some things which seem important by nature, and some by use. by nature, as heavenly and divine things, and those things the causes of which are obscure, as those things which are wonderful on the earth and in the world, from which and from things resembling which, if you only take care, you will be able to draw many arguments for amplifying the dignity of the cause which you are advocating. by use; which appear to be of exceeding benefit or exceeding injury to men; and of these there are three kinds suitable for amplification. for men are either moved by affection, for instance, by affections for the gods, for their country, or for their parents; or by love, as for their wives, their brothers, their children, or their friends; or by honourableness, as by that of the virtues, and especially of those virtues which tend to promote sociability among men, and liberality. from them exhortations are derived to maintain them; and hatred is excited against, and commiseration awakened for those by whom they are violated. xvii. it is a very proper occasion for having recourse to amplification, when these advantages are either lost, or when there is danger of losing them. for nothing is so pitiable as a man who has become miserable after having been happy. and this is enough to move us greatly, if any one falls from good fortune; and if he loses all his friends; and if we have it briefly explained to us what great happiness he is losing or has lost, and by what evils he is overwhelmed, or is about to be overwhelmed. for tears soon dry, especially at another's misfortunes. nor is there anything which it is less wise to exhaust than amplification. for all diligence attends to minutiae; but this topic requires only what is on a large scale. here again is a matter for a man's judgment, what kind of amplification we should employ in each cause. for in those causes which are embellished for the sake of pleasing the hearers, those topics must be dealt with, which can excite expectation, admiration, or pleasure. but in exhortations the enumerations of instances of good and bad fortune, and instances and precedents, are arguments of great weight. in trials those topics are the most suitable for an accuser which tend to excite anger; those are usually the most desirable for a person on his trial which relate to raising pity. but some times the accuser ought to seek to excite pity, and the advocate for the defence may aim at rousing indignation. enumeration remains; a topic sometimes necessary to a panegyrist, not often to one who is endeavouring to persuade; and more frequently to a prosecutor than to a defendant. it has two turns, if you either distrust the recollection of those men before whom you are pleading, either on account of the length of time that has elapsed since the circumstances of which you are speaking, or because of the length of your speech; in this case your cause will have the more strength if you bring up numberless corroborative arguments to strengthen your speech, and explain them with brevity. and the defendant will have less frequent occasion to use them, because he has to lay down propositions which are contrary to them: and his defence will come out best if it is brief, and full of pungent stings. but in enumeration, it will be necessary to avoid letting it have the air of a childish display of memory; and he will best avoid that fault who does not recapitulate every trifle, but who touches on each particular briefly, and dwells only on the more weighty and important points. xviii. _c. f._ since you have now discussed the orator himself and his oration, explain to me now the topic of questions, which you reserved for the last of the three. _c. p._ there are, as i said at the beginning, two kinds of questions: one of which, that which is limited to times and persons, i call the cause; the other, which is infinite, and bounded neither by times nor by persons, i call the proposition. but consultation is, as it were, a part of the cause and controversy. for in the definite there is what is infinite, and nevertheless everything is referred to it. wherefore, let us first speak of the proposition; of which there are two kinds: one of investigation; the end of this science, as for instance, whether the senses are to be depended upon; the other of action, which has reference to doing something: as if any one were to inquire by what services one ought to cultivate friendship. again, of the former, namely, of investigation, there are three kinds: whether a thing is, or is not; what it is; of what sort it is. whether it is or not, as whether right is a thing existing by nature or by custom. but what a thing is, as whether that is right which is advantageous to the greater number. and again, what sort of a thing anything is, as whether to live justly is useful or not. but of action there are two kinds. one having reference to pursuing or avoiding anything; as for instance, by what means you can acquire glory, or how envy may be avoided. the other, which is referred to some advantage or expediency; as how the republic ought to be managed, or how a man ought to live in poverty. but again in investigation, when the question is whether a thing is, or is not, or has been, or is likely to be. one kind of question is, whether anything can be effected; as when the question is whether any one can be perfectly wise. another question is, how each thing can be effected; as for instance, by what means virtue is engendered, by nature, or reason, or use. and of this kind are all those questions in which, as in obscure subjects or those which turn on natural philosophy, the causes and principles of things are explained. xix. but of that kind in which the question is what that is which is the subject of discussion, there are two sorts; in the one of which one must discuss whether one thing is the same as another, or different from it; as whether pertinacity is the same as perseverance. but in the other one must give a description and representation as it were of some genus; as for instance, what sort of a man a miser is, or what pride is. but in the third kind, in which the question is what sort of thing something is, we must speak either of its honesty, or of its utility, or of its equity. of its honesty thus. whether it is honourable to encounter danger or unpopularity for a friend. but of its expediency thus. whether it is expedient to occupy oneself in the conduct of state affairs. but of its equity thus. whether it is just to prefer one's friend to one's relations. and in the same kind of discussion, in which the question is what sort of thing something is, there arises another kind of way of arguing. for the question is not simply what is honourable, what is expedient, what is equitable; but also by comparison, which is more honourable, which is more expedient, which is more equitable; and even which is most honourable, which is most expedient, which is most equitable. of which kind are those speculations, which is the most excellent dignity in life. and all these questions, as i have said before, are parts of investigation. there remains the question of action. one kind of which is conversant with the giving of rules which relate to principles of duty; as, for instance, how one's parents are to be reverenced. and the other to tranquillising the minds of men and healing them by one's oration; as in consoling affliction, in repressing ill-temper, in removing fear, or in allaying covetousness. and this kind is exactly opposed to that by means of which the speaker proposes to engender those same feelings of the mind, or to excite them, which it is often requisite to do in amplifying an oration. and these are nearly all the divisions of consultation. xx. _c. f._ i understand you. but i should like to hear from you what in these divisions is the proper system for discovering and arranging the heads of one's discourse. _c. p._ what? do you think it is a different one, and not the same which has been explained, so that everything may be deduced from the same topics, both to create belief, and to discover arguments? but the system of arrangement which has been explained as appropriate to other kinds of speeches may be transferred to this also. since therefore we have now investigated the entire arrangement of the consultations which we proposed to discuss, the kinds of causes are now the principal things which remain. and their species is twofold; one of which aims at affording gratification to the ears, while the whole object of the other is to obtain, and prove, and effect the purpose which it has in view. therefore the former is called embellishment, and as that may be a kind of extensive operation, and sufficiently various, we have selected one instance of it which we adopt for the purpose of praising illustrious men, and of vituperating the wicked ones. for there is no kind of oration which can be either more fertile in its topics, or more profitable to states, or in which the orator is bound to have a more extensive acquaintance with virtues and vices. but the other class of causes is conversant either with the foresight of the future, or with discussions on the past. one of which topics belongs to deliberation and the other to judgment. from which division three kinds of causes have arisen; one, which, from the best portion of it, is called that of panegyric; another that of deliberation; the third that of judicial decisions. wherefore let us first, if you please, discuss the first. _c. f._ certainly, i do please. xxi. _c. p._ and the systems of blaming and praising, which have influence not only on speaking well but also on living honourably, i will explain briefly; and i will begin from the first principles of praise and blame. for everything is to be praised which is united with virtue; and everything which is connected with vice is to be blamed. wherefore the end of the one is honour, of the other baseness. but this kind of discourse is composed of the narration and explanation of facts, without any argumentations, in a way calculated to handle the feelings of the mind gently rather than to create belief or to confirm it in a suitable manner. for they are not doubtful points which are established in this way; but those which being certain, or at least admitted as certain, are enlarged upon. wherefore the rules for narrating them and enlarging upon them must be sought for from among those which have been already laid down. and since in these causes the whole system has reference generally to the pleasure and entertainment of the hearer, the speakers must employ in them all the beauties of those separate expressions which have in them the greatest amount of sweetness. that is, he must often use newly-coined words, and old-fashioned words, and metaphorical language; and in the very construction of his periods he must often compare like with like, and parallel cases with parallel. he must have recourse to contrasts, to repetitions, to harmoniously-turned sentences, formed not like verses, but to gratify the sensations of the ears by as it were a suitable moderation of expression. and those ornaments are frequently to be employed, which are of a marvellous and unexpected character, and also those which are full of monsters, and prodigies, and oracles. and also those things must be mentioned which appeared to have befallen the man of whom the orator is speaking in consequence of some divine interposition, or decree of destiny. for all the expectation and admiration of the hearer, and all unexpected terminations, contribute to the pleasure which is felt in listening to the orator. xxii. but since advantages or evils are of three classes, external, affecting the mind, or affecting the body, the first are external which are derived from the genus; and this being praised in brief and moderate terms, or, if it is discreditable, being passed over; if it is of a lowly nature, being either passed over, or handled in such a way as to increase the glory of him whom you are praising. in the next place, if the case allows it, we must speak of his fortune and his abilities, and after that of his personal qualifications; among which it is very natural to praise his beauty, which is one of the greatest indications of virtue. after that we must come to his actions. the arrangement is threefold. for we must have regard either to the order of time, or the most recent actions must be spoken of first, or else many and various actions of his must be classified according to the different kinds of virtue which they display. but this topic of virtues and vices, which is a very extensive one, will now be brought into a very brief and narrow compass, instead of the many and various volumes in which philosophers have discussed it. the power of virtue then is twofold, for virtue is distinguished either by theory or by practice. for that which is called prudence, or shrewdness, or (if we must have the most dignified title for it) wisdom, is all theoretical. but that which is praised as regulating the passions, and restraining the feelings of the mind, finds its exercise in practice. and its name is temperance. and prudence when exerted in a man's own business is called domestic, when displayed in the affairs of the state is called civil prudence. but temperance in like manner is divided according to its sphere of action, whether displayed in a man's own affairs, or in those of the state. and it is discerned in two ways with respect to advantages, both by not desiring what it has not got, and by abstaining from what it is in its power to get. again, in the case of disadvantages it is also twofold; for that quality which resists impending evils is called fortitude; that which bears and endures the evil that is present is termed patience. and that which embraces these two qualities is called magnanimity. and one of the forms of this virtue is shown in the use of money. and at the same time loftiness of spirit in supporting disadvantages, and especially injuries, and everything of the sort, being grave, sedate, and never turbulent. but that division of virtue which is exercised between one being and another is called justice. and that when exercised towards the gods is called religion; towards one's relations, affection; towards all the world, goodness; when displayed in things entrusted to one, good faith; as exhibited in moderation of punishment, lenity; when it develops itself in goodwill towards an individual its name is friendship. xxiii. and all these virtues are visible in practice. but there are others, which are as it were the handmaidens and companions of wisdom; one of which distinguishes between and decides what arguments in a discussion are true or false, and what follows from what premises. and this virtue is wholly placed in the system and theory of arguing; but the other virtue belongs to the orator. for eloquence is nothing but wisdom speaking with great copiousness; and while derived from the same source as that which is displayed in disputing, is more rich, and of wider application, better suited to excite the minds of men and to work on the feelings of the common people. but the guardian of all the virtues, which avoids all conspicuousness, and yet attains the greatest eminence of praise, is modesty. and these are for the most part certain habits of mind, so affected and disposed as to be each of them distinguished from one another by some peculiar kind of virtue; and according as everything is done by one of them, in the same proportion must it be honourable and in the highest degree praiseworthy. but there are other habits also of a well-instructed mind which has been cultivated beforehand as it were, and prepared for virtue by virtuous pursuits and accomplishments: as in a man's private affairs, the studies of literature, as of tunes and sounds, of measurement, of the stars, of horses, of hunting, of arms. in the affairs of the commonwealth his eager pursuit of some particular kind of virtue, which he selects as his especial object of devotion, in discharging his duty to the gods, or in showing careful and remarkable affection to his relations, his friends, or those connected with family ties of hospitality. and these then are the different kinds of virtue. but those of vice are their exact contraries. but these also must be examined carefully, so that those vices may not deceive us which appear to imitate virtue. for cunning tries to assume the character of prudence, and moroseness, in despising pleasures, wishes to be taken for temperance; and pride, which puffs a man up, and which affects to despise legitimate honours, seeks to vaunt itself as magnanimity; prodigality calls itself liberality, audacity imitates courage, hardhearted sternness imitates patience, bitterness justice, superstition religion, weakness of mind lenity, timidity modesty, captiousness and carping at words wishes to pass for acuteness in arguing, and an empty fluency of language for this oratorical vigour at which we are aiming. and those, too, appear akin to virtuous pursuits, which run to excess in the same class. wherefore all the force of praise or blame must be derived from these divisions of virtues and vices. but in the whole context, as it were, of the oration, these points must above all others be made clear,--how each person spoken of has been born, how he has been educated, how he has been trained, and what are his habits; and if any great or surprising thing has happened to any one, especially if anything which has happened should appear to have befallen him by the interposition of the gods; and also whatever the person in question has thought, or said, or done, must be adapted to the different kinds of virtue which have been enumerated, and from the same topics we must inquire into the causes of things, and the events, and the consequences. nor ought the death of those men, whose life is praised, to be passed over in silence; provided only, there be anything noticeable either in the manner of their death, or in the consequences which have resulted from their death. xxiv. _c. f._ i have attended to what you say, and i have learnt briefly, not only how to praise another, but also how to endeavour to deserve to be praised myself. let us, then, consider in the next place what system and what rules we are to observe in delivering our sentiments. _c. p._ in deliberation, then, the end aimed at is utility, to which everything is referred in giving counsel, and in delivering our sentiments, so that the first thing which requires to be noticed by any one who is advising or dissuading from such and such a course of action is what is possible to be done, or what is impossible; or what is necessary to be done, or what is unnecessary. for if a thing be impossible there is no use in deliberating about it, however desirable it may be; and if a thing be necessary, (when i say necessary, i mean such that without it we cannot be safe or free), then that must be preferred to everything else which is either honourable or advantageous in public affairs. but when the question is, what can be done? we must also consider how easily it can be done: for the things which are very difficult are often to be considered in the same light as if they were totally impossible. and when we are discussing necessity, although there may be something which is not absolutely necessary, still we must consider of how much importance it is. for that which is of very great importance indeed, is often considered necessary. therefore, as this kind of cause consists of persuasion and dissuasion, the speaker who is trying to persuade, has a simple course before him; if a thing is both advantageous and possible, let it be done. the speaker who is trying to dissuade his hearers from some course of action, has a twofold division of his labour. one, if it is not useful it must not be done; the other, if it is impossible it must not be undertaken. and so, the speaker who is trying to persuade must establish both these points; the one whose object it is to dissuade, may be content with invalidating either. since, then, all deliberation turns on these two points, let us first speak of utility, which is conversant about the distinction between advantages and disadvantages. but of advantages, some are necessarily such; as life, chastity, liberty, or as children, wives, relations, parents; and some are not necessarily such; and of these last, some are to be sought for their own sakes, as those which are classed among the duties or virtues, and others are to be desired because they produce some advantage, as riches and influence. but of those advantages which are sought for their own sake, some are sought for their honourableness, some for their convenience, which is inherent in them: those are sought for their honourableness which proceed from those virtues which have been mentioned a little while ago, which are intrinsically praiseworthy on their own account; but those are sought on account of some inherent advantage which are desirable as to goods of fortune or of the body: some of which are to a certain extent combined with honourableness, as honour, and glory; some have no connexion with that, as strength, beauty, health, nobleness, riches, troops of dependents. there is also a certain sort of matter, as it were, which is subordinate to what is honourable, which is most particularly visible in friendship. but friendships are seen in affection and in love. for regard for the gods, and for our parents, and for our country, and for those men who are eminent for wisdom or power, is usually referred to affection; but wives, and children, and brothers, and others whom habit and intimacy has united with us, although they are bound to us by affection, yet the principal tie is love. as, then, you know now what is good in these things, it is easily to be understood what are the contrary qualities. xxv. but if we were able always to preserve what is best, we should not have much need of deliberation, since that is usually very evident. but because it often happens on account of some peculiarity in the times, which has great weight, that expediency is at variance with what is honourable, and since the comparison of the two principles gives rise to deliberation, lest we should either pass over what is seasonable, on account of some considerations of dignity, or what is honourable on account of some idea of expediency, we may give examples to guide us in explaining this difficulty. and since an oration must be adapted not only to truth, but also to the opinions of the hearers, let us first consider this, that there are two kinds of men: one of them unlettered and rustic, always preferring what is expedient to what is honourable; the other, accomplished and polite, preferring dignity to everything. therefore, the one class sets its heart upon, praise, honour, glory, good faith, justice, and every virtue; but the other regards only gain, emolument, and profit. and even pleasure, which is above all things hostile to virtue, and which adulterates the nature of what is good by a treacherous imitation of it, which all men of grosser ideas eagerly follow, and which prefers that spurious copy, not only to what is honourable, but even to what is necessary, must often be praised in a speech aiming at persuasion, when you are giving counsel to men of that sort. xxvi. this also must be considered, how much greater eagerness men display in fleeing from what is disadvantageous, than in seeking what is advantageous; for they are in the same manner not so zealous in seeking what is honourable, as in avoiding what is base. for who ever seeks for honour, or glory, or praise, or any kind of credit as earnestly as he flees from ignominy, infamy, contumely, and disgrace? for these things are attended with great pain. there is a class of men born for honour, not corrupted by evil training and perverted opinions--on which account, when exhorting or persuading, we must keep in view the object of teaching them by what means we may be able to arrive at what is good, and to avoid what is evil. but before men who have been properly brought up we shall dwell chiefly on praise and honourableness, and speak chiefly of those kinds of virtues which are concerned in maintaining and increasing the general advantage of men. but if we are speaking before uneducated and ignorant men, then we shall set before them profits, emoluments, pleasures, and the means of escaping pain; we shall also introduce the mention of insult and ignominy; for no one is such a clown, as not (even though honour itself may have no influence on him) to be greatly moved by insult and disgrace. wherefore we must find out from what has been already said, what has reference to utility; but as to what is possible to be done or not, with reference to which people usually inquire also how easily a thing can be done, and how far it is desirable that it should be done, we must consider chiefly with reference to those causes which produce each separate result. for there are some causes which of themselves produce results, and some which only contribute to the production of a result. therefore, the first are called efficient causes; and the last are classed as such, that without them a thing cannot be brought about. again, of efficient causes, some are complete and perfect in themselves; some are accessory to, and, as it were, partners in the production of the result in question. and of this kind the effect is very much diversified, being sometimes greater or less; so that which is the most efficacious is often called the only cause, though it is in reality but the main one. there are also other causes which, either on account of their origin or on account of their result, are called efficient causes. but when the question is, what is best to be done, then it is either utility or the hope of doing it which urges men's minds to agree with the speaker. and since we have now said enough about utility, let us speak of the means of effecting it. xxvii. and on this point of the subject we must consider with whom, and against whom, and at what time, and in what place we are to do such and such a thing, also what means of arms, money, allies, or those other things which relate to the doing of any particular thing we have it in our power to employ. nor must we consider only those means which we have, but those circumstances also which are unfavourable to us. and if in the comparison the advantages preponderate, then we must persuade our hearers, not only that what we are advising can be effected, but we must also take care that it shall appear easy, manageable, and agreeable. but if we are dissuading from any particular course, then we must either disparage the utility of it, or we must make the most of the difficulties of doing it, not having recourse to other rules, but to the same topics as are used when trying to persuade our hearers to anything. and whether persuading or dissuading, the speaker must have a store of precedents, either modern, which will be the best known, or ancient, which will perhaps have the most weight. and in this kind of discourse he must consider how he may be able often to make what is useful or necessary appear superior to what is honourable, or _vice versâ_. but sentiments of this kind will have great weight in influencing men's minds, (if it is desirable to make an impression on them,) which relate either to the gratification of people's desires, or to the glutting of hatred, or to the avenging of injury. but if the object is to repress the feelings of the hearers, then they must be reminded of the uncertainty of fortune, of the doubtfulness of future events, and of the risk there may be of retaining their existing fortune, if it is good; and on the other hand, of the danger of its lasting if it is bad. and these are topics for a peroration. but in expressing one's opinions, the opening ought to be short, for the orator does not come forth as a suppliant, as if he were speaking before a judge, but as an exhorter and adviser. wherefore, he ought to settle beforehand with what intention he is going to speak, what his object is, what the subject of his discourse is to be, and he ought to exhort his hearers to listen to him while he detains them but a short time. and the whole of his oration ought to be simple, and dignified, and embellished rather by its sentiments than by its expressions. xxviii. _c.f._ i understand the topics of panegyric and persuasion. now i am waiting to hear what is suited to judicial oratory, and i think that that is the only subject remaining. _c.p._ you are quite right. and of that kind of oratory the object is equity, which is regarded, not in a single point of view only, but very often by a sort of comparison: as when there is a dispute as to who is the most appropriate prosecutor; or when the possession of an inheritance is sought for without any express law, or without any will. in which causes the question is, which alternative is the more equitable or which is most equitable. and for these causes a supply of arguments is sought for out of those topics of equity which will be mentioned presently. and even before the decision is given, there is often a dispute about the constitution of the bench of judges, when the question is either whether the person who brings the action has a right of action, or whether he has it at the present time, or whether he has ceased to have it, or whether the action ought to be brought under the provisions of this law, or according to that formula. and if these points are not discussed, or settled, or decided, before the case is brought into court, still they often have very great weight even at the trial itself, when the case is stated in this way:--"you demanded too much; you demanded it too late; it was not your business to make such a demand at all; you ought not to have demanded it of me; or you ought not to have done so under this law, or in accordance with this formula, or in this court." and this class of cases belongs to civil law, which depends on laws respecting public and private affairs, or on precedent; and the knowledge of it seems to have been neglected by most orators, but to us it appears very necessary for speaking. wherefore, as to arranging the right of action, as to accepting or standing a trial, as to demurring to the illegality of a proceeding, as to comparisons of justice, all which topics usually belong to this class of oration, so that although they often get mixed up with the judicial proceedings, still they appear to deserve to be discussed separately; and therefore i separate them a little from the judicial proceedings, more, however, as to the time at which they are to be introduced into the discussion, than from any real diversity of character. for all discussions which are introduced about civil law, or about what is just and good, belong to that sort of discussion in which we doubt what sort of thing such and such a thing which we are going to mention is. and this question turns chiefly on equity and right. xxix. in all causes, then, there are three degrees, of which one at least is to be taken for the purposes of defence, if you are limited to one. for you must either take your stand in denying that the act imputed to you has been done at all, or in denying that that which you admit to have been done has the effect which, and is of the character which, the adversary asserts. or if there can be no doubt as to the action, or the proper name of the action, then you must deny that what you are accused of is such as he states it to be; and you must urge in your defence that what you have done must be admitted to be right. accordingly, the first objection,--the first point of conflict with the adversary, as i may call it, depends on a kind of conjecture; the second, on a kind of definition, or description, or notion of the word; but the third plea is to be maintained by a discussion on equity, and truth, and right, and on the becomingness to man of a disposition inclined to pardon. and since he who defends ought not always to resist the accuser by some objection, or denial, or definition, or opposite principles of equity, but should also at times advance general principles on which he founds his defence, the first kind of objection has in it the principle of asserting the charge to be unjust, an absolute denial of the fact; the second urges that the definition given by the adversary does not apply to the action in question the third consists in the advocate defending the action as having been rightly done, without raising any dispute as to the name of it. in the next place, the accuser must oppose to every argument that, which if it were not in the accusation, would prevent, there being any cause at all. therefore, those arguments which are brought forward in that way, are said to be the foundations of causes, although those which are brought forward in opposition to the plan of the defence, are no more so in reality than the principles of the defence themselves; but for the sake of distinction, we call that a reason which is urged by the party on his trial in the way of demurrer for the sake of repelling an accusation; and unless he had such a refuge he would have nothing to allege by way of defence: but the foundation of his defence is that which is alleged by way of undermining the arguments of the adversary, without which the accusation can have no ground to stand upon. xxx. but from the meeting and conflict, as it were, of the reasons and of the corroborative proofs, a question arises, which i call a dispute, in which the question is, what is the question before the court, and what the dispute is about. for the first point which the adversaries contend for implies an inquiry of large extent in conjecture: as "whether decius has received the money;" in definition, as "whether norbanus has committed treason against the people;" in justice, as "whether opimius slew gracchus lawfully." these questions which come into conflict first by arguing and resisting, are, as i have said, of wide extent and doubtful meaning. the comparison of the arguments and corroborative proofs narrows the question in dispute. in conjecture there is no dispute at all. for no one either can, or ought to, or is accustomed to, give a reason for an act which he asserts never took place. therefore, in these causes the original question and the ultimate dispute are one and the same thing. but in them, when the assertion is advanced, "he did not commit treason in proceeding to violent measures in respect to caepio; for it was the first indignation of the roman people that prompted that violent conduct, and not the conduct of the tribune: and the majesty, since it is identical with the greatness of the roman people, was rather increased than diminished by retaining that man in power and office." and when the reply is, "majesty consists of the dignity of the empire and name of the roman people, which that man impairs, who excites sedition by appealing to the violent passions of the multitude;" then comes the dispute, whether his conduct was calculated to impair that majesty, who acted upon the inclinations of the roman people, so as to do a thing which was both just and acceptable to them by means of violence. but in such causes as these, when it is alleged in defence of the accused party that something has been rightly done, or when it must be admitted that it has been done, while the principle of the act is open to discussion: as in the case of opimius, "i did it lawfully, for the sake of preserving the general safety and the republic;" and when decius replies, "you had no power or right to slay even the wickedest of the citizens without a trial." then arises the dispute, "had opimius lawfully the power, for the sake of the safety of the republic, to put to death a citizen who was overturning the republic, without his being condemned?" and so those disputes which arise in these controversies which are marked out by certain persons and times become gradually infinite, and after the times and persons are put out of the question, are again reduced to the form and rules under which their merits can be discussed. xxxi. but in corroborative arguments of the most important character, those points must also be established which can be opposed to the defence, being derived either from the letter of the law, or of a will, or from the language of a judicial decision, or of a stipulation, or of a covenant. and even this kind has no connexion with those causes which depend upon conjecture. for when an action is denied altogether, it cannot be impeached by reference to the letter of the law. it does not even come under definition, as to the character of the letter of the law itself. for although some expression or other is to be defined by reference to the letter of the law, so as to be sure what meaning it has: as when the question arises out of a will, what is meant by provisions, or out of the covenant of a lease, what are moveables or fixtures; then it is not the fact of there being written documents, but the interpretation of what is written, that gives rise to controversy. but when many things may be implied by one expression, on account of the ambiguity of some word or words, so that he who is speaking on the other side may be allowed to draw the meaning of what is written as is advantageous to him, or in fact, as he pleases; or, if the document be not drawn up in ambiguous language, he may either deduce the wish and intention of the writer from the words, or else say that he can defend what has been done by a document which is perfectly different relating to the same facts; then a dispute arises from a comparison of the two written documents; so that the writings being ambiguous, it is a question which is most strongly implied; and in a comparison between the letter and the spirit of the documents an argument is adduced to show which the judge is the most bound to be guided by; or in documents of a wholly contradictory nature, which is the most to be approved. but when the point in dispute is once established, then the orator ought to keep in view, what is to be proved by all the arguments derived from the different topics for discovering arguments. and although it is quite sufficient for him who sees what is concealed in each topic, and who has all those topics, as a kind of treasury of arguments, at his fingers' ends; still we will touch upon those which are peculiar to certain causes. xxxii. in conjecture, then, when the person on his trial takes refuge in denial of the fact, these are the two first things for the accuser to consider, (i say accuser, meaning every kind of plaintiff or commencer of an action; for even without any accuser, in the strict sense of the word, these same kinds of controversies may frequently arise;) however, these are his first points for consideration, the cause and the event. when i say the cause, i mean the reason for doing a thing. when i say the event, i mean that which was done. and this same division of cases was made just now, when speaking of the topics of persuasion. for the rules which were given in deliberating upon the future, and how they ought to have a bearing upon utility, or a power of producing effects, a man who is arguing upon a fact is bound to collect, so as to show that they must have been useful to the man whom he is accusing, and that the act might possibly have been done by him. the question of utility, as far as it depends upon conjecture, is opened, if the accused person is said to have done the act of which he is accused, either out of the hope of advantage or the fear of injury. and this argument has the greater weight, the greater the advantages or disadvantages anticipated are said to be. with reference to the motive for an action we take into consideration also the feelings of minds, if any recent anger, or long-standing grudge, or desire for revenge, or indignation at an injury; if any eagerness for honour, or glory, or command, or riches; if any fear of danger, any debt, any difficulties in pecuniary matters, have had influence; if the man is bold, or fickle, or cruel, or intemperate, or incautious, or foolish, or loving, or excitable, or given to wine; if he had any hope of gaining his point, or any expectation of concealing his conduct; or, if that were detected, any hope of repelling the charge, or breaking through the danger, or even postponing it to a subsequent time; or if the penalty to be inflicted by a court of justice is more trifling than the prize to be gained by the act; or if the pleasure of the crime is greater than the pain of the conviction. it is generally by such circumstances as these that the suspicion of an act is confirmed, when the causes why he should have desired it are found to exist in the party accused, together with the means of doing it. but in his will we look for the benefit which he may have calculated on from the attainment of some advantage, or the avoidance of some disadvantage, so that either hope or fear may seem to have instigated him, or else some sudden impulse of the mind, which impels men more swiftly to evil courses than even considerations of utility. so this is enough to have said about the causes. _c.f._ i understand; and i ask you now what the events are which you have said are produced by such causes? xxxiii. _c.p._ they are certain consequential signs of what is past, certain traces of what has been done, deeply imprinted, which have a great tendency to engender suspicion, and are, as it were, a silent evidence of crimes, and so much the more weighty because all causes appear as a general rule to be able to give ground for accusations, and to show for whose advantage anything was; and these arguments have an especial propriety of reference to those who are accused, such as a weapon, a footstep, blood, the detection of anything which appears to have been carried off or taken away; or any reply inconsistent with the truth, or any hesitation, or trepidation, or the fact of the accused person having been seen with any one whose character is such as to give rise to suspicion; or of his having been seen himself in that very place in which the action was done; or paleness, or tremor, or any writing, or anything having been sealed up or deposited anywhere. for these are circumstances of such a nature as to make the charge full of suspicion, either in connexion with the act itself, or with the time previous or subsequent to it. and if they are not so, still it will be proper to rely on the causes themselves, and on the means which the accused person had of doing the action, with the addition of that general argument, that he was not so insane as to be unable to avoid or conceal any indications of the action, so as to be discovered and to give ground for an accusation. on the other hand, there is that common topic, that audacity is joined to rashness, not to prudence. besides, there comes the topic suited to amplification, that we are not to wait for his confessing; that offences are proved by arguments; and here, too, precedents will be adduced. and thus much about arguments. xxxiv. but if there is also a sufficiency of witnesses, the first thing will be to praise the party accused, and to say that he himself has taken care not to be convicted by argument; that he could not escape from witnesses: then each of the witnesses must be praised, (and we have stated already what are the things for which people can be praised;) and in the next place, it must be urged that it is possible for it to be quite justifiable not to yield to a specious argument, (inasmuch as such an one is often false,) but quite impossible to refuse belief to a good and trusty man, unless there is some fault in the judge. and then, too, if the witnesses are obscure or insignificant, we must say that a man's credit is not to be estimated by his fortune, but that those are the most trustworthy witnesses on every point who have the easiest means of knowing the truth of the matter under discussion. if the fact of an examination of slaves under torture having taken place, or a demand that such should take place, will assist the cause, then in the first place the general character of such examinations must be extolled: we must speak of the power of bodily pain; of the opinion of our ancestors, who would certainly have abolished the whole system if they had not approved of it; of the customs of the athenians and rhodians, very wise men, among whom (and that is a most terrible thing) even freemen and citizens are tortured; of the principles also of the most prudent of our own countrymen, who though they are unwilling to allow slaves to be examined against their masters, still did allow of such examination in the case of incest and conspiracy,--and in fact such an examination took place in my consulship. that declamation which men are in the habit of using to throw discredit on such examinations must be laughed out of court, and called studied and childish. then a belief must be inculcated that the examination has been conducted with care, and without any partiality; and the answers given in the examination must be weighed by arguments and by conjecture. and these are for the most part the divisions of an accusation. xxxv. but the first division of a defence is the invalidating of the motives alleged for the action,--either as having no real existence, or as not having been so important, or as not having been likely to influence any one but the person accused; or we may urge that he could have attained the same object more easily; or that he is not a man of such habits, or of such a character; or that he was not so much a slave to sudden impulses, or at all events not to such trifling ones. and the advocate for the defence will disparage the means alleged to be in the power of the accused person, if he shows that either strength, or courage, or power, or resources were wanting to him; or that the time was unfavourable, or the place unsuitable; or that there were many witnesses, not one of whom he would have chosen to trust; or that he was not such a fool as to undertake a deed which he could not conceal; nor so senseless as to despise the penalties of the law and the courts of justice. and he will do away with the effect of the consequences alleged, by explaining that those things are not certain proofs of an act which might have happened even if the act had never been done; and he will dwell on the details, and urge that they belong as much to what he himself alleges was the fact, as to that which is at present the ground of accusation: or if he agrees with the accuser on those points, still he will say that ought to be of avail rather as a defence to himself against danger, than as an engine for injuring his safety; and he will run down the whole body of witnesses and examinations under torture, generally, and also in detail as far as he can, by the use of the topics of reprehension which have been explained already. the openings of these causes which are intended to excite suspicion by their bitterness will be thus laid down by the accuser; and the general danger of all intrigues will be denounced; and men's minds will be excited so as to listen attentively. but the person who is being accused will bring forward complaints of charges having been trumped up against him, and suspicions ferreted out from all quarters; and he will speak of the intrigues of the accuser, and also of the common danger of all citizens from such proceedings: and so he will try to move the minds of the judges to pity, and to excite their good-will in some degree. but the narration of the accuser will be a separate count, as it were, which will contain an explanation of every sort of transaction liable to suspicion, with every kind of argument scattered over it, and all the topics for the defence discredited. but the speaker for the defence must pass over or discredit all the arguments employed to raise suspicion, and will limit himself to a narration of the actual facts and events which have taken place. but in the corroboration of our own arguments, and in the invalidation of those of our adversaries, it will be often the object of the accuser to rouse the feelings of the minds of his hearers, and of the advocate for the defence to pacify them. and this will be the course of both of them especially in the peroration. the one must have recourse to a reiteration of his arguments, and to a general accumulation of them together; the other, when he has once clearly explained his own cause, refuting the statements of his adversary, must have recourse to enumeration; and, when he has effaced every unfavourable impression, then at the end he will endeavour to move the pity of his judges. xxxvi. _c.f._ i think i know now how conjecture ought to be dealt with. let me hear you now on the subject of definition. _c.p._ with respect to that the rules which are given are common to the accuser and the defender. for whichever of them by his definition and description of a word makes the greatest impression on the feelings and opinions of the judges, and whichever keeps nearest to the general meaning of the word, and to that preconceived opinion which those who are the hearers have adopted in their minds, must inevitably get the better in the discussion. for this kind of topic is not handled by a regular argumentation, but by shaking out, as it were, and unfolding the word; so that, if, for instance, in the case of a criminal acquitted through bribery and then impeached a second time, the accuser were to define prevarication to be the utter corruption of a tribunal by an accused person; and the defender were to urge a counter definition, that it is not every sort of corruption which is prevarication, but only the bribing of a prosecutor by a defendant: then, in the first place, there would be a contest between the different alleged meanings of the word; in which case, though the definition, if given by the speaker for the defence, approaches nearest to general usage and to the sense of common conversation, still the accuser relies on the spirit of the law, for he says that it ought not to be admitted that those men who framed the laws considered a judicial decision as ratified when wholly corrupt, but that if even one judge be corrupted, the decision should be annulled. he relies on equity; he urges that the law ought to have been framed differently, if that was what was meant; but that the truth is, that whatever kinds of corruption could possibly exist were all meant to be included under the one term prevarication. but the speaker for the defence will bring forward on his side the usage of common conversation; and he will seek the meaning of the word from its contrary; from a genuine accuser, to whom a prevarication is the exact opposite; or from consequents, because the tablets are given to the judge by the accuser; and from the name itself, which signifies a man who in contrary causes appears to be placed, as it were, in various positions. but still he himself will be forced to have recourse to topics of equity, to the authority of precedents, and to some dangerous result. and this may be a general rule, that when each has stated his definition, keeping as accurately as he can to the common sense and meaning of the word, he should then confirm his own meaning and definition by similar definitions, and by the examples of those men who have spoken in the same way. and in this kind of cause that will be a common topic for the accuser,--that it must never be permitted that the man who confesses a fact, should defend himself by a new interpretation of the name of it. but the defender must rely on those general principles of equity which i have mentioned, and he must complain that, while that is on his side, he is weighed down not by facts, but by the perverted use of a word; and while speaking thus he will be able to introduce many topics suited to aid him in discovering arguments. for he will avail himself of resemblances, and contrarieties, and consequences; and although both parties will do this, still the defendant, unless his cause is evidently ridiculous, will do so more frequently. but the things which are in the habit of being said, for the sake of amplification, or in the way of digression, or when men are summing up, are introduced either to excite hatred, or pity, or to work on the feelings of the judges by means of those arguments which have been already given; provided that the importance of the facts, or the envy of men, or the dignity of the parties, will allow of it. xxxvii. _c.f._ i understand that. now i wish to hear you speak of that part which, when the question is what is the character of such and such a transaction, will be suitable both for the accusation and also for the defence. _c.p._ in a cause of that kind those who are accused confess that they did the very thing for which they are blamed; but since they allege that they did it lawfully, it is necessary for us to explain the whole principles of law. and that is divided into two principal divisions,--natural law and statute law. and the power of each of these is again distributed into human law and divine law; one of which refers to equity and the other to religion. but the power of equity is two-fold: one part of which is upheld by considerations of what is straightforward, and true, and just, and, as it is said, equitable and virtuous; the other refers chiefly to requiting things done to one suitably,--which in the case of that which is to be requited being a kindness, is called gratitude, but when it is an injury, it is called revenge. and these principles are common both to natural and statute law. but there are also other divisions of law; for there is both the written and the unwritten law,--each of which is maintained by the rights of nations and the customs of our ancestors. again, written law is divided into public law and private law. public law is laws, resolutions of the senate, treaties; private law is accounts, covenants, agreements, stipulations. but those laws which are unwritten, owe their influence either to custom or to some agreement between, and as it were to the common consent of men. and indeed it is in some degree prescribed to us by the laws of nature, that we are to uphold our customs and laws. and since the foundations of equity have been briefly explained in this manner, we ought to meditate carefully, with reference to causes of this kind, on what is to be said in our speeches about nature, and laws, and the customs of our ancestors, and the repelling of injuries, and revenge, and every portion of human rights. if a man has done anything unintentionally, or through necessity, or by accident, which men would not be excused for doing if they did it of their own accord and intentionally, by way of deprecating punishment for the action he should implore pardon and indulgence, founding his petition on many topics of equity. i have now explained as well as i could every kind of controversy, unless there is anything besides which you wish to know. xxxviii. _c.f._ i wish to know that which appears to me to be the only point left,--what is to be done when the discussion turns upon expressions in written documents. _c.p._ you are right to ask: for when that is explained i shall have discharged the whole of the task which i have undertaken. the rules then which relate to ambiguity are common to both parties. for each of them will urge that the signification which he himself adopts is the one suited to the wisdom of the framer of the document; each of them will urge that that sense which his adversary says is to be gathered from the ambiguous expression in the writing, is either absurd, or inexpedient, or unjust, or discreditable, or again that it is inconsistent with other written expressions, either of other men, or, if possible, of the same man. and he will urge further that the meaning which he himself contends for is the one which would have been intended by every sensible and respectable man; and that such an one would express himself more plainly if the case were to come over again, and that the meaning which he asserts to be the proper one has nothing in it to which objection can be made, or with which any fault can be found; but that if the contrary meaning is admitted, many vices, many foolish, unjust, and inconsistent consequences must follow. but when it appears that the writer meant one thing and wrote another, then he who relies on the letter of the law must first explain the circumstances of the case, and then recite the law; then he must press his opponent, repeat the law, reiterate it, and ask him whether he denies that that is the expression contained in the writing, or whether he denies the facts of the case. after that he must invoke the judge to maintain the letter of the law. when he has dwelt on this sort of corroborative argument he must amplify his case by praising the law, and attack the audacity of the man who, when he has openly violated it, and confesses that he has done so, still comes forward and defends his conduct. then he must invalidate the defence when his opponent says that the writer meant one thing and wrote another, and say that it is intolerable that the meaning of the framer of the law should be explained by any one else in preference to the law itself. why did he write down such words if he did not mean them? why does the opponent, while he neglects what is plainly written, bring forward what is not written anywhere? why should he think that men who were most careful in what they wrote are to be convicted of extreme folly? what could have hindered the framer of this law from making this exception which the opponent contends that he intended to make, if he really had intended it? he will then bring forward those instances where the same writer has made a similar exception, or if he cannot do that, at least he will cite cases where others have made similar exceptions. for a reason must be sought for, if it is possible to find one, why this exception was not made in this case. the law must be stated to be likely to be unjust, or useless, or else that there is a reason for obeying part of it, and for abrogating part; it must be that the argument of the opponent and the law are at variance. and then, by way of amplification, it will be proper, both in other parts of the speech, and above all in the peroration, to speak with great dignity and energy about the desirableness of maintaining the laws, and of the danger with which all public and private affairs are threatened. xxxix. but he who defends himself by appeals to the spirit and intention of the law, will urge that the force of the law depends on the mind and design of the framer, not on words and letters. and he will praise him for having mentioned no exceptions in his law, so as to leave no refuge for offences, and so as to bind the judge to interpret the intention of the law according to the actions of each individual. then he must cite instances in which all equity will be disturbed if the words of the law are attended to and not the meaning. then all cunning and false accusation must be endeavoured to be put before the judge in an odious light, and complaints uttered in a tone of indignation. if the action in question has been done unintentionally, or by accident, or by compulsion, rather than in consequence of any premeditation,--and actions of those kinds we have already discussed,--then it will be well to use the same topics of equity to counteract the effect of the harshness of the language. but if the written laws contradict one another, then the connexion of art is such, and most of its principles are so connected and linked together, that the rules which we a little while ago laid down for cases of ambiguity, and which have just been given with reference to the letter and spirit of the law, may be all transferred to this third division also. for the topics by which, in the case of an ambiguous expression, we defended that meaning which is favourable to our argument must also be used to defend the law which is favourable to us when there are inconsistent laws. in the next place, we must contrive to defend the spirit of one law, and the letter of the other. and so the rules which were just now given relating to the spirit and letter of the law may all be transferred to this subject. xl. i have now explained to you all the divisions of oratory which have prevailed, as laid down by the academy to which we are devoted, and if it had not been for that academy they could not have been discovered, or understood, or discussed. for the mere act of division, and of definition, and the distribution of the partitions of a doubtful question, and the understanding the topics of arguments, and the arranging the argumentation itself properly, and the discerning what ought to be assumed in arguing, and what follows from what has been assumed, and the distinguishing what is true from what is false, and what is probable from what is incredible, and refuting assumptions which are not legitimate, or which are inappropriate, and discussing all these different points either concisely as those do who are called dialecticians, or copiously as an orator should do, are all fruits of the practice in disputing with acuteness and speaking with fluency, which is instilled into the disciples of that academy. and without a knowledge of these most important arts how can an orator have either energy or variety in his discourse, so as to speak properly of things good or bad, just or unjust, useful or useless, honourable or base? let these rules then, my cicero, which i have now explained to you, be to you a sort of guide to those fountains of eloquence, and if under my instruction or that of others you arrive at them, you will then acquire a clearer understanding of these things and of others which are much more important. _c.f._ i will strive to arrive at them with great eagerness, my father; and i do not think that there is any greater advantage which i can derive even from your many excellent kindnesses to me. the treatise of m. t. cicero on the best style of orators. this little piece was composed by cicero as a sort of preface to his translation of the orations of demosthenes and aeschines de corona; the translations themselves have not come down to us. i. there are said to be classes of orators as there are of poets. but it is not so; for of poets there are a great many divisions; for of tragic, comic, epic, lyric, and also of dithyrambic poetry, which has been more cultivated by the latins, each kind is very different from the rest. therefore in tragedy anything comic is a defect, and in comedy anything tragic is out of place. and in the other kinds of poetry each has its own appropriate note, and a tone well known to those who understand the subject. but if any one were to enumerate many classes of orators, describing some as grand, and dignified, and copious, others as thin, or subtle, or concise, and others as something between the two and in the middle as it were, he would be saying something of the men, but very little of the matter. for as to the matter, we seek to know what is the best; but as to the man, we state what is the real case. therefore if any one likes, he has a right to call ennius a consummate epic poet, and pacuvius an excellent tragic poet, and caecilius perhaps a perfect comic poet. but i do not divide the orator as to class in this way. for i am seeking a perfect one. and of perfection there is only one kind; and those who fall short of it do not differ in kind, as attius does from terentius; but they are of the same kind, only of unequal merit. for he is the best orator who by speaking both teaches, and delights, and moves the minds of his hearers. to teach them is his duty, to delight them is creditable to him, to move them is indispensable. it must be granted that one person succeeds better in this than another; but that is not a difference of kind but of degree. perfection is one thing; that is next to it which is most like it; from which consideration it is evident that that which is most unlike perfection is the worst. ii. for, since eloquence consists of words and sentences, we must endeavour, by speaking in a pure and correct manner, that is to say in good latin, to attain an elegance of expression with words appropriate and metaphorical. as to the appropriate words, selecting those which are most suitable; and when indulging in metaphor, studying to preserve a proper resemblance, and to be modest in our use of foreign terms. but of sentences, there are as many different kinds as i have said there are of panegyrics. for if teaching, we want shrewd sentences; if aiming at giving pleasure, we want musical ones; if at exciting the feelings, dignified ones. but there is a certain arrangement of words which produces both harmony and smoothness; and different sentiments have different arrangements suitable to them, and an order naturally calculated to prove their point; but of all those things memory is the foundation, (just as a building has a foundation,) and action is the light. the man, then, in whom all these qualities are found in the highest perfection, will be the most skilful orator; he in whom they exist in a moderate degree will be a mediocre orator: he in whom they are found to the slightest extent will be the most inferior sort of orator. all these, indeed, will be called orators, just as bad painters are still called painters; not differing from one another in kind, but in ability. so there is no orator who would not like to resemble demosthenes; but menander did not want to be like homer, for his style was different. this difference does not exist in orators; or if there be any such difference, that one avoiding gravity aims rather at subtlety; and on the other hand, that another desires to show himself acute rather than polished: such men, although they may be tolerable orators, are certainly not perfect ones; since that is perfection which combines every kind of excellence. iii. i have stated these things with greater brevity than the subject deserves; but still, with reference to my present object, it was not worth while being more prolix. for as there is but one kind of eloquence, what we are seeking to ascertain is what kind it is. and it is such as flourished at athens; and in which the genius of the attic orators is hardly comprehended by us, though their glory is known to us. for many have perceived this fact, that there is nothing faulty in them: few have discerned the other point; namely, how much in them there is that is praiseworthy. for it is a fault in a sentence if anything is absurd, or foreign to the subject, or stupid, or trivial; and it is a fault of language if any thing is gross, or abject, or unsuitable, or harsh, or far-fetched. nearly all those men who are either considered attic orators or who speak in the attic manner have avoided these faults. but if that is all their merit, then they may deserve to be regarded as sound and healthy, as if we were regarding athletes, to such an extent as to be allowed to exercise in the palaestra, but not to be entitled to the crown at the olympic games. for the athletes, who are free from defects, are not content as it were with good health, but seek to produce strength and muscles and blood, and a certain agreeableness of complexion; let us imitate them, if we can; and if we cannot do so wholly, at least let us select as our models those who enjoy unimpaired health, (which is peculiar to the attic orators,) rather than those whose abundance is vicious, of whom asia has produced numbers. and in doing this (if at least we can manage even this, for it is a mighty undertaking) let us imitate, if we can, lysias, and especially his simplicity of style: for in many places he rises to grandeur. but because he wrote speeches for many private causes, and those too for others, and on very trifling subjects, he appears to be somewhat simple, because he has designedly filed himself down to the standard of the inconsiderable causes which he was pleading. iv. and a man who acts in this way, even if he be not able to turn out a vigorous speaker as he wishes, may still deserve to be accounted an orator, though an inferior one; but even a great orator must often also speak in the same manner in causes of that kind. and in this way it happens that demosthenes is at times able to speak with simplicity, though perhaps lysias may not be able to arrive at grandeur. but if men think that, when an army was marshalled in the forum and in all the temples round the forum, it was possible to speak in defence of milo, as if we had been speaking in a private cause before a single judge, they measure the power of eloquence by their own estimate of their own ability, and not by the nature of the case. wherefore, since some people have got into a way of repeating that they themselves do speak in an attic manner, and others that none of us do so; the one class we may neglect, for the facts themselves are a sufficient answer to these men, since they are either not employed in causes, or when they are employed they are laughed at; for if the laughter which they excite were in approbation of them, that very fact would be a characteristic of attic speakers. but those who will not admit that we speak in the attic manner, but yet profess that they themselves are not orators; if they have good ears and an intelligent judgment, may still be consulted by us, as one respecting the character of a picture would take the opinion of men who were incapable of making a picture, though not devoid of acuteness in judging of one. but if they place all their intelligence in a certain fastidiousness of ear, and if nothing lofty or magnificent ever pleases them, then let them say that they want something subtle and highly polished, and that they despise what is dignified and ornamented; but let them cease to assert that those men alone speak in the attic manner, that is to say, in a sound and correct one. but to speak with dignity and elegance and copiousness is a characteristic of attic orators. need i say more? is there any doubt whether we wish our oration to be tolerable only, or also admirable? for we are not asking now what sort of speaking is attic: but what sort is best. and from this it is understood, since those who were athenians were the best of the greek orators, and since demosthenes was beyond all comparison the best of them, that if any one imitates them he will speak in the attic manner, and in the best manner, so that since the attic orators are proposed to us for imitation, to speak well is to speak attically. v. but as there was a great error as to the question, what kind of eloquence that was, i have thought that it became me to undertake a labour which should be useful to studious men, though superfluous as far as i myself was concerned. for i have translated the most illustrious orations of the two most eloquent of the attic orators, spoken in opposition to one another: aeschines and demosthenes. and i have not translated them as a literal interpreter, but as an orator giving the same ideas in the same form and mould as it were, in words conformable to our manners; in doing which i did not consider it necessary to give word for word, but i have preserved the character and energy of the language throughout. for i did not consider that my duty was to render to the reader the precise number of words, but rather to give him all their weight. and this labour of mine will have this result, that by it our countrymen may understand what to require of those who wish to be accounted attic speakers, and that they may recal them to, as it were, an acknowledged standard of eloquence. but then thucydides will rise up; for some people admire his eloquence. and they are quite right. but he has no connexion with the orator, which is the person of whom we are in search. for it is one thing to unfold the actions of men in a narration, and quite a different one to accuse and get rid of an accusation by arguing. it is one thing to fix a hearer's attention by a narration, and another to excite his feelings. "but he uses beautiful language." is his language finer than plato's? nevertheless it is necessary for the orator whom we are inquiring about, to explain forensic disputes by a style of speaking calculated at once to teach, to delight, and to excite. vi. wherefore, if there is any one who professes that he intends to plead causes in the forum, following the style of thucydides, no one will ever suspect him of being endowed with that kind of eloquence which is suited to affairs of state or to the bar. but if he is content with praising thucydides, then he may add my vote to his own. moreover, even isocrates himself, whom that divine author, plato, who was nearly his contemporary, has represented in the phaedrus as being highly extolled by socrates, and whom all learned men have called a consummate orator, i do not class among the number of those who are to be taken for models. for he is not engaged in actual conflict; he is not armed for the fray; his speeches are made for display, like foils. i will rather, (to compare small things with great,) bring on the stage a most noble pair of gladiators. aeschines shall come on like aeserninus, as lucilius says-- "no ordinary man, but fearless all, and skill'd his arms to wield--his equal match pacideianus stands, than whom the world since the first birth of man hath seen no greater." for i do not think that anything can be imagined more divine than that orator. now this labour of mine is found fault with by two kinds of critics. one set says, "but the greek is better." and i ask them whether the authors themselves could have clothed their speeches in better latin? the others say, "why should i rather read the translation than the original?" yet those same men read the andria and the synephebi; and are not less fond of terence and caecilius than of menander. they must then discard the andromache, and the antiope, and the epigoni in latin. but yet, in fact, they read ennius and pacuvius and attius more than euripides and sophocles. what then is the meaning of this contempt of theirs for orations translated from the greek, when they have no objection to translated verses? vii. however, let us now come to the task which we have undertaken, when we have just explained what the cause is which is before the court. as there was a law at athens, that no one should be the cause of carrying a decree of the people that any one should be presented with a crown while invested with office till he had given in an account of the way in which he had discharged its duties; and another law, that those who had crowns given them by the people ought to receive them in the assembly of the people, and that they who had them given to them by the senate should receive them in the senate; demosthenes was appointed a superintendent of repairs of the walls; and he did it at his own expense. therefore, with reference to him ctesiphon proposed a decree, without his having given in any accounts, that he should be presented with a golden crown, and that that presentation should take place in the theatre, the people being summoned for the purpose, (that is not the legitimate place for an assembly of the people;) and that proclamation should be made, "that he received this present on account of his virtue and devotion to the state, and to the athenian people." aeschines then prosecuted this man ctesiphon because he had proposed a decree contrary to the laws, to the effect that a crown should be given when no accounts had been delivered, and that it should be presented in the theatre, and that he had made false statements in the words of his motion concerning demosthenes's virtue and loyalty; since demosthenes was not a good man, and was not one who had deserved well of the state. that kind of cause is indeed inconsistent with the precedents established by our habits; but still it has an imposing look. for it has on each side of the question a sufficiently clever interpretation of the laws, and a very grave contest as to the respective services done by the two rival orators to the republic. therefore the object of aeschines was, since he himself had been prosecuted on a capital charge by demosthenes, for having given a false account of his embassy, that now a trial should take place affecting the conduct and character of demosthenes, that so, under pretence of prosecuting ctesiphon, he might avenge himself on his enemy. for he did not say so much about the accounts not having been delivered, as to the point that a very bad citizen had been praised as an excellent. aeschines instituted this prosecution against ctesiphon four years before the death of philip of macedon. but the decision took place a few years afterwards; when alexander had become master of asia. and it is said that all greece thronged to hear the issue of the trial. for what was ever better worth going to see, or better worth hearing, than the contest of two consummate orators in a most important cause, inflamed and sharpened by private enmity? if then, as i trust, i have given such a copy of their speeches, using all their excellencies, that is to say, their sentiments, and their figures, and the order of their facts; adhering to their words only so far as they are not inconsistent with our customs, (and though they may not be all translated from the greek, still i have taken pains that they should be of the same class,) then there will be a standard to which the orations of those men must be directed who wish to speak attically. but i have said enough of myself--let us now hear aeschines speaking in latin. (_these orations are not extant_.) end of the treatise. footnotes: [footnote : dolabella had been married to cicero's daughter tullia, but was divorced from her.] [footnote : the name was given them early. juvenal, who wrote within a hundred years of cicero's time, calls them "divina philippica."] [footnote : this meeting took place on the third day after caesar's death.] [footnote : [greek: mae mnaesikakin].] [footnote : the hook was to drag his carcass along the streets to throw it into the tiber. so juvenal says-- "sejanus ducitur unco spectandus."--x. .] [footnote : this refers to a pillar that was raised in the forum in honour of caesar, with the inscription, "to the father of his country."] [footnote : _see_ philippic .] [footnote : this was the name of a legion raised by caesar in gaul, and called so, probably, from the ornament worn on their helmet.] [footnote : he meant to insinuate that antonius had been forging caesar's handwriting and signature] [footnote : fulvia, who had been the wife of clodius, and afterwards of curio, was now the wife of antonius.] [footnote : these were the names of slaves.] [footnote : ityra was a town at the foot of mount taurus.] [footnote : brutus was the praetor urbanus this year, and that officer's duty confined him to the city; and he was forbidden by law to be absent more than ten days at a time during his year of office.] [footnote : i have translated _jugerum_ "an acre," because it is usually so translated, but in point of fact it was not quite two-thirds of an english acre. at the same time it was nearly three times as large as the greek [greek: plethros] such by the fault of fortune and not by his own. you assumed the manly gown, which you soon made a womanly one: at first a public prostitute, with a regular price for your wickedness, and that not a low one. but very soon curio stepped in, who carried you off from your public trade, and, as if he had bestowed a matron's robe upon you, settled you in a steady and durable wedlock. no boy bought for the gratification of passion was ever so wholly in the power of his master as you were in curio's. how often has his father turned you out of his house? how often has he placed guards to prevent you from entering? while you, with night for your accomplice, lust for your encourager, and wages for your compeller, were let down through the roof. that house could no longer endure your wickedness. do you not know that i am speaking of matters with which i am thoroughly acquainted? remember that time when curio, the father, lay weeping in his bed; his son throwing himself at my feet with tears recommended to me you; he entreated me to defend you against his own father, if he demanded six millions of sesterces of you; for that he had been bail for you to that amount. and he himself, burning with love, declared positively that because he was unable to bear the misery of being separated from you, he should go into banishment. and at that time what misery of that most nourishing family did i allay, or rather did i remove! i persuaded the father to pay the son's debts; to release the young man, endowed as he was with great promise of courage and ability, by the sacrifice of part of his family estate; and to use his privileges and authority as a father to prohibit him not only from all intimacy with, but from every opportunity of meeting you. when you recollected that all this was done by me, would you have dared to provoke me by abuse if you had not been trusting to those swords which we behold?] [footnote : sisapo was a town in spain, celebrated for some mines of vermilion, which were farmed by a company.] [footnote : she was a courtesan who had been enfranchised by her master volumnius. the name of volumnia was dear to the romans as that of the wife of coriolanus, to whose entreaties he had yielded when he drew off his army from the neighbourhood of rome.] [footnote : this is a play on the name hippia, as derived from [greek: hippos], a horse.] [footnote : the custom of erecting a spear wherever an auction was held is well known, it is said to have arisen from the ancient practice of selling under a spear the booty acquired in war.] [footnote : there seems some corruption here. orellius apparently thinks the case hopeless.] [footnote : the latin is, "non solum de die, sed etiam in diem, vivere;" which the commentators explain, "_de die_ is to feast every day and all day. banquets _de die_ are those which begin before the regular hour." (like horace's _partem solido demere de die_.) "to live _in diem_ is to live so as to have no thought for the future."--graevius.] [footnote : this accidental resemblance to the incident in the "forty thieves" in the "arabian nights" is curious.] [footnote : the _septemviri,_ at full length _septemviri epulones_ or _epulonum_, were originally triumviri. they were first created bc. , to attend to the _epulum jovis_, and the banquets given in honour of the other gods, which duty had originally belonged to the _pontifices_. julius caesar added three more, but that alteration did not last. they formed a _collegium_, and were one of the four great religious corporations at rome with the _pontifices_, the _augures_, and the _quindecemviri_. smith, diet, ant. v. _epulones_.] [footnote : it had been explained before that fulvia had been the widow of clodius and of curio, before she married antonius.] [footnote : riddle (dict. lat. in voce) says, that this was the regular punishment for deserters, and was inflicted by their comrades.] [footnote : cnaeus octavius, the real father of octavius caesar, had been praetor and governor of macedonia, and was intending to stand for the consulship when he died.] [footnote : bambalio is derived from the greek word [greek: bambala] to lisp.] [footnote : julia, the mother of antonius and sister of lucius caesar, was also a native of aricia.] [footnote : he had intended to propose to the senate to declare octavius a public enemy. we must recollect that in these orations cicero, even when he speaks of caius caesar, means octavius.] [footnote : it is quite impossible to give a proper idea of cicero's meaning here. he is arguing on the word _dignus_, from which _dignitas_ is derived. but we have no means of keeping up the play on the words in english.] [footnote : the general proceeding on such occasions being to ask each senator's opinion separately, which gave those who chose an opportunity for pronouncing some encomium on the person honoured.] [footnote : spartacus was the general of the gladiators and slaves in the servile war.] [footnote : lepidus had not in reality done any particular service to the republic (he was afterwards one of the triumviri), but he was at the head of the best army in the empire, and so was able to be of the most important service to either party, and, therefore, cicero hoped to attach him to his side by this compliment.] [footnote : it has been already explained that this was the name of one legion.] [footnote : the mirmillo was the gladiator who fought with the retiarius; he wore a gallic helmet with a fish for a crest.] [footnote : the english reader must recollect that what is called gaul in these orations, is cisalpine gaul containing what we now call the north of italy, coming down as far south as modena and ravenna.] [footnote : after the year b.c. there were two classes of roman knights, one of which received a horse from the state, and were included in the eighteen centuries of service, the other class, first mentioned by livy (v. ) in the account of the siege of veii, served with their own horses, and instead of having a horse found them, received a certain pay, (three times that of the infantry) and were not included in the eighteen centuries of service. the original knights, to distinguish them from these latter, are often called _equites equo publico_, sometimes also ficus vanes or _trossuli_ _vide_ smith, dict. ant. p. - , v. _equites_] [footnote : he had been one of the septemvirs appointed to preside over the distribution of the lands.] [footnote : janus was the name of a street near the temple of janus, especially frequented by bankers and usurers. it was divided into _summus, nedus_ and _imus_ horace says-- hase janus summus ab imo edocet [lacuna] postquam omms res mea janum ad medium fracta cat. ] [footnote : _i.e. tumultus_, as if it were _tumor multus_] [footnote : these were the names of officers devoted to antonius.] [footnote : the province between the alps and the rubicon was called gallia _citerior_, or _oisalpina_, from its situation, also _togata_, from the inhabitants wearing the roman toga. the other was called _ulterior_, and by cicero often _ultima_, or _transalpina_, and also _comata_, from the fashion of the inhabitants wearing long hair] [footnote : sulpicius was of about the same age as cicero, and an early friend of his, and he enjoyed the reputation of being the first lawyer of his time, or of all who ever had studied law as a profession in rome.] [footnote : there is some corruption of the text here.] [footnote : brutus had been adopted by his maternal uncle quintus servilius caepio, so that his legal designation was what is given in the text now, as cicero is proposing a formal vote--though at all other times we see that he calls him marcus brutus] [footnote : the latin is _samiarius_, or as some read it _samarius_. orellius says, "perhaps it means some sort of trade, for i doubt its having been a roman proper name." nizollius says, "samarius exul--_proverbium_." facciolatti calls him a man whose business it was to clean the arms of the guards, &c. with samian chalk.] [footnote : vopiscus is another name of bestia.] [footnote : it is impossible to give the force of the original here, which plays on the word _tabula_. the latin is, "vindicem enim novarum tabularum novam tabulam vidimus," _novae tabulae_ meaning as is well known a law for the abolition of debts, _nova tabula_ in the singular an advertisement of (trebellius's) property being to be sold.] [footnote : here too is a succession of puns. lysidicus is derived from the greek [greek: lyo] to loosen and [greek: dikae], justice. _cimber_ is a proper name, and also means one of the nation of the cimbri, _germanus_ is a german, and _germanus_ a brother, and he means here to impute to caius cimber that he had murdered his brother.] [footnote : compare st paul,--"for if the trumpet give an uncertain sound, who shall prepare himself to the battle?" cor. xiv .] [footnote : that is, without being crucified like a slave.] [footnote : the latin here is "itaque caesaris munera rosit,"--playing on the name mus, mouse; but orellius thinks the whole passage corrupt, and indeed there is evident corruption in the text here in many places.] [footnote : he means lucius aemilius paullus, and caius claudius marcellus, who were consuls the year after servius sulpicius and marcus claudius marcellus, a.u.c. .] [footnote : these two were tribunes of the people, who had been dispossessed of their offices by julius caesar.] [footnote : there is some difficulty here. many editors propose to read "offen lerint" which orellius thinks would hardly be latin. he says, "antonius is here speaking of those veterans who had deserted him indeed but who, at the time of his writing this letter, had not acted against him". therefore, he says it is open to them to become reconciled to him again (wishing to conciliate them, and to alarm his enemies). on the other hand, cicero replies, nothing is so open to them now as to do what their duty to the republic requires. that is to say, openly to attack you, whose party they have already abandoned.] [footnote : there were two wine feasts, vinalia, at rome: the vinalia urbano, celebrated on the twenty-third of april; and the vinalia rustica, on the nineteenth of october. this was the urbana vinalia; on which occasion the wine casks which had been filled in the autumn were tasted for the first time.] [footnote : there is much dispute as to who is meant here. some say cicero refers to amphion, some to orpheus, and some to mercury; the romans certainly did attribute the civilization of men to mercury, as horace says-- qui feros cultus hominum recenti voce formâsti catus i. , .] [footnote : this is very frequently quoted by cicero; the latin lines being the opening of the medea of ennius, translated from the first lines of the medea of euripides.] [footnote : the talysus was a hunter at rhodes, of whom protogenes had made an admirable picture, which was afterwards brought to rome, and placed in the temple of peace.] [footnote : brutus was at present propraetor in gaul.] [footnote : theophrastus's real name was tyrtamus, but aristotle, whose pupil he was, surnamed him theophrastus, from the greek words [greek: theos], god and [greek: phrazo], to speak.] [footnote : he refers to the menexenus.] [footnote : cape si vis.] [footnote : "assiduus. prop, sitting down, seated, and so, well to do in the world, rich. the derivation _ab assis duendis_ is therefore to be rejected. servius tullius divided the roman people into two classes, _assidui, i. e._ the rich, who could sit down and take their ease, and _proletarii_, or _capite censi_, the poor."--riddle, in voc. _assiduus_, quoting this passage. one does not see, however, why aelius and cicero should not understand the meaning and derivation of a latin word. smith's dict. ant. takes no notice of the word at all.] [footnote : see chap. x.] proofreaders team [illustration: marcus tullius cicero] de amicitia, scipio's dream by cicero translated, with an introduction and notes by andrew p. peabody synopsis. * * * * * de amicitia . introduction. . reputation of laelius for wisdom. the curiosity to know how he bore the death of scipio. . his grounds of consolation in his bereavement . he expresses his faith in immortality. desires perpetual memory in this world of the friendship between himself and scipio. . true friendship can exist only among good men. . friendship defined. . benefits derived from friendship. . friendship founded not on need, but on nature. . the relation of utility to friendship. . causes for the separation of friends. . how far love for friends may go. . wrong never to be done at a friend's request. . theories that degrade friendship . how friendships are formed. . friendlessness wretched. . the limits of friendship. . in what sense and to what degree friends are united. how friends are to be chosen and tested. . the qualities to be sought in a friend. . old friends not to be forsaken for new. . the duties of friendship between persons differing in ability, rank, or position. . how friendships should be dissolved, and how to guard against the necessity of dissolving them. . unreasonable expectations of friends. mutual respect necessary in true friendship. . friendship necessary for all men. . truth-telling, though it often gives offence, an essential duty from friend to friend. . the power of truth. the arts of flattery. . flattery availing only with the feeble-minded. . virtue the soul of friendship. laelius describes the intimacy of the friendship between himself and scipio. * * * * * scipio's dream. . scipio's visit to masinissa. circumstances under which the dream occurred. . appearance of the elder africanus, and of his own father, to scipio. prophecy of scipio's successes and honors, with an intimation of his death by the hands of his kindred. . conditions on which heaven may be won. . the nine spheres that constitute the universe. . the music of the spheres. . the five zones of the earth. . brevity and worthlessness of earthly fame. . all souls eternal. . the soul to be trained for immortality. the fate of those who merge their souls in sense. introduction de amicitia. the _de amicitia_, inscribed, like the _de senectute_, to atticus, was probably written early in the year b.c., during cicero's retirement, after the death of julius caesar and before the conflict with antony. the subject had been a favorite one with greek philosophers, from whom cicero always borrowed largely, or rather, whose materials he made fairly his own by the skill, richness, and beauty of his elaboration, some passages of this treatise were evidently suggested by plato; and aulus gellius says that cicero made no little use of a now lost essay of theophrastus on friendship. in this work i am especially impressed by cicero's dramatic power. but for the mediocrity of his poetic genius, he might have won pre-eminent honor from the muse of tragedy. he here so thoroughly enters into the feelings of laelius with reference to scipio's death, that as we read we forget that it is not laelius himself who is speaking. we find ourselves in close sympathy with him, as if he were telling us the story of his bereavement, giving utterance to his manly fortitude and resignation and portraying his friend's virtues from the unfading image phototyped on his own loving memory. in other matters too cicero goes back to the time of laelius and assumes his point of view assigning to him just the degree of foresight which he probably possessed and making not the slightest reference to the very different aspect in which he himself had learned to regard and was wont to represent the personages and events of that earlier period. thus while cicero traced the downfall of the republic to changes in the body politic that had taken place or were imminent and inevitable when scipio died he makes laelius perceive only a slight though threatening deflection from what had been in the earlier time [footnote ]. so too though cicero was annoyed more than by almost any other characteristic of his age by the prevalence of the epicurean philosophy and ascribed to it in a very large degree the demoralization of men in public life with laelius the doctrines of this school are represented as they must have been in fact as new and unfamiliar. in time laelius is here made to say not a word which he being the man that he was and at the date assumed for this dialogue might not have said himself; and it may be doubted whether a report of one of his actual conversations would have seemed more truly genuine. this is a rare gift often sought indeed yet sought in vain not only by dramatists who have very [footnote _deflexit jam aliquantul im_] seldom attained it but by authors of a very great diversity of type and culture. one who undertakes to personate a character belonging to an age not his own hardly ever fails of manifest anachronisms. the author finds it utterly impossible to fit the antique mask so closely as not now and then to show through its chinks his own more modern features, while this form of internal evidence never fails to betray an intended forgery however skilfully wrought. on the other hand there is no surer proof of the genuineness of a work purporting to be of an earlier but alleged to be of a later origin than the absence of all tokens of a time subsequent to the earliest date claimed for it. [footnote: thus among the many proofs of the genuineness of our canonical gospels perhaps none is more conclusive than the fact that though evidently written by unskilled men they contain not a trace or token of certain opinions known to have been rife even before the close of the first christian century; while the (so called) apocryphal gospels bear, throughout, such vestiges of their later origin as would neutralize the strongest testimony imaginable in behalf of their primitive antiquity.] in connection with this work it should be borne in mind that the special duties of friendship constituted an essential department of ethics in the ancient world and that the relation of friend to friend was regarded as on the same plane with that of brother to brother. no treatise on morals would have been thought complete had this subject been omitted. not a few modern writers have attempted the formal treatment of friendship but while the relation of kindred minds and souls has lost none of its sacredness and value, the establishment of a code of rules for it ignores on the one hand the spontaneity of this relation, and on the other hand, its entire amenableness to the laws and principles that should restrict and govern all human intercourse and conduct. shaftesbury, in his 'characteristics,' in his exquisite vein of irony sneers at christianity for taking no cognizance of friendship either in its precepts or in its promises. jeremy taylor, however, speaks of this feature of christianity as among the manifest tokens of its divine origin, and soame jenyns takes the same ground in a treatise expressly designed to meet the objections and cavils of shaftesbury and other deistical writers of his time. these authors are all in the right and all in the wrong, as to the matter of fact. there is no reason why christianity should prescribe friendship which is a privilege, not a duty, or should essay to regulate it, for its only ethical rule of strict obligation is the negative rule which would lay out for it a track that shall never interfere with any positive duty selfward, manward or godward. but in the life of the founder of christianity, who teaches, most of all, by example, friendship has its apogee,--its supreme pre-eminence and honor. he treats his apostles and speaks of and to them, not as mere disciples but as intimate and dearly beloved friends, among these there are three with whom he stands in peculiarly near relations, and one of the three was singled out by him in dying for the most sacred charge that he left on the earth, while at the same time that disciple shows in his gospel that he had obtained an inside view so to speak, of his master's spiritual life and of the profounder sense of his teachings which is distinguished by contrast rather than by comparison from the more superficial narratives of the other evangelists. but christianity has done even more than this for friendship. it has superseded its name by fulfilling its offices to a degree of perfectness which had never entered into the ante-christian mind. man shrinks from solitude. he feels inadequate to bear the burdens, meet the trials, and wage the conflicts of this mortal life, alone. orestes always needed and craved a pylades, but often failed to find one. this inevitable yearning, when it met no human response found still less to satisfy it in the objects of worship. its gods, though in great part deified men, could not be relied on for sympathy, support or help. the stronger spirits did not believe in them, the feebler looked upon them only with awe and dread. but christianity, in its anthropomorphism, which is its strongest hold on faith and trust, insures for the individual man in a divine humanity precisely what friends might essay to do yet could do but imperfectly for him. it proffers the tender sympathy and helpfulness of him who bears the griefs and carries the sorrows of each and all; while the near view that it presents of the life beyond death inspires the sense of unbroken union with friends in heaven, and of the fellow-feeling of "a cloud of witnesses" beside. thus while friendship in ordinary life is never to be spurned when it may be had without sacrifice of principle, it is less a necessity than when man's relations with the unseen world gave no promise of strength, aid, or comfort. experience has deepened my conviction that what is called a free translation is the only fit rendering of latin into english; that is, the only way of giving to the english reader the actual sense of the latin writer. this last has been my endeavor. the comparison is, indeed, exaggerated; but it often seems to me, in unrolling a compact latin sentence, as if i were writing out in words the meaning of an algebraic formula. a single word often requires three or four as its english equivalent. yet the language is not made obscure by compression. on the contrary, there is no other language in which it is so hard to bury thought or to conceal its absence by superfluous verbiage. i have used beier's edition of the _de amicitia_, adhering to it in the very few cases in which other good editions have a different reading. there are no instances in which the various readings involve any considerable diversity of meaning. laelius. caius laelius sapiens, the son of caius laelius, who was the life-long friend of scipio africanus the elder, was born b.c. , a little earlier in the same year with his friend africanus the younger. he was not undistinguished as a military commander, as was proved by his successful campaign against viriathus, the lusitanian chieftain, who had long held the roman armies at bay, and had repeatedly gained signal advantages over them. he was known in the state, at first as leaning, though moderately and guardedly, to the popular side, but after the disturbances created by the gracchi, as a strong conservative. he was a learned and accomplished man, was an elegant writer,--though while the latin tongue retained no little of its archaic rudeness,--and was possessed of some reputation as an orator. though bearing his part in public affairs, holding at intervals the offices of tribune, praetor, and consul, and in his latter years attending with exemplary fidelity to such duties as belonged to him as a member of the college of augurs, he yet loved retirement, and cultivated, so far as he was able, studious and contemplative habits. he was noted for his wise economy of time. to an idle man who said to him, "i have sixty years" [_sexaginta annos habeo._] (that is, i am sixty years old), he replied, "do you mean the sixty years which you have not?" his private life was worthy of all praise for the virtues that enriched and adorned it; and its memory was so fresh after the lapse of more than two centuries, that seneca, who well knew the better way which he had not always strength to tread, advises his young friend lucilius to "live with laelius;" [_vire cum laelio._] that is, to take his life as a model. the friendship of laelius and the younger scipio africanus well deserves the commemoration which it has in this dialogue of cicero. it began in their boyhood, and continued without interruption till scipio's death. laelius served in africa, mainly that he might not be separated from his friend. to each the other's home was as his own. they were of one mind as to public men and measures, and in all probability the more pliant nature of laelius yielded in great measure to the stern and uncompromising adherence of scipio to the cause of the aristocracy. while they were united in grave pursuits and weighty interests, we have the most charming pictures of their rural and seaside life together, even of their gathering shells on the shore, and of fireside frolics in which they forgot the cares of the republic, ceased to be stately old romans, and played like children in vacation-time. fannius. caius fannius strabo in early life served with high reputation in africa, under the younger africanus, and afterward in spain, in the war with viriathus. like his father-in-law, he was versed in the philosophy of the stoic school, under the tuition of panaetius. he was an orator, as were almost all the romans who aimed at distinction; but we have no reason to suppose that he in this respect rose above mediocrity. he wrote a history, of which cicero speaks well, and which sallust commends for its accuracy; but it is entirely lost, and we have no direct information even as to the ground which it covered. it seems probable, however, that it was a history either of the third of the punic wars, or of all of them; for plutarch quotes from him--probably from his history --the statement that he, fannius, and tiberius gracchus were the first to mount the walls of carthage when the city was taken. scaevola. quintus mucius scaevola filled successively most of the important offices of the state, and was for many years, and until death, a member of the college of augurs. he was eminent for his legal learning, and to a late and infirm old age was still consulted in questions of law, never refusing to receive clients at any moment after daylight. but while he was regarded as foremost among the jurists of his time, he professed himself less thoroughly versed in the laws relating to mortgages than two of his coevals, to whom he was wont to send those who brought cases of this class for his opinion or advice. he was remarkable for early rising, constant industry, and undeviating punctuality,--at the meetings of the senate being always the first on the ground. no man held a higher reputation than scaevola for rigid and scrupulous integrity. it is related of him that when as a witness in court he had given testimony full, clear, strong, and of the most damnatory character against the person on trial, he protested against the conviction of the defendant on his testimony, if not corroborated, on the principle, held sacred in the jewish law, that it would be a dangerous precedent to suffer the issue of any case to depend on the intelligence and veracity of a single witness. when, after marius had been driven from the city, sulla asked the senate to declare him by their vote a public enemy, scaevola stood in a minority of one; and when sulla urged him to give his vote in the affirmative, his reply was: "although you show me the military guard with which you have surrounded the senate-house, although you threaten me with death, you will never induce me, for the little blood still in an old man's veins, to pronounce marius--who has been the preserver of the city and of italy--an enemy." his daughter married lucius licinius crassus, who had such reverence tor his father-in-law, that, when a candidate for the consulship, he could not persuade himself in the presence of scaevola to cringe to the people, or to adopt any of the usual self-humiliating methods of canvassing for the popular vote. scipio's dream. palimpsests [footnote: _rubbed again_,--the parchment, or papyrus, having been first polished for use, and then rubbed as clean as possible, to be used a second time.]--the name and the thing--are at least as old as cicero. in one of his letters he banters his friend trebatius for writing to him on a palimpsest,[footnote: _in palimpsesto_.] and marvels what there could have been on the parchment which he wanted to erase. this was a device probably resorted to in that age only in the way in which rigid economists of our day sometimes utilize envelopes and handbills. but in the dark ages, when classical literature was under a cloud and a ban, and when the scanty demand for writing materials made the supply both scanty and precarious, such manuscripts of profane authors as fell into the hands of ecclesiastical copyists were not unusually employed for transcribing the works of the christian fathers or the lives of saints. in such cases the erasion was so clumsily performed as often to leave distinct traces of the previous letters. the possibility of recovering lost writings from these palimpsests was first suggested by montfaucon in the seventeenth century; but the earliest successful experiment of the kind was made by bruns, a german scholar, in the latter part of the eighteenth, century. the most distinguished laborer in this field has been angelo mai, who commenced his work in on manuscripts in the ambrosian library at milan, of which he was then custodian. transferred to the vatican library at rome, he discovered there, in , a considerable portion of cicero's _de republica_, which had been obliterated, and replaced by saint augustine's commentary on the psalms. this latter being removed by appropriate chemical applications, large portions of the original writing remained legible, and were promptly given to the public. this treatise cicero evidently considered, and not without reason, as his master-work. it was written in the prime of his mental vigor, in the fifty-fourth year of his age, after ample experience in the affairs of state, and while he still hoped, more than he feared for the future of rome. his object was to discuss in detail the principles and forms of civil government, to define the grounds of preference for a republic like that of rome in its best days, and to describe the duties and responsibilities of a good citizen, whether in public office or in private life. he regarded this treatise, in its ethics, as his own directory in the government of his province of cilicia, and as binding him, by the law of self-consistency, to unswerving uprightness and faithfulness, he refers to these six books on the republic as so many hostages [footnote: _praedibus_.] for his uncorrupt integrity and untarnished honor, and makes them his apology to atticus for declining to urge an extortionate demand on the city of salamis. the work is in the form of dialogues, in which, with several interlocutors beside, the younger africanus and laelius are the chief speakers; and it is characterized by the same traits of dramatic genius to which i have referred in connection with the _de amicitia_. the _de republica_ was probably under interdict during the reigns of the augustan dynasty; men did not dare to copy it, or to have it known that they possessed it; and when it might have safely reappeared, the republic had faded even from regretful memory, and there was no desire to perpetuate a work devoted to its service and honor. thus the world had lost the very one of all cicero's writings for which he most craved immortality. the portions of it which mai has brought to light fully confirm cicero's own estimate of its value, and feed the earnest--it is to be feared the vain--desire for the recovery of the entire work. scipio's dream, which, is nearly all that remains of the sixth book of the _de republica_, had survived during the interval for which the rest of the treatise was lost to the world. macrobius, a grammarian of the fifth century, made it the text of a commentary of little present interest or value, but much prized and read in the middle ages. the dream, independently of the commentary, has in more recent times passed through unnumbered editions, sometimes by itself, sometimes with cicero's ethical writings, sometimes with the other fragments of the _de republica_. in the closing dialogue of the _de republica_ the younger africanus says: "although to the wise the consciousness of noble deeds is a most ample reward of virtue, yet this divine virtue craves, not indeed statues that need lead to hold them to their pedestals, nor yet triumphs graced by withering laurels, but rewards of firmer structure and more enduring green." "what are these?" says laelius. scipio replies by telling his dream. the time of the vision was near the beginning of the third punic war, when scipio, no longer in his early youth, was just entering upon the career in which he gained pre-eminent fame, thenceforward to know neither shadow nor decline. * * * * * i have used for scipio's dream, creuzer and moser's edition of the _de republica_. cicero de amicitia * * * * * quintus mucius, the augur, used to repeat from memory, and in the most pleasant way, many of the sayings of his father-in-law caius laelius, never hesitating to apply to him in all that he said his surname of the wise. when i first put on the robe of manhood [footnote: in the earliest time a boy put on the _toga virilis_ when he had completed his sixteenth year, in cicero's time pupilage ceased a year earlier and by justinin's code the period at which it legally ceased was the commencement of the fifteenth year. the scaevola to whom cicero was thus taken was quintus mucius (scaevola) the augur, already named.] my father took me to scaevola and so commended me to his kind offices, that thenceforward, so far as was possible and fitting i kept my place at the old man's side. [footnote: it was customary for youth in training for honorable positions in the state to attach themselves especially to men of established character and reputation, to attend them to public places, and to remain near them whenever anything was to be learned from their conversation, their legal opinions, their public harangues, or their pleas before the courts. distinguished citizens deemed themselves honored by a retinue of such attendants. cicero, in the _de officiis_, says that a young man may best commend himself to the early esteem and confidence of the community by such an intimacy.] i thus laid up in my memory many of his elaborate discussions of important subjects, as well as many of his utterances that had both brevity and point, and my endeavor was to grow more learned by his wisdom. after his death i stood in a similar relation to the high-priest scaevola, [footnote: as cicero says, the most eloquent of jurists, and the most learned jurist among the eloquent. he was at the same time pre-eminent for moral purity and integrity. it was he, who, as cicero (_de officiis_, iii. ) relates, insisted on paying for an estate that he bought a much larger sum than was asked for it, because its price had been fixed far below its actual value.] whom i venture to call the foremost man of our city both in ability and in uprightness. but of him i will speak elsewhere. i return to the augur. while i recall many similar occasions, i remember in particular that at a certain time when i and a few of his more intimate associates were sitting with him in the semicircular apartment [footnote: latin, _hemicyclio,_ perhaps, a semicircular seat.] in his house where he was wont to receive his friends, the conversation turned on a subject about which almost every one was then talking, and which you, atticus, certainly recollect, as you were much in the society of publius sulpicius; namely, the intense hatred with which sulpicius, when tribune of the people, opposed quintus pompeius, then consul, [footnote: the quarrel arose from the zealous espousal of the marian faction by sulpicius, who resorted to arms, in order to effect the incorporation of the new citizens from without the city among the previously existing tribes. hence a series of tumults and conflicts, in one of which a son of pompeius lost his life.] with whom he had lived in the closest and most loving union,--a subject of general surprise and regret. having incidentally mentioned this affair, scaevola proceeded to give us the substance of a conversation on friendship, which laelius had with him and his other son-in-law, caius fannius, the son of marcus, a few days after the death of africanus. i committed to memory the sentiments expressed in that discussion, and i bring them out in the book which i now send you. i have put them into the form of a dialogue, to avoid the too frequent repetition of "said i" and "says he," and that the discussion may seem as if it were held in the hearing of those who read it. while you, indeed, have often urged me to write something about friendship, the subject seems to me one of universal interest, and at the same time specially appropriate to our intimacy. i have therefore been very ready to seek the profit of many by complying with your request. but as in the _cato major_, the work on old age inscribed to you, i introduced the old man cato as leading the discussion, because there seemed to be no other person better fitted to talk about old age than one who had been an aged man so long, and in his age had been so exceptionally vigorous, so, as we had heard from our fathers of the peculiarly memorable intimacy of caius laelius and publius scipio, it appeared appropriate to put into the mouth of laelius what scaevola remembered as having been said by him when friendship was the subject in on the authority of men of an earlier generation, and illustrious in their time, seems somehow to be of specially commanding influence on the reader's mind. thus, as i read my own book on old age, i am sometimes so affected that i feel as if not i, but cato, were talking. but as i then wrote as an old man to an old man about old age, so in this book i write as the most loving of friends to a friend about friendship. [footnote: in the latin we have here two remarkable series of assonances, rhythmical to the ear, and though translatable in sense not so in euphony. "ut tum _senex_ ad _senem_ de _senectute,_ sic hoc libro ad _amicum amicissimus_, de _amicitia_ scripsi."] then cato was the chief speaker, than whom there was in his time scarcely any one older, and no one his superior in intellect, now laelius shall hold the first place, both as a wise man (for so he was regarded), and as excelling in all that can do honor to friendship. i want you for the while to turn your mind away from me, and to imagine that it is laelius who is speaking. caius fannius and quintus mucius come to their father-in-law after the death of africanus. they commence the conversation, laelius answers them. in reading all that he says about friendship, you will recognize the picture of your own friendship for me. fannius it is as you say, [footnote: the reference is to what laelius is supposed to have said already. the dialogue, as given here, is made to commence in the midst of a conversation.] laelius, for there never was a better man, or one more justly renowned, than africanus, but you ought to bear it in mind that the eyes of all are turned upon you at this time, for they both call you and think you wise. this distinction has been latterly given to cato, and you know that in the days of our fathers lucius atilius [footnote: the first roman known to have borne the surname of sapiens he was one of the earliest of the juriconsults who took pupils.] was in like manner surnamed the wise, but both of them were so called for other reasons than those which have given you this name,--atilius, for his reputation as an adept in municipal law, cato, for the versatility of his endowments for there were reported to his honor many measures wisely planned and vigorously carried through in the senate, and many cases skilfully defended in the courts, so that in his old age the wise was generally applied to him as a surname. but you are regarded as wise on somewhat different grounds, not only for your disposition and your moral worth, but also for your knowledge and learning, and not in the estimation of the common people, but in that of men of advanced culture, you are deemed wise in a sense in which there is reason to suppose that in greece--where those who look into these things most discriminatingly do not reckon the seven who bear the name as on the list of wise men--no one was so regarded except the man in athens whom the oracle of apollo designated as the wisest of men.[footnote: socrates.] in fine, you are thought to be wise in this sense, that you regard all that appertains to your happiness as within your own soul, and consider the calamities to which man is liable as of no consequence in comparison with virtue. i am therefore asked, and so, i believe, is scaevola, who is now with us, how you bear the death of africanus; and the question is put to us the more eagerly, because on the fifth day of the month next following, [footnote: latin, _proxumis nonis_. the _nones_, the ninth day before the _ides_, fell on the fifth of the month, except in march. may, july, and october, when the _ides_ were two days later. we have elsewhere intimation that the augurs held a meeting for business on the _nones_ of each month.] when we met, as usual, in the garden of decimus brutus the augur, to discuss our official business, you were absent, though it was your habit always on that day to give your most careful attendance to the duties of your office. scaevola. as fannius says, caius laelius, many have asked me this question. but i answered in accordance with what i have seen, that you were bearing with due moderation your sorrow for the death of this your most intimate friend, though you, with your kindly nature, could not fail to be moved by it; but that your absence from the monthly meeting of the augurs was due to illness, not to grief. laelius. you were in the right, scaevola, and spoke the truth; for it was not fitting, had i been in good health, for me to be detained by my own sad feeling from this duty, which i have never failed to discharge; nor do i think that a man of firm mind can be so affected by any calamity as to neglect his duty. it is, indeed, friendly in you, fannius, to tell me that better things are said of me than i feel worthy of or desire to have said; but it seems to me that you underrate cato. for either there never was a wise man (and so i am inclined to think), or if there has been such a man, cato deserves the name. to omit other things, how nobly did he bear his son's death! i remembered paulus, [footnote: paulus aemilius, who lost two sons, one a few days before, the other shortly after, the triumph decreed to him for the conquest of the macedonian king perseus.] i had seen gallus,[footnote: gaius sulpicius gallus, mentioned as an astronomer by cicero, _de officiis_, i. , and _de senectute_, .] in their bereavements. but they lost boys; cato, a man in his prime and respected by all.[footnote: the younger cato had won fame as a soldier and distinguished eminence as a jurist. at the time of his death he was praetor elect.] beware how you place in higher esteem than cato even the man whom apollo, as you say, pronounced superlatively wise; for it is the deeds of cato, the sayings of socrates, that are held in honor. thus far in reply to fannius. as regards myself, i will now answer both of you. . were i to deny that i feel the loss of scipio, while i leave it to those who profess themselves wise in such matters to say whether i ought to feel it, i certainly should be uttering a falsehood. i do indeed feel my bereavement of such a friend as i do not expect ever to have again, and as i am sure i never had beside. but i need no comfort from without, i console myself, and, chief of all, i find comfort in my freedom from the apprehension that oppresses most men when their friends die, for i do not think that any evil has befallen scipio. if evil has befallen, it is to me. but to be severely afflicted by one's own misfortunes is the token of self-love, not of friendship. as for him, indeed who can deny that the issue has been to his pre-eminent glory? unless he had wished--what never entered into his mind--an endless life on earth what was there within human desire that did not accrue to the man who in his very earliest youth by his incredible ability and prowess surpassed the highest expectations that all had formed of his boyhood, who never sought the consulship, yet was made consul twice, the first time before the legal age,[footnote: he left the army in africa b.c. for home to offer himself as a candidate for the aedileship, for which he had just reached the legal age of thirty seven; but such accounts of his ability efficiency, and courage had preceded him and followed him from the army, that he was chosen consul, virtually by popular acclamation.] the second time in due season as to himself, but almost too late for his country,[footnote: the war in spain had been continued for several years, with frequent disaster and disgrace to the roman army, when scipio, b.c. , was chosen consul with a special view to this war, which he closed by the capture and destruction of numantia, in connection with which, it must be confessed, his record is rather that of a relentless and sanguinary enemy than of a generous and placable antagonist.] who by the overthrow of two cities implacably hostile to the roman empire put a period, not only to the wars that were but to wars that else must have been? what shall i say of the singular affability of his manners, of his filial piety to his mother, [footnote: he was the son of paulus aemilius, and the adopted son of publius cornelius scipio africanus. his mother, divorced for no assignable reason, was left very poor, and her son, on the death of the widow of his adopting father, gave her the entire patrimony that came into his possession.] of his generosity to his sisters, [footnote: after his mother's death, law and custom authorized him to resume what he had given her, but he bestowed it on his sisters, thus affording them the means of living comfortably and respectably.] of his integrity in his relations with all men? how dear he was to the community was shown by the grief at his funeral. what benefit, then, could he have derived from a few more years? for, although old age be not burdensome,--as i remember that cato, the year before he died, maintained in a conversation with me and scipio, [footnote: the _de senectute_]--it yet impairs the fresh vigor which scipio had not begun to lose. thus his life was such that nothing either in fortune or in fame could be added to it, while the suddenness of his death must have taken away the pain of dying. of the mode of his death it is hard to speak with certainty, you are aware what suspicions are abroad. [footnote: he retired to his sleeping apartment apparently in perfect health, and was found dead on his couch in the morning,--as was rumored, with marks of violence on his neck. his wife was sempronia, the sister of the gracchi whose agrarian schemes he had vehemently opposed. she was suspected of having at least given admission to the assassin, and even her mother, the cornelia who has been regarded as unparelleled among roman women for the virutes appertaining to a wife and mother, did not escape the charge of complicity. her son caius was also among those suspected, but the more probable opinion is that papirius carbo was alone answerable for the crime. carbo had been scipio's most bitter enemy and had endeavoured to inflame the people against him as their enemy.] but this may be said with truth that of the many days of surpassing fame and happiness which publius scipio saw in his lifetime, the most glorious was the day before his death when on the adjournment of the senate he was escorted home by the conscript fathers, the roman people, the men of latium and the allies, [footnote: scipio had at that session of the senate proposed a measure in the utmost degree offensive to caius gracchus and his party. the law of tiberius gracchus would have disposed, at the hands of the commissioners appointed under it, of large tracts of land belonging to the italian allies. scipio's plan provided that such lands should be taken out of the jurisdiction of the commissioners, and that matters relating to them should be adjudged by a different board to be specially appointed--a measure which would have been a virtual abrogation of the agrarian law. on this account he had his honorable escort home, and on this account, in all probability, he was mudered.]--so that from so high a grade of honor he seems to have passed on into the assembly of the gods rather than to have gone down into the underworld. for i am far from agreeing with those who have of late promulgated the opinion that the soul perishes with the body and that death blots out the whole being. [footnote: the reference here is of course to the epicurians. this school of philosophy had grown very rapidly, and numbered many disciples when this essay was written; but in the time of laelius it had but recently invaded rome, and amafanius, who must have been his contemporary, was the earliest roman writer who expounded its doctrine] i on the other hand attach superior value to the authority of the ancients whether that of our ancestors who established religious rites for the dead which they certainly would not have done if they had thought the dead wholly unconcerned in such observances [footnote: this is sound reasoning as these rites were annually renewed and consisted in great part of the invocation of ancestors--a custom which could not have originated if those ancestors were supposed to be utterly dead. this passage may remind the reader of the answer of jesus christ to the sadducees, who denied that the pentateuch contained any intimation of immortality. he quotes the passage in which god is represented as saying, "i am the god of abraham, and the god of isaac, and the god of jacob," and adds, "god is not the god of the dead, but of the living," implying that ancestors whom the writer of that record supposed to be dead could not have been thus mentioned.] or that of the former greek colonists in this country who by their schools and teaching made southern italy [footnote: latin _magna graecia_-the name given to the cluster of greek colonies that were scattered thick along the shore of southern italy. at croton in magna graecia pythagoras established his school and the colonies were the chief seat and seminary of his philosophy which taught the immortality of the soul.]--now in its decline, then flourishing--a seat of learning, or that of him whom the oracle of apollo pronounced the wisest of men who said not one thing to-day, another to-morrow, as many do, but the same thing always, maintaining that the souls of men are divine, and that when they go out from the body, the return to heaven is open to them, and direct and easy in proportion to their integrity and excellence. this was also the opinion of scipio, who seemed prescient of the event so near, when, a very short time before his death, he discoursed for three successive days about the republic in the presence of philus, manilius, and several others,--you, scaevola, having gone with me to the conferences,--and near the close of the discussion he told us what he said that he had heard from africanus in a vision during sleep. [footnote: the _de republica_ consists of dialogues on three successive days in scipio's garden, and scipio is the chief speaker. the work was supposed to be irrecoverably lost, with the exception of this dream of scipio and a few fragments, but considerable portions of it were discovered in a palimpsest in . the dream of scipio will be found in the latter part of this volume.] if it is true that the soul of every man of surpassing excellence takes flight, as it were, from the custody and bondage of the body, to whom can we imagine the way to the gods more easy than to scipio? i therefore fear to mourn for this his departure, lest in such grief there be more of envy than of friendship. but if truth incline to the opinion that soul and body have the same end, and that there is no remaining consciousness, then, as there is nothing good in death, there certainly is nothing of evil for if consciousness be lost, the case is the same with scipio as if he had never been born, though that he was born i have so ample reason to rejoice, and this city will be glad so long as it shall stand thus in either event, with him, as i have said, all has issued well, though with great discomfort for me, who more fittingly, as i entered into life before him ought to have left it before him. but i so enjoy the memory of our friendship, that i seem to have owed the happiness of my life to my having lived with scipio, with whom i was united in the care of public interests and of private affairs, who was my companion at home and served by my side in the army [footnote: laelus went with scipio on the campaign which resulted in the destruction of carthage.] and with whom--and therein lies the special virtue of friendship--i was in perfect harmony of purpose, taste, and sentiment. thus i am now not so much delighted by the reputation for wisdom of which fannius has just spoken, especially as i do not deserve it, as by the hope that our friendship will live in eternal remembrance, and this i have the more at heart because from all ages scarce three or four pairs of friends are on record, [footnote: those referred to probably theseus and peirithous, achilles and patroclus, orestes and pylades, damon and phintius,--all but the last, perhaps the last also, mythical] on which list i cannot but hope that the friendship of scipio and laelius will be known to posterity. fannius. it cannot fail, laelius, to be as you desire. but since you have made mention of friendship, and we are at leisure, you will confer on me a very great favor, and, i trust, on scaevola too, if, as you are wont to do on other subjects when your opinion is asked, you will discourse to us on friendship, and tell us what you think about it, in what estimation you hold it, and what rules you would give for it. scaevola. this will indeed be very gratifying to me, and had not fannius anticipated me, i was about to make the same request. you thus will bestow a great kindness on both of us. . laelius. i certainly would not hesitate, if i had confidence in my own powers; for the subject is one of the highest importance, and, as fannius says, we are at leisure. it is the custom of philosophers, especially among the greeks, to have subjects assigned to them, which they discuss even without premeditation. [footnote: this was the boast and pride of the greek sophists.] this is a great accomplishment, and requires no small amount of exercise. i therefore think that you ought to seek the treatment of friendship by those who profess this art. i can only advise you to prefer friendship to all things else within human attainment, insomuch as nothing beside is so well fitted to nature,--so well adapted to our needs whether in prosperous or in adverse circumstances. but i consider this as a first principle--that friendship can exist only between good men. in thus saying, i would not be so rigid in definition [footnote: latin. _neque ut ad ilium reseco_, literally, nor in this matter do i cut to the quick.] as those who establish specially subtle distinctions, [footnote: the stoics of the more rigid type, who maintained that the wise man alone is good, but denied that the truly wise man had yet made his appearance on the earth.] with literal truth it may be, but with little benefit to the common mind; for they will not admit that any man who is not wise is a good man. this may indeed be true. but they understand by wisdom a state which no mortal has yet attained; while we ought to look at those qualities which are to be found in actual exercise and in common life, not at those which exist only in fancy or in aspiration. caius fabricius, manius curius, tiberius coruncanius, wise as they were in the judgment of our fathers, i will consent not to call wise by the standard of these philosophers. let them keep for themselves the name of wisdom, which is invidious and of doubtful meaning, if they will only admit that these may have been good men. but they will not grant even this; they insist on denying the name of good to any but the wise. i therefore adopt the standard of common sense. [footnote: latin _agamus igitur piagui (ut aiunt) minerva_, that is with a less refined, a grosser wisdom more nearly conformed to the sound, if somewhat crass, common-sense of the majority.] those who integrity, equity, and kindness win approval, who are entirely free from avarice, lust and the infirmities of a hasty temper, and in whom there is perfect consistency of character, in fine men like those whom i have named while they are regarded as good, ought to be so called, because to the utmost of human capacity they follow nature who is the best guide in living well. indeed, it seems to me thoroughly evident that there should be a certain measure of fellowship among all, but more intimate the nearer we approach one another. thus this feeling has more power between fellow-citizens than toward foreigners, between kindred than between those of different families. toward our kindred, nature herself produces a certain kind of friendship. but this lacks strength, and indeed friendship in its full sense, has precedence of kinship in this particular, that good-will may be taken away from kinship, not from friendship, for when good will is removed, friendship loses its name, while that of kinship remains. how great is the force of friendship we may best understand from this,--that out of the boundless society of the human race which nature has constituted, the sense of fellowship is so contracted and narrowed that the whole power of loving is bestowed on the union of two or a very few friends. friendship is nothing else than entire fellow feeling as to all things human and divine with mutual good-will and affection; ( ) and i doubt whether anything better than this, wisdom alone excepted, has been given to, man by the immortal gods some prefer riches to it, some, sound health, some, power, some, posts of honor, many, even sensual gratification. this last properly belongs to beasts, the others are precarious and uncertain, dependent not on our own choice so much as on the caprice of fortune. those, indeed, who regard virtue as the supreme good are entirely in the right, but it is virtue itself that produces and sustains friendship, not without virtue can friendship by any possibility exist. in saying this, however i would interpret virtue in accordance with our habits of speech and of life, not defining it, as some philosophers do, by high-sounding words, but numbering on the list of good men those who are commonly so regarded,--the pauli, the catos, the galli, the scipios, the phili mankind in general [ it may be doubted whether this close conformity of opinion and feeling is essential, or even favorable to friendship. the amicable comparison and collision of thought and sentiment are certainly consistent with, and often conducive to the most friendly intimacy. friends are not infrequently the complements, rather than the likeness, of each other. cicero and atticus were as close friends as scipio and laelius; but they were at many points exceedingly unlike. atticus had the tact and skill in worldly matters, which cicero lacked. atticus kept aloof from public affairs while cicero was unhappy whenever he could not imagine himself as taking a leading part in them. atticus was an epicurean, and cicero never lost an opportunity of attacking the epicurean philosophy.] are content with these. let us then leave out of the account such good men as are nowhere to be found. among such good men as there really are, friendship has more advantages than i can easily name. in the first, place, as ennius says;-- "how can life be worth living, if devoid of the calm trust reposed by friend in friend? what sweeter joy than in the kindred soul? whose converse differs not from self-communion?" how could you have full enjoyment of prosperity, unless with one whose pleasure in it was equal to your own? nor would it be easy to bear adversity, unless with the sympathy of one on whom it rested more heavily than on your own soul. then, too, other objects of desire are, in general, adapted, each to some specific purpose,--wealth, that you may use it; power, that you may receive the homage of those around you; posts of honor, that you may obtain reputation; sensual gratification, that you may live in pleasure; health, that you may be free from pain, and may have full exercise of your bodily powers and faculties. but friendship combines the largest number of utilities. wherever you turn, it is at hand. no place shuts it out. it is never unseasonable, never annoying. thus, as the proverb says, "you cannot put water or fire to more uses than friendship serves." i am not now speaking of the common and moderate type of friendship, which yet yields both pleasure and profit, but, of true and perfect friendship, like that which existed in the few instances that are held in special remembrance. such friendship at once enhances the lustre of prosperity, and by dividing and sharing adversity lessens its burden. . moreover, while friendship comprises the greatest number and variety of beneficent offices, it certainly has this special prerogative, that it lights up a good hope for the time to come, and thus preserves the minds that it sustains from imbecility or prostration in misfortune. for he, indeed, who looks into the face of a friend beholds, as it were, a copy of himself. thus the absent are present, and the poor are rich, and the weak are strong, and--what seems stranger still [footnote: literally, _what is harder to say_.]--the dead are alive, such is the honor, the enduring remembrance, the longing love, with which the dying are followed by the living; so that the death of the dying seems happy, the life of the living full of praise. [footnote: the sense of this sentence is somewhat overlaid by the rhetoric; yet it undoubtedly means that an absent friend is esteemed and honored in the person of the friend who not only loves him, but is regarded as representing him; that a poor friend enjoys the prosperity of his rich friend as if it were his own; that a weak friend feels his feebleness energized by the friend who in need will fight his battles for him; and that no man is suffered to lapse from the kind and reverent remembrances of those who see his likeness in the friend who keeps his memory green.] but if from the condition of human life you were to exclude all kindly union, no house, no city, could stand, nor, indeed, could the tillage of the field survive. if it is not perfectly understood what virtue there is in friendship and concord, it may be learned from dissension and discord. for what house is so stable, what state so firm, that it cannot be utterly overturned by hatred and strife? hence it may be ascertained how much good there is in friendship. it is said that a certain philosopher of agrigentum [footnote: empedocles. only a few fragments of his great poem are extant. his theory seems like a poetical version of newton's law of universal gravitation. the analogy between physical attraction and the mutual attraction of congenial minds and souls has its record in the french word _aimant_, denoting _loadstone_ or _magnet_.] sang in greek verse that it is friendship that draws together and discord that parts all things which subsist in harmony, and which have their various movements in nature and in the whole universe. the worth and power of friendship, too, all mortals understand, and attest by their approval in actual instances. thus, if there comes into conspicuous notice an occasion on which a friend incurs or shares the perils of his friend, who can fail to extol the deed with the highest praise? what shouts filled the whole theatre at the performance of the new play of my guest [footnote: or _host_; for the word _hospes_ may have either meaning. it denotes not the fact of giving or receiving hospitality, but the permanent and sacred relation established between host and guest. this relation has lost much of its character in modern civilization, and i doubt whether it has a name in any modern european language.] and friend marcus pacuvius, when--the king not knowing which of the two was orestes--pylades said that he was orestes, while orestes persisted in asserting that he was, as in fact he was, orestes! [footnote: among the many and conflicting legends about orestes is that which seems to have been the theme of the lost tragedy of pacuvius. orestes, after avenging on his mother and her paramour the murder of his father, in order to expiate the guilt of matricide, was directed by the delphian oracle to go to tauris, and to steal and transport to athens an image of artemis that had fallen from heaven. his friend pylades accompanied him on this expedition. they were seized by thoas the king, and orestes, as the principal offender, was to be sacrificed to artemis. his sister, iphigeneia, priestess of artemis, contrived their escape, and the three arrived safe at athens with the sacred image.] the whole assembly rose in applause at this mere fictitious representation. what may we suppose that they would have done, had the same thing occurred in real life? in that case nature herself displayed her power, when men recognized that as rightly done by another, which they would not have had the courage to do themselves. thus far, to the utmost of my ability as it seems to me, i have given you my sentiments concerning friendship. if there is more to be said, as i think that there is, endeavor to obtain it, if you see fit, of those who are wont to discuss such subjects. fannius. but we would rather have it from you. although i have often consulted those philosophers also, and have listened to them not unwillingly, yet the thread of your discourse differs somewhat from that of theirs. scaevola. you would say so all the more, fannius, had you been present in scipio's garden at that discussion about the republic, and heard what an advocate of justice he showed himself in answer to the elaborate speech of philus. [footnote: carneades, when on an embassy to rome, for the entertainment of his roman hosts, on one day delivered a discourse in behalf of justice as the true policy for the state, and on the next day delivered an equally subtile and eloquent discourse maintaining the opposite thesis. in the third book of the _de republica_ philus is made the "devil's advocate," and has assigned to him the championship of what we are wont to call a machiavelian policy, and, in general, of the morally wrong as the politically right. he is represented as taking the part reluctantly, saying that one consents to soil his hands in order to find gold, and he professes to give the substance of the famous discourse of carneades. laelius answers him, and, so far as we can judge from the fragments of his reply that are extant, with the preponderance of reason, which cicero intended should incline on the better side. there was perhaps a sublatent irony in making philus play this part; for he was an eminently upright man. valerius maximus eulogizes him for his rigid integrity and impartiality, and relates that when at the expiration of his consulship he was sent to take command of the army against numantia, he chose for his lieutenants metellus and pompeius, both his intensely bitter enemies, but the men best fitted for the service.] fannius. it was indeed easy for the man pre-eminently just to defend justice. scaevola. as to friendship, then, is not its defence easy for him who has won the highest celebrity on the ground of friendship maintained with pre-eminent faithfulness, consistency, and probity? . laelius. this is, indeed, the employing of force; for what matters the way in which you compel me? you at any rate do compel me; for it is both hard and unfair not to comply with the wishes of one's sons-in-law, especially in a case that merits favorable consideration. in reflecting, then, very frequently on friendship, the foremost question that is wont to present itself is, whether friendship is craved on account of conscious infirmity and need, so that in bestowing and receiving the kind offices that belong to it each may have that done for him by the other which he is least able to do for himself, reciprocating services in like manner; or whether, though this relation of mutual benefit is the property, of friendship it has yet another cause; more sacred and more noble, and derived more genuinely from the very nature of man. love, which in our language gives name to friendship, [footnote: _amor,--amicitia._] bears a chief part in unions of mutual benefit; for a revenue of service is levied even on those who are cherished in pretended friendship, and are treated with regard from interested motives. but in friendship there is nothing feigned, nothing pretended, and whatever there is in it is both genuine and spontaneous. friendship, therefore, springs from nature rather than from need,--from an inclination of the mind with a certain consciousness of love rather than from calculation of the benefit to be derived from it. its real quality may be discerned even in some classes of animals, which up to a certain time so love their offspring, and are so loved by them, that the mutual feeling is plainly seen,--a feeling which is much more clearly manifest in man, first, in the affection which exists between children and parents, and which can be dissolved only by atrocious guilt; and in the next place, in the springing up of a like feeling of love, when we find some one of manners and character congenial with our own, who becomes dear to us because we seem to see in him an illustrious example of probity and virtue. for there is nothing more lovable than virtue,--nothing which more surely wins affectionate regard, insomuch that on the score of virtue and probity we love even those whom we have never seen. who is there that does not recall the memory of caius fabricius, of manius curius, of tiberius coruncanras, whom he never saw, with some good measure of kindly feeling? on the other hand, who is there that can fail to hate tarquinius superbus, spurius cassius, spurius maelius? our dominion in italy was at stake in wars under two commanders, pyrrhus and hannibal. on account of the good faith of the one, we hold him in no unfriendly remembrance; [footnote: pyrrhus, after the only victory that he obtained over the romans, treated his prisoners with signal humanity, and restored them without ransom. see _de officiis_, i. ] the other because of his cruelty our people must always hate. [footnote: it may be doubted whether hannibal deserved the reproach here implied. the roman historians ascribe to him acts of cruelty no worse than their own generals were chargeable with: while nothing of the kind is related by either polybius, or plutarch. it is certain that after the battle of cannae he checked the needless slaughter of the roman fugitives, and livy relates several instances in which he paid funeral honors, to distinguished romans slain in battle. the intense hostility of the romans to carthage may have led to an unfair estimate of the great general's character, and to the invention or exaggeration of reports to his discredit.] . but if good faith has such attractive power that we love it in those whom we have never seen, or--what means still more--in an enemy, what wonder is it if the minds of men are moved to affection when they behold the virtue and goodness of those with whom they can become intimately united? love is, indeed, strengthened by favors received, by witnessing assiduity in one's service, and by habitual intercourse; and when these are added to the first impulse of the mind toward love, there flames forth a marvellously rich glow of affectionate feeling. if there are any who think that this proceeds from conscious weakness and the desire to have some person through whom one can obtain what he lacks, they assign, indeed, to friendship a mean and utterly ignoble origin, born, as they would have it, of poverty and neediness. if this were true, then the less of resource one was conscious of having in himself, the better fitted would he be for friendship. the contrary is the case; for the more confidence a man has in himself, and the more thoroughly he is fortified by virtue and wisdom, so that he is in need of no one, and regards all that concerns him as in his own keeping, the more noteworthy is he for the friendships which he seeks and cherishes. what? did africanus need me? not in the least by hercules. as little did i need him. but i was drawn to him by admiration of his virtue while he, in turn, loved me, perhaps from some favorable estimate of my character, and intimacy increased our mutual affection. but though utilities many and great resulted from our friendship, the cause of our mutual love did not proceed from the hope of what it might bring. for as we are beneficent and generous, not in order to exact kindnesses in return (for we do not put our kind offices to interest), but are by nature inclined to be generous, so, in my opinion, friendship is not to be sought for its wages, but because its revenue consists entirely in the love which it implies. those, however, who, after the manner of beasts, refer everything to pleasure, [footnote: the epicureans] think very differently. nor is it wonderful that they do, for men who have degraded all their thoughts to so mean and contemptible an end can rise to the contemplation of nothing lofty, nothing magnificent and divine. we may, therefore, leave them out of this discussion. but let us have it well understood that the feeling of love and the endearments of mutual affection spring from nature, in case there is a well-established assurance of moral worth in the person thus loved. those who desire to become friends approach each other, and enter into relation with each other, that each may enjoy the society and the character of him whom he has begun to love, and they are equal in love, and on either side are more inclined to bestow obligations than to claim a return, so that in this matter there is an honorable rivalry between them. thus will the greatest benefits be derived from friendship, and it will have a more solid and genuine foundation as tracing its origin to nature than if it proceeded from human weakness. for if it were utility that cemented friendships, an altered aspect of utility would dissolve them. but because nature cannot be changed, therefore true friendships are eternal. this may suffice for the origin of friendship, unless you have, perchance, some objection to what i have said. fannius. go on, laelius. i answer by the right of seniority for scaevola who is younger than i am. scaevola. i am of the same mind with you. let us then, hear farther. laelius. hear then, my excellent friends the substance of the frequent discussions on friendship between scipio and me. he indeed, said [footnote: the construction of this entire section is in the subjective imperfect depending on the _dicebat_ in the second sentence. it has seemed to me that the direct form of constiution which i have adopted is more consonant with the genius of our language.] that nothing is more difficult than for friendship to last through life; for friends happen to have conflicting interests, or different political opinions. then, again, as he often said, characters change, sometimes under adverse conditions, sometimes with growing years. he cited also the analogy of what takes place in early youth, the most ardent loves of boyhood being often laid aside with its robe. but if friendships last on into opening manhood, they are not infrequently broken up by rivalry in quest of a wife, or in the pursuit of some advantage which only one can obtain. [footnote: had cicero not been personating laelius, who died long before the quarrel occurred, he would undoubtedly have cited the case of servilius caepio and livius diusus. they married each other's sisters, and were united in the closest intimacy, and seemingly in the dearest mutual love; but as rivals in bidding for a ring at an auction-sale they had their first quarrel, which grew into intense mutual hatred, led almost to a civil war between their respective partisans, and bore no small part in starting the series of dissentions which issued in the social war, and the destruction of not far from three hundred thousand lives. i refer to this in a note, because it must have been fresh in cicero's memory, and had annotation been the habit of his time, he would most assuredly have given it the place which i now give it.] then, if friendships are of longer duration, they yet, as scipio said, are liable to be undermined by competition for office; and indeed there is nothing more fatal to friendship than, in very many cases, the greed of gain, and among some of the best of men the contest for place and fame, which has often engendered the most intense enmity between those who had been the closest friends. strong and generally just aversion, also, springs up when anything morally wrong is required of a friend; as when he is asked to aid in the gratification of impure desire, or to render his assistance in some unrighteous act,--in which case those who refuse, although their conduct is highly honorable, are yet charged by the persons whom they will not serve with being false to the claims of friendship, while those who dare to make such a demand of a friend profess, by the very demand, that they are ready to do anything and everything for a friend's sake. by such quarrels, not only are old intimacies often dissolved, but undying hatreds generated. so many of these perils hang like so many fates over friendship, that to escape them all seemed to scipio, as he said, to indicate not wisdom alone, but equally a rare felicity of fortune. . let us then, first, if you please, consider how far the love of friends ought to go. if coriolanus had friends, ought they to have helped him in fighting against his country, or should the friends of viscellinus [footnote: spurius cassius viscellinus, the author of the earliest agrarian law, passed, but never carried into execution. he was condemned to death,--probably a victim to the rancorous opposition of the patrician order, of which he was regarded as a recreant member by virtue of his advocacy of the rights or just claims of the _plebs_. cicero in early life was by no means so hostile to the principle underlying the agrarian laws, and to the memory of the gracchi, as he was after he had reached the highest offices in the gift of the people.] or those of spurius maelius [footnote: maelius, of the equestrian order, but of a plebeian family, obtained unbounded popularity with the _plebs_ by selling corn at a low price, and giving away large quantities of it, in a time of famine. he was charged with seeking kingly power, and, on account of his alleged movements with that purpose, cincinnatus was appointed dictator, and maelius, resisting a summons to his tribunal, was killed by ahala, his master of the horse. there seems to have been little evidence of his actual guilt.] have aided them in the endeavor to usurp regal power? we saw, indeed, tiberius gracchus, when he was disturbing the peace of the state, deserted by quintus tubero and others with whom he had been on terms of intimacy. but caius blossius, of cumae, the guest, [footnote: _hospes,_ guest, host, or both.] scaevola, of your family, coming to me, when i was in conference with the consuls laenas and rupilius, to implore pardon, urged the plea that he held tiberius gracchus in so dear esteem that he felt bound to do whatever he desired. i then asked him, "even if he had wanted you to set fire to the capitol, would you have done it?" he replied, "he never would have made such a request." "but if he had?" said i. "i would have obeyed him," was the answer. and, by hercules, he did as he said, or even more; for he did not so much yield obedience to the audacious schemes of tiberius gracchus, as he was foremost in them; he was not so much the companion of his madness, as its leader. therefore, in consequence of this folly, alarmed by the appointment of special judges for his trial, he fled to asia, entered the service of our enemies, and finally met the heavy and just punishment for his disloyalty to his country. [footnote: he took refuge with aristonicus, king of pergamus, then at war with rome; and when aristonicus was conquered, blossius committed suicide for fear of being captured by the roman army.] it is, then, no excuse for wrong-doing that you do wrong for the sake of a friend. indeed, since it may have been a belief in your virtue that has made one your friend, it is hard for friendship to last if you fall away from virtue. but if we should determine either to concede to friends whatever they may ask, or to exact from them whatever we may desire, we and they must be endowed with perfect wisdom, in order for our friendship to be blameless. we are speaking, however, of such friends as we have before our eyes, or as we have seen or have known by report,--of such as are found in common life. it is from these that we must take our examples, especially from such of them as make the nearest approach to perfect wisdom. we have learned from our fathers that papus aemilius was very intimate with caius luscinus, they having twice been consuls together, as well as colleagues in the censorship; and it is said also that manius curius and tiberius coruncanius lived in the closest friendship both with them and with each other. now we cannot suspect that either of these men would have asked of one of his friends anything inconsistent with good faith, or with an engagement sanctioned by oath, or with his duty to the state. indeed, to what purpose is it to say that among such men if one had asked anything wrong, he would not have obtained it? for they were men of the most sacred integrity; while to ask anything wrong of a friend and to do it when asked are alike tokens of deep depravity. but caius carbo and caius cato were the followers of tiberius gracchus, as was his brother caius, at first with little ardor, but now [footnote: _now_, that is, at the time at which this dialogue has its assumed date, immediately after scipio's death. at that time caius gracchus was acting as a commissioner under his brother's agrarian law.] most zealously. . as to friendship, then, let this law be enacted, that we neither ask of a friend what is wrong, nor do what is wrong at a friend's request. the plea that it was for a friend's sake is a base apology,--one that should never be admitted with regard to other forms of guilt, and certainly not as to crimes against the state. we, indeed, fannius and scaevola, are so situated that we ought to look far in advance for the perils that our country may incur. already has our public policy deviated somewhat from the method and course of our ancestors. tiberius gracchus attempted to exercise supreme power; nay, he really reigned for a few months. what like this had the roman people ever heard or seen before? what, after his death, the friends and kindred who followed him did in their revenge on publius scipio [footnote: publius cornelius scipio nasica, who took the lead of the senate in the assassination of tiberius gracchus, and incurred such popular odium that he could not safely stay in rome. he was sent on a fictitious mission to asia to get him out of the way of the people, and not daring to return, wandered with no settled habitation till his death at pergamum not long before the assumed date of this dialogue.] i cannot say without tears. we put up with carbo [footnote: carbo succeeded tiberius gracchus on the commission for carrying the agrarian law into execution, and was shortly afterward chosen tribune. he then proposed a law, permitting a tribune to be re-elected for an indefinite number of years. this law was vehemently opposed by scipio africanus the younger, and if he was really killed by carbo, it was probably on account of his hostility to carbo's ambitious schemes.] as well as we could in consideration of the recent punishment of tiberius gracchus; but i am in no mood to predict what is to be expected from the tribuneship of caius gracchus. meanwhile the evil is creeping upon us, from its very beginning fraught with threats of ruin. before recent events, [footnote: the reference undoubtedly here is to the papirian law which had just been passed before the assumed date of this dialogue, having been proposed and carried through by (caius _papirius_) carbo. by this law the use of the ballot was established in all matters of popular legislation.] you perceive how much degeneracy was indicated in the legalization of the ballot, first by gabinian, [footnote: by which magistrates were to be chosen by ballot.] then two years later by the cassian law. [footnote: by which the judges were to be chosen by ballot. with reference to the use of the ballot the parties in rome were prototypes of like parties in england. the voice of the people was for the ballot, on the ground that it made suffrage free, as it could not be when employers or patrons could dictate to their dependents and make them suffer for failure to vote in favor of their own candidates or measures. the aristocratic party opposed the ballot as fatal to their controlling influence, which many sincere patriots, like cicero, regarded as essential to the public safety, while patrician demagogues, intriguers, and office-seekers made it subservient to their own selfish or partisan interests.] i seem already to see the people utterly alienated from the senate, and the most important affairs determined by the will of the multitude; for more persons will learn how these things are brought about than how they may be resisted. to what purpose am i saying this? because no one makes such attempts without associates. it is therefore to be enjoined on good men that they must not think themselves so bound that they cannot renounce their friends when they are guilty of crimes against the state. but punishment must be inflicted on all who are implicated in such guilt,--on those who follow, no less than on those who lead. who in greece was more renowned than themistocles? who had greater influence than he had? when as commander in the persian war he had freed greece from bondage, and for envy of his fame was driven into exile, he did not bear as he ought the ill treatment of his ungrateful country. he did what coriolanus had done with us twenty years before. neither of these men found any helper against his country; [footnote: no one of his own fellow-countrymen.] they therefore both committed suicide. [footnote: if the story of coriolanus be not a myth, as niebuhr supposes it to be, his suicide forms no part of the story as livy tells it. the suicide of themistocles is related as a supposition, not as an established fact. if he died of poison, as was said, it may have been administered by a rival in the favor of artaxerxes.] association with depraved men for such an end is not, then, to be shielded by the plea of friendship, but rather to be avenged by punishment of the utmost severity, so that no one may ever think himself authorized to follow a friend to the extent of making war upon his country,--an extremity which, indeed, considering the course that our public affairs have begun to take, may, for aught i know, be reached at some future time. i speak thus because i feel no less concern for the fortunes of the state after my death than as to its present condition. . let this, then, be enacted as the first law of friendship, that we demand of friends only what is right, and that we do for the sake of friends only what is right. [footnote: this is a virtual repetition of the law of friendship announced at the beginning of the previous section, and cicero probably so intended it. he states the rule, then demonstrates its validity, then repeats it in an almost identical form, implying what the mathematician expresses when he puts at the end of a demonstration _quod èrat demonstrandum._] this understood, let us not wait to be asked. let there be constant assiduity and no loitering in a friend's service. let us also dare to give advice freely; for in friendship the authority of friends who give good counsel may be of the greatest value. let admonition be administered, too, not only in plain terms, but even with severity, if need be, and let heed be given to such admonition. on this subject some things that appear to me strange have, as i am told, been maintained by certain greeks who are accounted as philosophers, and are so skilled in sophistry that there is nothing which they cannot seem to prove. some of them hold that very intimate friendships are to be avoided; that there is no need that one feel solicitude for others; that it is enough and more than enough to take care of your own concerns, and annoying to be involved to any considerable extent in affairs not belonging to you; that the best way is to have the reins of friendship as loose as possible, so that you can tighten them or let them go at pleasure; for, according to them, ease is the chief essential to happy living, and this the mind cannot enjoy, if it bears, as it were, the pains of travail in behalf of a larger or smaller circle of friends. [footnote: this passage seems to be a paraphrase of a passage in the _hippolytus_ of euripides, in which the nurse says: "it behooves mortals to form moderate friendships with one another, and not to the very marrow of the soul, and the affections of the mind should be held loosely, so that we may slacken or tighten them. that one soul should be in travail for two is a heavy burden." euripides was regarded, and rightly, as no less a philosopher than a tragedian, and was not infrequently styled [greek: sophos]. cicero here veils his thorough conversance with greek literature and philosophy, and assumes the part of laelius, in whose time, though greek was not omitted in the education of cultivated men, the study was comparatively new, and was not carried to any great extent.] others, [footnote: the epicureans.] i am told, with even much less of true human feeling, teach what i touched upon briefly a little while ago, that friendships are to be sought for defence and help, not on account of good-will and affection. the less of self-confidence and the less of strength one has, the more is he inclined to make friends. thus it is that women [footnote: latin, _mulierculae_, a diminutive, meaning, however, not _little women_, but denoting the feebleness and dependence of women in comparison with men. it must be confessed, too, that the term is sometimes used, and perhaps here, semi-contemptuously; for the roman man felt an overweening pride in mere manhood.] seek the support of friendship more than men do, the poor more than the rich, the unfortunate more than those who seem happy. oh, pre-eminent wisdom! it is like taking the sun out of the world, to bereave human life of friendship, than which the immortal gods have given man nothing better, nothing more gladdening. what is the ease of which they speak? it is indeed pleasing in aspect, but on many occasions it is to be renounced; for it is not fitting, in order to avoid solicitude, either to refuse to undertake any right cause or act, or to drop it after it is undertaken. if we flee from care, we must flee from virtue, which of necessity with no little care spurns and abhors its opposites, as goodness spurns and abhors wickedness; temperance, excess; courage, cowardice. thus you may see that honest men are excessively grieved by the dishonest, the brave by the pusillanimous, those who lead sober lives by the dissolute. it is indeed characteristic of a well-ordered mind to rejoice in what is good and to be grieved by the opposite. if then, pain of mind fall to the lot of a wise man as it must of necessity unless we imagine his mind divested of its humanity, why should we take friendship wholly out of life, lest we experience some little trouble on account of it? yet more, if emotion be eliminated, what difference is there, i say not between a man and a brute, but between a man and a rock, or the trunk of a tree, or any inanimate object? nor are those to be listened to, who regard virtue as something hard and iron-like. [footnote: here, undoubtedly, cicero refers to the sterner type of stoicism, which in his time was already obsolescent, and was yielding place to the milder, while no less rigid, ethics of which the _de officiis_ may be regarded as the manual.] as in many other matters, so in friendship, it is tender and flexible so that it expands, as it were, with a friend's well being, and shrinks when his peace is disturbed. therefore the pain which must often be incurred on a friend's account is not of sufficient moment to banish friendship from human life, any more than the occasional care and trouble which the virtues bring should be a reason for renouncing them. . since virtue attracts friendship, as i have said, if there shines forth any manifestation of virtue with which a mind similarly disposed can come into contact and union from such intercourse love must of necessity spring. for what is so absurd as to be charmed with many things that have no substantial worth, as with office, fame, architecture, dress, and genteel appearance, but not to be in any wise charmed by a mind endowed with virtue, and capable of either loving or--if i may use the word--re-loving? [footnote: latin, _redamare_, a word coined by cicero, and used with the apology, _ut ita dicam_] nothing indeed yields a richer revenue than kind affections, nothing gives more delight than the interchange of friendly cares and offices. then if we add, as we rightly may, that there is nothing which so allures and attracts aught else to itself as the likeness of character does to friendship it will certainly be admitted that good men love good men and adopt them into fellowship as if united with them by kindred and by nature. by nature i say, for nothing is more craving or greedy of its like than nature. this, then as i think, is evident, fannius and scaevola that among the good toward the good there cannot but be mutual kind feeling and in this we have a fountain of friendship established by nature. but the same kind feeling extends to the community at large. for virtue is not unsympathetic, nor unserviceable, [footnote: latin, _immunis_, literally--without office.] nor proud. it is wont even to watch over the well-being of whole nations, and to give them the wisest counsel, which it would not do if it had no love for the people. now those who maintain that friendships are formed from motives of utility annul, as it seems to me, the most endearing bond of friendship; for it is not so much benefit obtained through a friend as it is the very love of the friend that gives delight. what comes from a friend confers pleasure, only in case it bears tokens of his interest in us, and so far is it from the truth that friendships are cultivated from a sense of need, that those fully endowed with wealth and resources, especially with virtue, which is the surest safeguard, and thus in no need of friends, are the very persons who are the most generous and munificent. indeed, i hardly know whether it may not be desirable that our friends should never have need of our services. yet in the case of scipio and myself, what room would there have been for the active exercise of my zeal in his behalf, had he never needed my counsel or help at home or in the field? in this instance, however, the service came after the friendship, not the friendship after the service. . if these things are so, men who are given up to pleasure are not to be listened to when they express their opinions about friendship, of which they can have no knowledge either by experience or by reflection. for, by the faith of gods and men, who is there that would be willing to have a superabundance of all objects of desire and to live in the utmost fulness of wealth and what wealth can bring, on condition of neither loving any one nor being loved by any one? this, indeed, is the life of tyrants, in which there is no good faith, no affection, no fixed confidence in kindly feeling, perpetual suspicion and anxiety, and no room for friendship; for who can love either him whom he fears, or him by whom he thinks that he is feared? yet they receive the show of homage, but only while the occasion for it lasts. [footnote: latin, _dum taxat ad tempus_, that is, while the homage rendered is in close contact with the occasion,--with the immunity or profit to be purchased by it.] if they chance to fall, as they commonly have fallen, they then ascertain how destitute of friends they have been, as tarquin is reported to have said that he learned what faithful and what unfaithful friends he had, when he could no longer render back favors to those of either class,--although i wonder whether pride and insolence like his could have had any friends. moreover, as his character could not have won real friends, so is the good fortune of many who occupy foremost places of influence so held as to preclude faithful friendships. not only is fortune blind, but she generally makes those blind whom she embraces. thus they are almost always beside themselves under the influence of haughtiness and waywardness; nor can there be created anything more utterly insupportable than a fortune-favored fool. there are to be seen those who previously behaved with propriety who are changed by station, power, or prosperity, and who spurn their old friendships and lavish indulgence on the new. but what is more foolish than when men have resources, means, wealth at their fullest command, and can obtain horses, servants, splendid raiment, costly vases, whatever money can buy, for them not to procure friends, who are, if i may so speak, the best and the most beautiful furniture of human life? other things which a man may procure know not him who procures them, nor do they labor for his sake,--indeed, they belong to him who can make them his by the right of superior strength. but every one has his own firm and sure possession of his friendships, while even if those things which seem the gifts of fortune remain, still life unadorned and deserted by friends cannot be happy. but enough has been said on this branch of our subject. . we must now determine the limits or bounds of friendship. on this subject i find three opinions proposed, neither of which has my approval,--the first, that we should do for our friends just what we would do for ourselves, the second, that our good offices to our friends should correspond in quantity and quality to those which they perform for us, the third, that one's friends should value him according to his own self-estimate. i cannot give unqualified assent to either of these opinions. the first--that one should be ready to do for his friends precisely what he would do for himself--is inadmissible. how many things there are that we do for our friends which we should never do on our own account!--such as making a request even an entreaty, of a man unworthy of respect or inveighing against some person with a degree of bitterness, nay, in terms of vehement reproach. in fine, we are perfectly right in doing in behalf of a friend things that in our own case would be decidedly unbecoming. there are also many ways in which good men detract largely from their own comfort or suffer it to be impaired, that a friend may have the enjoyment which they sacrifice. the second opinion is that which limits kind offices and good will by the rule of equality. this is simply making friendship a matter of calculation with the view of keeping a debtor and creditor account evenly balanced. to me friendship seems more affluent and generous and not disposed to keep strict watch lest it may give more than it receives and to fear that a part of its due may be spilled over or suffered to leak out or that it may heap up its own measure over full in return. [footnote: we have here, first, a figure drawn from pecuniary accounts, then one from liquid measure, then one from dry measure--all designed to affix the brand of the most petty meanness on the (so called) friendship which makes it a point neither to leave nor to brook a preponderance of obligation on either side.] but worst of all is the third limit which prescribes that friends shall take a man's opinion of himself as a measure for their estimate and treatment of him. there are some persons who are liable to fits of depression, or who have little hope of better fortune than the present. in such a case, it is the part of a friend, not to hold the position toward his friend which he holds toward himself, but to make the efficient endeavor to rouse him from his despondency, and to lead him to better hope and a more cheerful train of thought. it remains for me then, to establish another limit of friendship. but first let me tell you what scipio was wont to speak of with the severest censure. he maintained that no utterance could have been invented more inimical to friendship [footnote: latin, _inimciorem_ (that is, _in amiciorem_) _amicitiae_.] than that of him who said that one ought to love as if he were going at some future time to hate, nor could he be brought to believe that this maxim came, as was reported from bias, who was one of the seven wise men, but he regarded it as having proceeded from some sordid person, who was either inordinately ambitious or desirous of bringing everything under his own control. for how can one be a friend to him to whom he thinks that he may possibly become an enemy? in this case one would of necessity desire and choose that his friend should commit offences very frequently, so as to give him, so to speak, the more numerous handles for fault-finding, and on the other hand one would be vexed, pained, aggrieved by all the right and fitting things that friends do. this precept then from whomsoever it came, amounts to the annulling of friendship. the proper rule should be, that we exercise so much caution in forming friendships, that we should never begin to love a friend whom it is possible that we should ever hate; but even in case we should have been unfortunate in our choice, scipio thought that it would be wiser to bear the disappointment when it comes than to keep the contingency of future alienation in view. . i would then define the terms of friendship by saying that where friends are of blameless character, there may fittingly be between them a community of all interests, plans, and purposes without any exception even so far that, if perchance there be occasion for furthering the not entirely right wishes of friends when life or reputation is at stake, one may in their behalf deviate somewhat from a perfectly straight course ( ) yet not so far as to [ this at first sight appears like a license to yield up moral considerations to friendship, though the qualification, in the sequel, "not so far as to incur absolute dishonor," and "virtue is by no means to be sacrificed," seem saving clauses. but cicero certainly has a right to be his own interpreter since in the _de officiis_ as i think, he explains in full and in accordance with the highest moral principle, what he means here, and we have a double right to insist on this interpretation first, because the _de officiis_ was written so very little while after the _de amicitia_, and both at so ripe an age, that a change of opinion on important matters was improbable and secondly, because in the later treatise he expressly refers to the former as giving in full his views on friendship, and thus virtually sanctions that treatise. now in the _de officiis_ he says a good man will do nothing against the state, or in violation of his oath of good faith, for the sake of his friend, not even if he were a judge in his friend's case. . . . he will yield so far to friendship as to wish his friend's case to be worthy of succeeding, and to accommodate him as to the time of trial, within legal limits. but inasmuch as he must give sentence upon his oath, he will bear it in mind that he has "god for a witness." in another passage of the _de officiis,_ cicero asserts, somewhat hesitatingly, yet on the authority of panaetius as the strictest of stoics, the moral rightfulness of "defending on some occasions a guilty man, if he be not utterly depraved and false to all human relations." as in the passage on which i am commenting special reference is made to the peril of life or reputation, what cicero contends for, as it seems to me, is the right of defending a guilty friend as advocate, or of favoring him as to time and mode of trial as a judge. aulius gellius, in connection with this passage in _de amicitia,_ tells the following story of chilo, who was on some of the lists of the seven wise men. chilo, on the last day of his life, said that the only thing that gave him uneasy thought, and was burdensome to his conscience, was that once when he and two other men were judges in a case in which a friend of his was tried for a capital crime, he, in accordance with his own conviction, voted his friendy guilty, but so influenced the minds of his two associates that they gave their voice for his acquittal.] incur absolute dishonor. there is a point up to which a concession made to friendship is venial. but we are not bound to be careless of our own reputation, nor ought we to regard the esteem of our fellow-citizens as an instrument of such affairs as devolve upon us,--an esteem which it is base to conciliate [footnote: latin, _colligere,_ to collect, or gather up, one by one, the good-will of each individual citizen.] by flattery and fawning. virtue, which has the sincere regard of the people as its consequence, is by no means to be sacrificed to friendship. but, to return to scipio, who was all the time talking about friendship, he often complained that men exercised greater care about all other matters; that one could always tell how many goats and sheep he had, but could not tell how many friends he had; and that men were careful in selecting their beasts, but were negligent in the choice of friends, and had nothing like marks and tokens [footnote: latin, _signa et notas,_ the marks and tokens by which the quality and worth of goats and sheep were estimated.] by which to determine the fitness of friends. firm, steadfast, self-consistent men are to be chosen as friends, and of this kind of men there is a great dearth. it is very difficult to judge of character before we have tested it; but we can test it only after firendship is begun. thus friendship is prone to outrun judgment, and to render a fair trial impossible. it is therefore the part of a wise man to arrest the impulse of kindly feeling, as we check a carriage in its course, that, as we use only horses that have been tried, so we may avail ourselves of friendships in which the characters of our friends have been somehow put to the test. some readily show how fickle their friendship is in paltry pecuniary matters; others, whom a slight consideration of that kind cannot influence, betray themselves when a large amount is involved. but if some can be found who think it mean to prefer money to friendship, where shall we come upon those who do not put honors, civic offices, military commands, places of power and trust, before friendship, so that when these are offered on the one hand, and the claims of friendship on the other, they will much rather make choice of the objects of ambition? for nature is too feeble to despise a commanding station, and even though it be obtained by the violation of friendship men think that this fault will be thrown into obscurity, because it was not without a weighty motive that they held friendship in abeyance. thus true friendships are rare among those who are in public office, and concerned in the affairs of the state. for where will you find him who prefers a friend's promotion to his own? what more shall i say? not to dwell longer on the influence of ambition upon friendship, how burdensome how difficult does it seem to most men to share misfortunes to which it is not easy to find those who are willing to stoop. although ennius is right in saying "in unsure fortune a sure friend is seen," yet one of these two things convicts most persons of fickleness and weakness,--either their despising their friends when they themselves are prosperous, or deserting their friends in adversity. him, then, who alike in either event shall have shown himself unwavering, constant, firm in friendship we ought to regard as of an exceedingly rare and almost divine order of men. still further good faith is essential to the maintenance of the stability and constancy which we demand in friendship, for nothing that is unfaithful is stable. it is, moreover, fitting to choose for a friend one who is frank, affable, accommodating, interested in the same things with ourselves,--all which qualities come under the head of fidelity, for a changeful and wily disposition cannot be faithful, nor can he who has not like interests and a kindred nature with his friend be either faithful or stable. i ought to add that a friend should neither take pleasure in finding fault with his friend, nor give credit to the charges which others may bring against him,--all which is implied in the constancy of which i have been speaking. thus we come back to the truth which i announced at the beginning of our conversation, that friendship can exist only between the good. it is, indeed, the part of a good or--what is the same thing--a wise man [footnote: wisdom and goodness were identical with the stoics.] to adhere to these two principles in friendship,--first, that he tolerate no feigning or dissembling (for an ingenuous man will rather show even open hatred than hide his feeling by his face), and, secondly, that he not only repel charges made against his friend by others, but that he be not himself suspicious, and always thinking that his friend has done something unfriendly. to these requisites there may well be added suavity of speech and manners, which is of no little worth as giving a relish to the intercourse of friendship. rigidness and austerity of demeanor on every occasion indeed carry weight with them, but friendship ought to be more gentle and mild, and more inclined to all that is genial and affable. there occurs here a question by no means difficult,[footnote: latin, _subdifficilis_ which i should render _somewhat difficult_ had not cicero treat that question as one that presents no difficulty. in the ancient tongues, as in our own or even more than in our own, a word is often better defined by its use than in the dictionary.] whether at any time new friends worthy of our love are to be preferred to the old, as we are wont to prefer young horses to those that have passed their prime. shame that there should be hesitation as to the answer! there ought to be no satiety of friendships, as there is rightly of many other things. the older a friendship is, the more precious should it be as is the case with wines that will bear keeping, [footnote: some of the best italian wines will not "bear keeping," and it was probably true of more of them in cicero's time than now that wines are so often vitiated by strong alcoholic mixtures in order to preserve them. cato, in his _de re rustica_, prescribes a method of determining whether the wine of any given vintage will "keep".] and there is truth in the proverb that many pecks of salt must be eaten together to bring friendship to perfection. [footnote: aristotle quotes this as a proverbial saying, so that it must be of very great antiquity.] if new friendships offer the hope of fruit, like the young shoots in the grain-field that give promise of harvest, they are not indeed to be spurned, yet the old are to be kept in their place. there is very great power in long habit. to recur to the horse there is no one who would not rather use the horse to which he has become accustomed, if he is still sound, than one unbroken and new. nor has habit this power merely as to the movements of an animal, it prevails no less as to inanimate objects. we are charmed with the places though mountainous and woody, [footnote: therefore uninviting, for mountain and forest had not in early time the charm which we find in them. indeed the love of nature uncultivated and unadorned is for the most part, of modern growth.] where we have made a long sojourn. but what is most remarkable in friendship is that it puts a man on an equality with his inferior. for there often are in a circle of friends those who excel the rest, as was the case with scipio in our flock, if i may use the word. he never assumed superiority over philus, never over rupilius, never over mummius, never over friends of an order lower than his own. indeed he always reverenced as a superior, because older than himself, his brother quintus maximus [footnote: quintus fabius maximus aemilianus, the eldest son of aemilius paulus, and the adopted son of fabius maximus.] a thoroughly worthy man, but by no means his equal, and in fact he wanted to make all his friends of the more consequence by whatever advantages he himself possessed. this example all ought to imitate, that if they have attained any superiority of virtue, genius, fortune, they may impart it to and share it with those with whom they are the most closely connected; and that if they are of humble parentage, and have kindred of slender ability or fortune, they may increase their means of well-being, and reflect honor and worth upon them,--as in fable those who were long in servile condition through ignorance of their parentage and race, when they were recognized and found to be sons either of gods or of kings, retained their love for the shepherds whom for many years they supposed to be their fathers. much more ought the like to be done in the case of real and well-known fathers; for the best fruit of genius, and virtue, and every kind of excellence is reaped when it is thus bestowed on near kindred and friends. . moreover, as among persons bound by ties of friendship and intimacy those who hold the higher place ought to bring themselves down to the same plane with their inferiors, so ought these last not to feel aggrieved because they are surpassed in ability, or fortune, or rank by their friends. most of them, however, are always finding some ground of complaint, or even of reproach, especially if they can plead any service that they have rendered faithfully, in a friendly way, and with a certain amount of painstaking on their part. such men, indeed, are hateful when they reproach their friends on the score of services which he on whom they were bestowed ought to bear in mind, but which it is unbecoming for him who conferred them to recount. those who are superior ought, undoubtedly, not only to waive all pretension in friendly intercourse, but to do what they can to raise their humbler friends to their own level.(l) there are some who give their friends trouble by imagining that they are held in low esteem, which, however, is not apt to be the case except with those who think meanly of themselves. those who feel thus ought to be raised to a just self-esteem, not only by kind words, but by substantial service. but what you do for any one must be measured, first by your own ability, and then by the capacity of him whom you would favor and help. for, however great your influence may be, you cannot raise all your friends to the highest positions. thus scipio could effect the election of publius rupilius to the consulship; but he could not do the same for his brother lucius.( ) in general, friendships that are properly so called are formed between persons of mature years and established character; nor if young men have been fond of hunting or of ball-playing, is there any need of permanent attachment to those whom they then liked as associates in the same sport. on this principle our nurses and the slaves that led us to school will demand by right of priority the highest grade [ or, as it might be rendered by supplying a _se_ "so ought the humbler to do what they can to raise themselves." some of the commentators prefer this sense; but if cicero meant _se,_ i think that he would have written it.] [ the brother of publius rupilius, not his own brother.] of affectionate regard,--persons, indeed, who are not to be neglected, but who are on a somewhat different footing from that of friends. friendships formed solely from early associations cannot last; for differences of character grow out of a diversity of pursuits, and unlikeness of character dissolves friendships. nor is there any reason why good men cannot be the friends of bad men, or bad men of good, except that the dissiliency of pursuits and of character between them is as great as it can be. it is also a counsel worthy of heed, that excessive fondness be not suffered to interfere, as it does too often, with important services that a friend can render. to resort again to fable, neoptolemus could not have taken troy [footnote: or rather, could not have borne the indispensable part which it was predicted that he should bear in the taking of troy.] if he had chosen to comply with the wishes of lycomedes, who brought him up, and who with many tears attempted to dissuade him from his expedition. equally in actual life there are not infrequently important occasions on which the society of friends must be for a time abandoned; and he who would prevent this because he cannot easily bear the separation, is of a weak and unmanly nature, and for that very reason unfit to fill the place of a friend. in fine, in all matters you should take into consideration both what you may reasonably demand of your friend, and what you can fitly suffer him to obtain from you. . the misfortune involved in the dissolution of friendships is sometimes unavoidable; for i am now coming down from the intimacies of wise men to common friendships. faults of friends often betray themselves openly--whether to the injury of their friends themselves, or of strangers--in such a way that the disgrace falls back upon their friends. such friendships are to be effaced by the suspension of intercourse, and, as i have heard cato say, to be unstitched rather than cut asunder, unless some quite intolerable offence flames out to full view, so that it can be neither right nor honorable not to effect an immediate separation and dissevering. but if there shall have been some change either in character or in the habits of life, or if there have sprung up some difference of opinion as to public affairs,--i am speaking, as i have just said, of common friendships, not of those between wise men,--care should be taken lest there be the appearance, not only of friendship dropped, but of enmity taken up; for nothing is more unbecoming than to wage war with a man with whom you have lived on terms of intimacy. scipio, as you know, had withdrawn from the friendship of quintus pompeius [footnote: laelius intending to present himself as a candidate for the consulship, scipio asked pompeius whether he was going to be a candidate, and when he replied in the negative, asked him to use his influence in behalf of laelius. this pompeius promised, and then, instead of being true to his word, offered himself for the consulship, and was elected.] on my account, he became alienated from metellus [footnote: scipio and metellus, though their intimacy was suspended for political reasons, held each other in the highest regard, and no person in rome expressed profounder sorrow than metellus for scipio's death or was more warm in his praise as a man of unparalleled ability, worth, and patriotism.] because of their different views as to the administration of the state. in both cases he conducted himself with gravity and dignity, and without any feeling of bitterness. the endeavor then, must first be, to prevent discord from taking place among friends, and if anything of the kind occurs, to see that the friendship may seem to be extinguished rather than crushed out. care must thus be taken lest friendships lapse into violent enmities, whence are generated quarrels, slanders, insults, which yet, if not utterly intolerable, are to be endured and this honor tendered to old friendship that the blame may rest with him who does not with him who suffers the wrong. the one surety and preventive against these mistakes and misfortunes is, not to form attachments too soon, nor for those unworthy of such regard. but it is those in whose very selves there is reason why they should be loved, that are worthy of friendship. a rare class of men! indeed, superlatively excellent objects of every sort are rare, nor is anything more difficult than to discover that which is in all respects perfect in its kind. but most persons have acquired the habit of recognizing nothing as good in human relations and affairs that does not produce some revenue, and they most love those friends, as they do those cattle, that will yield them the greatest gain. thus they lack that most beautiful and most natural friendship, which is to be sought in itself and for its own sake, nor can they know from experience what and how great is the power of such friendship. one loves himself, not in order to exact from himself any wages for such love, but because he is in himself dear to himself. now, unless this same property be transferred to friendship, a true friend will never be found, for such a friend is, as it were, another self. but if it is seen in beasts, birds, fishes, animals tame and wild, that they first love themselves (for self-love is born with everything that lives) and that they then require and seek those of their kind to whom they may attach themselves, and do so with desire and with a certain semblance of human love, how much more is this natural in man, who both loves himself, and craves another whose soul he may so blend with his own as almost to make one out of two. but men in general are so perverse, not to say shameless, as to wish a friend to be in character what they themselves could not be and they expect of friends what they do not give them in return. the proper course however, is for one first to be himself a good man, and then to seek another like himself. in such persons the stability of friendship, of which i have been speaking, can be made sure, since, united in mutual love, they will, in the first place, hold in subjection the desires to which others are enslaved; then they will find delight in whatever is equitable and just, and each will take upon himself any labor or burden in the other's stead, while neither will ever ask of the other aught that is not honorable and right. nor will they merely cherish and love, they will even reverence each other. but he who bereaves friendship of mutual respect ( ) takes from it its greatest ornament. therefore those are in fatal error who think that in friendship there is free license for all lusts and evil practices. friendship is given by nature, not as a companion of the vices, but as a helper of the virtues, that, as solitary virtue might not be able to attain the summit of excellence, united and associated with another it might reach that eminence. as to those between whom there is, or has been, or shall be such an alliance, the fellowship is to be regarded as the best and happiest possible, inasmuch as it leads to the highest good that nature can bestow. this is the alliance, i say, in which are included all things that men think worthy their endeavor,--honor, fame, peace of mind, and pleasure, so that if these be present life is happy, and cannot be happy without them. such a life being the best [ latin, _verecundio,_ an indefinite word; for it may have almost any good meaning. i have rendered it _respect_, because i have no doubt that it derives its meaning here from _verebuntur_, which i have rendered _reverence_, in the preceding sentence.] and greatest boon, if we wish to make it ours, we must devote ourselves to the cultivation of virtue, without which we can attain neither friendship nor anything else desirable. but if virtue be left out of the account, those who think that they have friends perceive that they are mistaken when some important crisis compels them to put their friends to the test. therefore--for it is worth reiterating--you ought to love after having exercised your judgment on your friends, instead of forming your judgment of them after you have begun to love them. but while in many things we are chargeable with carelessness, we are most so in choosing and keeping our friends. we reverse the old proverb, [footnote: what this proverb may have been we cannot determine with precision from its opposite; but the caution based upon it might remind one of our proverb about shutting the barn door after the horse is stolen. the words, _acta agimus,_ so terse that they can be translated only by a paraphrase, are probably the converse of the proverb, which may have been something like _non agenda sunt acta_.] take counsel after acting, and attempt to do over again what we have done; for after having become closely connected by long habit and even by mutual services, some occasion of offence springs up, and we suddenly break in sunder a friendship in full career. . the more blameworthy are they who are so very careless in a matter of so essential importance. indeed, among things appertaining to human life, it is friendship alone that has the unanimous voice of all men as to its capacity of service. by many even virtue is scorned, and is said to be a mere matter of display and ostentation. many despise wealth, and contented with little take pleasure in slender diet and inexpensive living. though some are inflamed with desire for office, many there are who hold it in so low esteem that they can imagine nothing more inane or worthless. other things too, which seem to some admirable, very many regard as of no value. but all have the same feeling as to friendship,--alike those who devote themselves to the public service, those who take delight in learning and philosophy, those who manage their own affairs in a quiet way, and, lastly, those who are wholly given up to sensual pleasure. they all agree that without friendship life cannot be, if one only means to live in some form or measure respectably. [footnote: latin _liberaliter_ that is, worthily of a free man.] for friendship somehow twines through all lives and leaves no mode of being without its presence. even if one be of so rude and savage a nature as to shun and hate the society of men, as we have learned was the case with that timon of athens, [footnote: plutarch says that timon had an associate, virtually a friend, not unlike himself, apemantus, on whom he freely vented his spite and scorn for all the world beside and that he also took a special liking to alcibiades in his youth, perhaps as to one fitted and destined to do an untold amount of mischief.] if there ever was such a man [footnote: latin, _nescio, quem_, i know not whom, or of whom i am ignorant, that is, there may or may not have been such a man.] he yet cannot help seeking some one in whose presence he may vomit the venom of his bitterness. the need of friendship would be best shown, were such a thing possible, if some god should take us away from this human crowd, and place us anywhere in solitude, giving us there an abundant supply of all things that nature craves but depriving us utterly of the sight of a human countenance. who could be found of so iron make that he could endure [footnote: latin, tam ... _ferreus,_ qiu ... _ferre_ posset,--an assonance which cannot be represented by corresponding english words.] such a life, and whom solitude would not render incapable of enjoying any kind of pleasure? that is true then which, if i remember aright, our elders used to say that they had heard from their seniors in age as having come from archytas of tarentum--"if one had ascended to heaven and had obtained a full view of the nature of the universe and the beauty of the stars, yet his admiration would be without delight, if there were no one to whom he could tell what he had seen." thus nature has no love for solitude, and always leans as it were, on some support, and the sweetest support is found in the most intimate friendship. but while nature declares by so many tokens what she desires, craves, needs, we--i know not how--grow deaf, and fail to hear her counsel. intercourse among friends assumes many different forms and modes, and there frequently arise causes of suspicion and offence, which it is the part of a wise man sometimes to avoid, sometimes to remove, sometimes to bear. one ground of offence, namely, freedom in telling the truth, must be put entirely away, in order that friendship may retain its serviceableness and its good faith, for friends often need to be admonished and reproved, and such offices, when kindly performed, ought to be received in a friendly way. yet somehow we witness in actual life, what my friend [footnote: terence with whom laelius was so intimate that he was reported probably on no sufficient ground to have aided in the composition of some of the plays that bear terence's name. this verse is from the _andria._] says in his play of _andria_-- "complacency *[footnote: _obsequium_] wins friends, but truth gives birth to hatred." truth is offensive, if hatred, the bane of friendship is indeed born of it, but much more offensive is complacency, when in its indulgence for wrong doing it suffers a friend to go headlong to ruin. the greatest blame, however, rests on him who both spurns the truth when it is told him and is driven by the complacency of friends to self-deception. in this matter therefore there should be the utmost discretion and care, first, that admonition be without bitterness, then, that reproof be without invective. but in complacency--for i am ready to use the word which terence furnishes--let pleasing truth be told, let flattery, the handmaid of the vices be put far away, as unworthy, not only of a friend, but of any man above the condition of a slave, for there is one way of living with a tyrant, another with a friend. we may well despair of saving him whose ears are so closed to the truth that he cannot hear what is true from a friend. among the many pithy sayings of cato was this 'there are some who owe more to their bitter enemies than to the friends that seem sweet, for those often tell the truth, these never'. it is indeed ridiculous for those who are admonished not to be annoyed by what ought to trouble them, and to be annoyed by what ought to give them no offence. their faults give them no pain, they take it hard that they are reproved,--while they ought, on the contrary, to be grieved for their wrong-doing, to rejoice in their correction. as, then, it belongs to friendship both to admonish and to be admonished, and to do the former freely, yet not harshly, to receive the latter patiently not resentfully, so it is to be maintained that friendship has no greater pest than adulation, flattery, subserviency, for under its many names [footnote: latin _multis nominibus,_ which some commentators render "on many accounts" with reference to matters of purchase and sale, debit and credit. but i think that cicero brings in _adulatio, blanditia, and assentatio,_ as so many synonyms of _obsequtum,_ intending to comprehend in his indictment whatever alias the one vice may assume.] a brand should be put on this vice of fickle and deceitful men, who say everything with the view of giving pleasure, without any reference to the truth. while simulation is bad on every account, inasmuch as it renders the discernment of the truth which it defaces impossible, it is most of all inimical to friendship; for it is fatal to sincerity, without which the name of friendship ceases to have any meaning. for since the essence of friendship consists in this, that one mind is, as it were, made out of several, how can this be, if in one of the several there shall be not always one and the same mind, but a mind varying, changeful, manifold? and what can be so flexible, so far out of its rightful course, as the mind of him who adapts himself, not only to the feelings and wishes, but een to the look and gesture, of another? "does one say no or yes? i say so too my rule is to assent to everything," as terence, whom i have just quoted, says, but he says it in the person of gnatho,[footnote: a parasite in terence's play of _eunuchus_, from which these verses are quoted.]--a sort of friend which only a frivolous mind can tolerate. but as there are many like gnatho, who stand higher than he did in place, fortune, and reputation, then subserviency is the more offensive, because then position gives weight to their falsehood. but a flattering friend may be distinguished and discriminated from a true friend by proper care, as easily as everything disguised and feigned is seen to differ from what is genuine and real. the assembly of the people, though consisting of persons who have the least skill in judgment, yet always knows the difference between him who, merely seeking popularity, is sycophantic and fickle, and a firm inflexible, and substantial citizen. with what soft words did caius papirius [footnote: caius papirius carbo, the suspected murderer of scipio.] steal [footnote: latin _influebat_ flowed in, a figure beautifully appropriate, but hardly translatable.] into the ears of the assembly a little while ago, when he brought forward the law about the re-election of the tribunes of the people! [footnote: there was an old law, which prohibited the re-election of a citizen to the same office till after an interval of ten years. in the law here referred to, carbo--then tribune --sought to provide for the re-election of tribunes as soon and as often as the people might choose, thus undoubtedly hoping to secure for himself a permanent tenure of office.] i opposed the law. but, to say nothing of myself, i will rather speak of scipio. how great, ye immortal gods, was his dignity of bearing! what majesty of address! so that you might easily call him the leader of the roman people, rather than one of their number. but you were there, and you have copies of his speech. thus the law was rejected by vote of the people. but, to return to myself, you remember, when quintus maximus, scipio's brother, and lucius mancinus were consuls, how much the people seemed to favor the law of caius licinius crassus about the priests. the law proposed to transfer the election of priests from their own respective colleges to the suffrage of the people; [footnote: the several pontifical colleges had been close corporations, filling their own vacancies. the law which laelius defeated proposed transferring the election of priests to the people.] and he on that occasion introduced the custom of facing the people in addressing them [footnote: it had been customary, when the senate was in session, for him who harangued the people to face the temple where the senate sat, thus virtually recognizing the supreme authority of that body.] yet under my advocacy the religion of the immortal gods obtained the ascendancy over his plausible speech. that was during my praetorship, five years before i was chosen consul. thus the cause was gained by its own merits rather than by official authority. . but if on the stage, or--what is the same thing--in the assembly of the people, in which there is ample scope for false and distorted representations, the truth only needs to be made plain and clear in order for it to prevail, what ought to be the case in friendship, which is entirely dependent for its value on truth,--in which unless, as the phrase is, you see an open bosom and show your own, you can have nothing worthy of confidence, nothing of which you can feel certain, not even the fact of your loving or being loved, since you are ignorant of what either really is? yet this flattery of which i have spoken, harmful as it is, can injure only him who takes it in and is delighted with it. thus it is the case that he is most ready to open his ear to flattery, who flatters himself and finds supreme delight in himself. virtue indeed loves itself; for it has thorough knowledge of itself, and understands how worthy of love it is. but it is reputed, not real, virtue of which i am now speaking; for there are not so many possessed of virtue as there are that desire to seem virtuous. these last are delighted with flattery, and when false statements are framed purposely to satisfy and please them, they take the falsehood as valid testimony to their merit. that, however, is no friendship, in which one of the (so-called) friends does not want to hear the truth, and the other is ready to lie. the flattery of parasites on the stage would not seem amusing, were there not in the play braggart soldiers [footnote: latin, _milites gloriosi. miles gloriosus_ is the title of one of the comedies of plautus; and one of the stock characters of the ancient comedy is a conceited, swaggering, brainless soldier, who is perpetually boasting of his own valor and exploits, and who takes the most fulsome and ridiculous flattery as the due recognition of his transcendent merit. the verse here quoted is from terence's _eunuchus_. thraso, a _miles gloriosus_ (from whom is derived our adjective _thrasonical_), asks this question of gnatho, the parasite, one of whose speeches is quoted in § . _magnus_ is the word in the question; _ingentes_, in the answer.] to be flattered. "great thanks indeed did thais render to me?" "great" was a sufficient answer; but the answer in the play is "prodigious." the flatterer always magnifies what he whom he is aiming to please wishes to have great. but while this smooth falsehood takes effect only with those who themselves attract and invite it; even persons of a more substantial and solid character need to be warned to be on their guard, lest they be ensnared by flattery of a more cunning type. no one who has a moderate share of common-sense fails to detect the open flatterer; but great care must be taken lest the wily and covert flatterer may insinuate himself; for he is not very easily recognized, since he often assents by opposing, plays the game of disputing in a smooth, caressing way, and at length submits, and suffers himself to be outreasoned, so as to make him on whom he is practising his arts appear to have had the deeper insight. but what is more disgraceful than to be made game of? one must take heed not to put himself in the condition of the character in the play of _the heiress:_ [footnote: _epicleros_, a comedy by caecilius statius, of whose works only a few fragments, like this, are extant. next to the braggart soldier, a credulous old man-generally a father-who could have all manner of tricks played upon him without detecting their import, was the favorite butt for ridicule in the ancient comedy.] "of an old fool one never made such sport as you have made of me this very day;" for there is no character on the stage so foolish as that of these unwary and credulous old men. but i know not how my discourse has digressed from the friendships of perfect, that is, of wise men,--wise, i mean, so far as wisdom can fall to the lot of man,--to friendships of a lighter sort. let us then return to our original subject, and bring it to a speedy conclusion. . virtue, i say to you, caius fannius, and to you, quintus mucius,--virtue both forms and preserves friendships. in it is mutual agreement; in it is stability; in it is consistency of conduct and character. when it has put itself forth and shown its light, and has seen and recognized the same light in another, it draws near to that light, and receives in return what the other has to give; and from this intercourse love, or friendship,--call it which you may,--is kindled. these terms are equally derived in our language from loving; [footnote: _amor_..._amicitia_..._ab amando_.] and to love is nothing else than to cherish affection for him whom you love, with no felt need of his service, with no quest of benefit to be obtained from him; while, nevertheless, serviceableness blooms out from friendship, however little you may have had it in view. with this affection i in my youth loved those old men,--lucius paulus, marcus cato, caius gallus, publius nasica, tiberius gracchus, the father-in-law of my friend scipio. this relation is more conspicuous among those of the same age, as between myself and scipio, lucius furius, publius rupilius, spurius mummius. but in my turn, as an old man, i find repose in the attachment of young men, as in yours, and in that of quintus tubero, and i am delighted with the intimacy of publius rutilius and aulus virginius, who are just emerging from boyhood. while the order of human life and of nature is such that another generation must come upon the stage, it would be most desirable, could such a thing be, to reach the goal, so to speak, with those of our own age with whom we started on the race; but since man's life is frail and precarious, we ought always to be in quest of some younger persons whom we may love, and who will love us in return; for when love and kindness cease all enjoyment is taken out of life. for me indeed, scipio, though suddenly snatched away, still lives and will always live; for i loved the virtue of the man, which is not extinguished. nor does it float before my eyes only, as i have always had it at hand; it will also be renowned and illustrious with generations to come. no one will ever enter with courage and hope on a high and noble career, without proposing to himself as a standard the memory and image of his virtue. indeed, of all things which fortune or nature ever gave me, i have nothing that i can compare with the friendship of scipio. in this there was a common feeling as to the affairs of the state; in this, mutual counsel as to our private concerns; in this, too, a repose full of delight. never, so far as i know, did i offend him in the least thing; never did i hear from him a word which i would not wish to hear. we had one home; [footnote: this may refer to their living together on their campaigns, journeys, and rural sojourns; but more probably to the fact that each felt as much at home in the other's house as in his own.] the same diet, and that simple; [footnote: latin, _communis_. i do not find that this word has in latin the sense of _cheap_ and _mean_ which our word _common_ has. but here it cannot mean that laelius and scipio fed together, which is sufficiently said in the preceding _idem victus_. it must therefore denote such fare as was common to them with their fellow-citizens in general, and that is simple and not luxurious fare.] we were together, not only in military service, but also in journeying and in our rural sojourns. and what shall i say of our unflagging zeal in the pursuit of knowledge, and in learning everything now within our reach,--an employment in which, when not under the eyes of the public, we passed all our leisure time together? had the recollection and remembrance of these things died with him, i could not anyhow bear the loss of a man, thus bound to me in the closest intimacy and holding me in the dearest love. but they are not blotted out, they are rather nourished and increased by reflection and memory; and were i entirely bereft of them, my advanced age would still be my great comfort, for i can miss his society but for a brief season, and all sorrows, however heavy, if they can last but a little while, ought to be endured. i had these things to say to you about friendship; and i exhort you that you so give the foremost place to virtue without which friendship cannot be, that with the sole exception of virtue, you may think nothing to be preferred to friendship. scipio's dream. . when i arrived in africa, to serve, as you know, in the office of military tribune of the fourth legion, under manius [footnote: the praenomen _marcus_ is given to manilius in the manuscript of the _de republics_ discovered by angelo mai; but manius is the reading in all previous authorities as to this special fragment.] manilius as consul, i desired nothing so much as to meet masinissa [footnote: king of numidia,--a country nearly identical in extent with the present province of algeria. its name defines its people, being derived from [greek: nomades], _nomads._ its inhabitants were a wild, semi-savage cluster of tribes, black and white. masinissa, though faithful to the romans after he had convinced himself that theirs must be the ascendant star, was a crafty, treacherous, cruel prince, probably with enough of civilization to have acquired some of its vices, while he had not lost those of the savage.] the king, who for sufficient reasons [footnote: the elder africanus had confirmed him in the possession of his own numidia, and had added to it the adjoining kingdom of cirta.] stood in the most friendly relation to our family. when i came to him, the old man embraced me with tears, and shortly afterward looked up to heaven and said: "i thank thee, sovereign sun, [footnote: the numidians worshipped the heavenly bodies.] and all of you lesser lights of heaven, that before i pass away from this life i behold in my kingdom and beneath this roof publius cornelius scipio, whose very name renews my strength, so utterly inseparable from my thought is the memory of that best and most invincible of men who first bore it." then i questioned him about his kingdom, and he asked me about our republic; and with the many things that we had to communicate to each other, the day wore away. at a later hour, after an entertainment of royal magnificence, we prolonged our conversation far into the night, while the old man talked to me about nothing else but africanus, rehearsing not only all that he had done, but all that he had said. when we parted to go to our rest, sleep took a stronger hold on me than usual, on account both of the fatigue of my journey and of the lateness of the hour. in my sleep, i suppose in consequence of our conversation (for generally our thoughts and utterances by day have in our sleep an effect like that which ennius describes in his own case as to homer, [footnote: the first verse of the _annales_ of ennius was:-- "in somnis mihi visus homerus adesse poeta."] about whom in his waking hours he was perpetually thinking and talking), africanus appeared to me, with an aspect that reminded me more of his bust than of his real face. i shuddered when i saw him. but he said: "preserve your presence of mind, scipio; be not afraid, and commit to memory what i shall say to you. . "do you see that city, which was brought through me into subjection to the roman people, but now renews its old hostility, and cannot remain quiet,"--and he showed me carthage from a high place full of stars, shining and splendid,--"against which you, being little more than a common soldier, are coming to fight? in two years from now you as consul will overthrow this city, and you will obtain of your own right the surname which up to this time you hold as inherited from me. when you shall have destroyed carthage, shall have celebrated your triumph over it, shall have been censor, and shall have traversed, as an ambassador, egypt, syria, asia, and greece, you will be chosen a second time consul in your absence, and will put an end to one of the greatest of wars by extirpating numantia. but when you shall be borne to the capitol in your triumphal chariot after this war, you will find the state disturbed by the machinations of my grandson. [footnote: tiberius gracchus, whose mother, cornelia, was the daughter of the elder africanus.] "in this emergency, africanus, it will behoove you to show your country the light of your energy, genius, and wisdom. but i see at that time, as it were, a double way of destiny. for when your age shall have followed the sun for eight times seven revolutions, and these two numbers [footnote: the pythagoreans regarded seven as the number representing light, and eight as representing love. seven was also a perfect number, as corresponding to the number of celestial orbits (including the sun, the moon, and the five known planets), the number of days in the quarter of the moon's revolution, and the number of the gates of sense (so to speak), mouth, eyes, ears, and nostrils. eight was a perfect number, as being first after unity on the list of cubes; and plato in the _timaeus_ speaks of eight celestial revolutions--including that of the earth--as unequal in duration and velocity, but as forming, in some unexplained way, a cycle synchronous with the year.]--each perfect, though for different reasons--shall have completed for you in the course of nature the destined period, to you alone and to your name the whole city will turn; on you the senate will look, on you all good citizens, on you the allies, on you the latini. you will be the one man on whom the safety of the city will rest; and, to say no more, you, as dictator, must re-establish the state, if you escape the impious hands of your kindred." [footnote: see _de amicitia_ § , note.] here, when laelius had cried out, and the rest of the company had breathed deep sighs, scipio, smiling pleasantly upon them, said, "i beg you not to rouse me from sleep and break up my vision. hear the remainder of it." . "but that you, africanus, may be the more prompt in the defence of the state, know that for all who shall have preserved, succored, enlarged their country, there is a certain and determined place in heaven where they enjoy eternal happiness; for to the supreme god who governs this whole universe nothing is more pleasing than those companies and unions of men that are called cities. of these the rulers and preservers, going hence, return hither." here i, although i had been alarmed, not indeed so much by the fear of death as by that of the treachery of my own kindred, yet asked whether paulus, my father, and others whom we supposed to be dead were living. "yes, indeed," he replied, "those who have fled from the bonds of the body, like runners from the goal, live; while what is called your life is death. but do you see your father paulus coming to you?" when i saw him, i shed a flood of tears; but he, embracing and kissing me, forbade my weeping. then as soon as my tears would suffer me to speak, i began by saying, "most sacred and excellent father, since this is life, as africanus tells me, why do i remain on the earth, and not rather hasten to come to you?" "not so," said he; "for unless the god who has for his temple all that you now behold, shall have freed you from this prison of the body, there can be no entrance for you hither. men have indeed been brought into being on this condition, that they should guard the globe which you see in the midst of this temple, which is called the earth; and a soul has been given to them from those eternal fires which you call constellations and stars, which, globed and round, animated with god-derived minds, complete their courses and move through their orbits with amazing speed. you, therefore, publius, and all rightly disposed men are bound to retain the soul in the body's keeping, nor without the command of him who gave it to you to depart from the life appointed for man, lest you may seem to have taken flight from human duty as assigned by god. but, scipio, like this your grandfather, [footnote: by adoption. the younger africanus was adopted by a son of the elder.] like me, your father, cherish justice and that sacred observance of duty to your kind, which, while of great worth toward parents and family, is of supreme value toward your country. such a life is the way to heaven, and to this assembly of those who have already lived, and, released from the body, inhabit the place which you now see,"--it was that circle that shines forth among the stars in the most dazzling white,--"which you have learned from the greeks to call the milky way." and as i looked on every side i saw other things transcendently glorious and wonderful. there were stars which we never see from here below, and all the stars were vast far beyond what we have ever imagined. the least of them was that which, farthest from heaven, nearest to the earth, shone with a borrowed light. but the starry globes very far surpassed the earth in magnitude. the earth itself indeed looked to me so small as to make me ashamed of our empire, which was a mere point on its surface. . while i was gazing more intently on the earth, africanus said: "how long, i pray you, will your mind be fastened on the ground? do you not see into the midst of what temples you have come? in your sight are nine orbs, or rather globes, by which all things are held together. one is the celestial, the outermost, embracing all the rest,--the supreme god himself, [footnote: here crops out the pantheism--the non-detachment or semi-detachment of god from nature--which casts a penumbra around monotheism and the approaches to it, almost always, except under hebrew and christian auspices.] who governs and keeps in their places the other spheres. in this are fixed those stars which ever roll in an unchanging course. beneath this are seven spheres which have a retrograde movement, opposite to that of the heavens. one of these is the domain of the star which on earth they call saturn. next is the luminary which bears the name of jupiter, of prosperous and healthful omen to the human race; then, the star of fiery red which you call mars, and which men regard with terror. beneath, the sun holds nearly the midway space, [footnote: the middle, as the fifth of the nine spheres, enclosed by four; and enclosing four.] leader, prince, and ruler of the other lights, the mind and regulating power of the universe, so vast as to illuminate and flood all things with his light. him, as his companions, venus and mercury follow on their different courses; and in a sphere still lower the moon revolves, lighted by the rays of the sun. beneath this there is nothing that is not mortal and perishable, except the souls bestowed upon the human race by the gift of the gods. above the moon all things are eternal. the earth, which is the central and ninth sphere, has no motion, and is the lowest [footnote: the lowest because central, and therefore farthest from the outermost or celestial sphere.] of all, and all heavy bodies gravitate spontaneously toward it." . when i had recovered from my amazement at these things i asked, "what is this sound so strong and so sweet that fills my ears?" "this," he replied, "is the melody which, at intervals unequal, yet differing in exact proportions, is made by the impulse and motion of the spheres themselves, which, softening shriller by deeper tones, produce a diversity of regular harmonies. nor can such vast movements be urged on in silence; and by the order of nature the shriller notes sound from one extreme of the universe, the deeper from the other. thus yonder supreme celestial sphere with its clustered stars, as it revolves more rapidly, moves with a shrill and quick strain; this lower sphere of the moon sends forth deeper notes; while the earth, the ninth sphere, remaining motionless, [footnote: therefore without sound.] always stands fixed in the lowest place, occupying the centre of the universe. but these eight revolutions, of which two, those of mercury and venus, are in unison, make seven distinct tones, with measured intervals between, and almost all things are arranged in sevens. [footnote: latin, _qui numerus_ (that is, _septem_) _rerum omnium fere nodus est_. literally, "which number is the knot of almost everything." the more intelligible form in which i have rendered these words seems to me to convey their true meaning, and my belief to that effect is confirmed by reading what several commentators say about the passage.] skilled men, copying this harmony with strings and voice, have opened for themselves a way back to this place, as have others who with excelling genius have cultivated divine sciences in human life. but the ears of men are deafened by being filled with this melody; nor is there in you mortals a duller sense than that of hearing. as where the nile at the falls of catadupa pours down from the loftiest mountains, the people who live hard by lack the sense of hearing because of the loudness of the cataract, so this harmony of the whole universe in its intensely rapid movement is so loud that men's ears cannot take it in, even as you cannot look directly at the sun, and the keenness and visual power of the eye are overwhelmed by its rays." while i marvelled at these things, i ever and anon cast my eyes again upon the earth. . then africanus said: "i perceive that you are now fixing your eyes on the abode and home of men, and if it seems to you small, as it really is, then look always at these heavenly things, and despise those earthly. for what reputation from the speech of men, or what fame worth seeking, can you obtain? you see that the inhabited places of the earth are scattered and of small extent, that in the spots [footnote: latin, _maculis_,--a figure so bold in cicero's time as to need an apology for its use, but now employed with no consciousness of its being otherwise than strictly literal.]--so to speak--where men dwell there are vast solitary tracts interposed, and that those who live on the earth are not only so separated that no communication can pass from place to place, but stand, in part at an oblique angle, in part at a right angle with you, in part even in an opposite direction; [footnote: it hardly needs to be said, that the reference here is to the convex surface of the earth, on which those remote from one another may hold all the various angles to each other that are borne by the spokes of a wheel.] and from these you certainly can anticipate no fame. "you perceive also that this same earth is girded and surrounded by belts, two of which--the farthest from each other, and each resting at one extremity on the very pole of the heavens--you see entirely frost-bound; while the middle and largest of them burns under the sun's intensest heat. two of them are habitable, of which the southern, whose inhabitants are your antipodes, bears no relation to your people; and see how small a part they occupy in this other northern zone, in which you dwell. for all of the earth with which you have any concern--narrow at the north and south, broader in its central portion--is a mere little island, surrounded by that sea which you on earth call the atlantic, the great sea, the ocean, while yet, with such a name, you see how small it is. to speak only of these cultivated and well-known regions, could your name even cross this caucasus which you have in view, or swim beyond that ganges? who, in what other lands may lie in the extreme east or west, or under northern or southern skies, will ever hear your name? all these cut off, you surely see within what narrow bounds your fame can seek to spread. then, too, as regards the very persons who tell of your renown, how long will they speak of it? . "but even if successive generations should desire to transmit the praise of every one of us from father to son in unbroken succession, yet because of devastations by flood and fire, which will of necessity take place at a determined time, we must fail of attaining not only eternal fame, but even that of very long duration. now of what concern is it that those who shall be born hereafter should speak of you, when you were spoken of by none who were born before you, who were not fewer, and certainly were better men?--especially, too, when among those who might hear our names there is not one that can retain the memories of a single year. men, indeed, ordinarily measure the year only by the return of the sun, that is, one star, to its place; but when all the stars, after long intervals, shall resume their original places in the heavens, then that completed revolution may be truly called a year. as of old the sun seemed to be eclipsed and blotted out when the soul of romulus entered these temples, so when the sun shall be again eclipsed in the same part of his course, and at the same period of the year and day, with all the constellations and stars recalled to the point from which they started on their revolutions, then count the year as brought to a close. [footnote: the stoics maintained that the visible universe would last through such a cycle as is here described, which in their conjectural astronomy comprehended many thousands of years, and then would be consumed by fire, or somehow be reduced to chaos, and a new universe take its place.] but be assured that the twentieth part of this year has not yet come round. "therefore, should you renounce the hope of returning to this place in which are all things that great and excellent men can desire, of what worth is that human glory which can scarcely extend to a small part of a single year? if, then, you shall determine to look high up, and to behold continuously this dwelling and eternal home, you will neither give yourself to the flattery of the people, nor place your hope of well-being on rewards that man can bestow. let virtue herself by her own charms draw you to true honor. what others may say of you, regard as their concern, not yours. they will doubtless talk about you, but all that they say is confined within the narrow limits of the regions which you now see; nor did such speech as to any one ever last on into eternity,--it is buried with those who die, and lost in oblivion for those who may come afterward." . when he had spoken thus, i said, "o africanus, if indeed for those who have deserved well of their country there is, as it were, an open road by which they may enter heaven, though from boyhood treading in my father's steps and yours, i have done no discredit to your fame, i yet shall now strive to that end with a more watchful diligence." and he replied: "strive [footnote: or, you will strive indeed.] indeed, and bear this in mind, that it is not you that are mortal, but your body only. nor is it you whom this outward form makes manifest; but every man's mind is he,--not the bodily shape which can be pointed at by the finger. know also that you are a god, if he indeed is a god who lives, who perceives, who remembers, who foresees, who governs and restrains and moves the body over which he is made ruler even as the supreme god holds the universe under his sway; and in truth as the eternal god himself moves the universe which is mortal in every part, so does the everlasting soul move the corruptible body. "that, indeed, which is in perpetual movement is eternal; but that which, while imparting motion to some other substance, derives its own movement from some other source, must of necessity cease to live when it ceases to move. then that alone which is the cause of its own motion, because it is never deserted by itself, never has its movement suspended. but for other substances that are moved this is the source, the first cause, [footnote: latin, _principium_.] of movement. but the first cause has no origin; for all things spring from the first cause: itself, from nothing. that indeed would not be a first cause which derived its beginning from anything else; and if it has no beginning, it never ceases to be. for the first cause, if extinct, will neither itself be born again from aught else, nor will it create aught else from itself, if indeed all things must of necessity originate from the first cause. thus it is that the first cause of motion is derived from that which is in its nature self-moving; but this can neither be born nor die. were it to die, the whole heaven would of necessity collapse, and all nature would stand still, nor could it find any force which could be set in movement anew from a primitive impulse. [footnote: from a first cause; the first cause, by hypothesis, having ceased to be.] . "since, then, that which is the source of its own movement is manifestly eternal, who is there that can deny that this nature has been given to the soul? for whatever is moved by external impulse is soulless; [footnote: latin, _inanimum._] but whatever has a soul [footnote: latin, _animal._ my renderings of _inanimum_ and _animal_ here, if not justified by any parallel instances (and i know not whether they are), are required by the obvious meaning of the sentence.] is stirred to action by movement inward and its own; for this is the peculiar nature and virtue of the soul. moreover, if it is this alone of all things that is the source of its own movement, it certainly did not begin to be, and is eternal. "this soul i bid you to exercise in the best pursuits, and the best are your cares for your country's safety, by which if your soul be kept in constant action and exercise, it will have the more rapid flight to this its abode and home. this end it will attain the more readily, if, while it shall be shut up in the body, it shall peer forth, and, contemplating those things that are beyond, abstract itself as far as possible from the body. for the souls of those who have surrendered themselves to the pleasures of the body, have yielded themselves to their service, and, obeying them under the impulse of sensual lusts, have transgressed the laws of gods and men, when they pass out of their bodies are tossed to and fro around the earth, nor return to this place till they have wandered in banishment for many ages." he departed; i awoke from sleep.