Book 6

I undertook my present task, Marcellus Victorius, mainly to gratify your request, but also with a view to assist the more earnest of our young men as far as lay in my power, while latterly the energy with which I have devoted myself to my labours has been inspired by the almost imperative necessity imposed by the office conferred on me, though all the while I have had an eye to my own personal pleasure. For I thought that this work would be the most precious part of the inheritance that would fall to my son, whose ability was so remarkable that it called for the most anxious cultivation on the part of his father. Thus if, as would have been but just and devoutly to be wished, the fates had torn me from his side, he would still have been able to enjoy the benefit of his father's instruction.

Night and day I pursued this design, and strove to hasten its completion in the fear that death might cut me off with my task unfinished, when misfortune overwhelmed me with such suddenness, that the success of my labours now interests no one less than myself. A second bereavement has fallen upon me, and I have lost him of whom I had formed the highest expectations, and in whom I reposed all the hopes that should solace my old age. What is there left for me to do?

Or what further use can I hope to be on earth, when heaven thus frowns upon me? For it so chances that just at the moment when I began my book on the causes of the decline of eloquence, I was stricken by a like affliction. Better had I thrown that illomened work and all my ill-starred learning upon the flames of that untimely pyre that was to consume the darling of my heart, and had not sought to burden my unnatural persistence in this wicked world with the fatigue of fresh labours!

For what father with a spark of proper feeling would pardon me for having the heart to pursue my researches further, and would not hate me for my insensibility, had I other use for my voice than to rail against high heaven for having suffered me to outlive all my nearest and dearest, and to testify that providence deigns not at all to watch over this earth of ours? If this is not proved by my own misfortune (and yet my only fault is that I still live), it is most surely manifest in theirs, who were cut off thus untimely; their mother was taken from me earlier still, she had borne me two sons ere the completion of her nineteenth year; but for her, though she too died most untimely, death was a blessing.

Yet for me her death alone was such a blow that thereafter no good fortune could bring me true happiness. For she had every virtue that is given to woman to possess, and left her husband a prey to irremediable grief; nay, so young was she when death took her, that if her age be compared with mine, her decease was like the loss not merely of a wife, but of a daughter. Still her children survived her, and I, too, lived on by some unnatural ordinance of fate, which for all its perversity was what she herself desired; and thus by her swift departure from this life she escaped tile worst of tortures. My youngest boy was barely five, when he was the first to leave me, robbing me as it were of one of my two eyes.

I have no desire to flaunt my woes in the public gaze, nor to exaggerate the cause I have for tears; would that I had some means to make it less! But how can I forget the charm of his face, the sweetness of his speech, his first flashes of promise, and his actual possession of a calm and, incredible though it may seem, a powerful mind. Such a child would have captivated my affections, even had he been another's.

Nor was this all; to enhance my agony the malignity of designing fortune had willed that he should devote all his love to me, preferring me to his nurses, to his grandmother who brought him up, and all those who, as a rule, win the special affection of infancy.

I am, therefore, grateful to the grief that came to me some few months before his loss in the death of his mother, the best of women, whose virtues were beyond all praise. For I have less reason to weep my own fate than to rejoice at hers. After these calamities all my hopes, all my delight were centred on my little Quintilian, and he might have sufficed to console me.

For his gifts were not merely in the bud like those of his brother: as early as his ninth birthday he had put forth sure and well-formed fruit. By my own sorrows, by the testimony of my own sad heart, by his departed spirit, the deity at whose shrine my grief does worship, I swear that I discerned in him such talent, not merely in receiving instruction, although in all my wide experience I have never seen his like, nor in his power of spontaneous application, to which his teachers can bear witness, but such upright, pious, humane and generous feelings, as alone might have sufficed to fill me with the dread of the fearful thunder-stroke that has smitten me down: for it is a matter of common observation that those who ripen early die young, and that there is some malign influence that delights in cutting short the greatest promise and refusing to permit our joys to pass beyond the bound allotted to mortal man.

He possessed every incidental advantage as well, a pleasing and resonant voice, a sweetness of speech, and a perfect correctness in pronouncing every letter both in Greek and Latin, as though either were his native tongue. But all these were but the promise of greater things. He had finer qualities, courage and dignity, and the strength to resist both fear and pain. What fortitude he showed during an illness of eight months, till all his physicians marvelled at him! How he consoled me during his last moments. How even in the wanderings of delirium did his thoughts recur to his lessons and his literary studies, even when his strength was sinking and he was no longer ours to claim!

Child of my vain hopes, did I see your eyes fading in death and your breath take its last flight? Had I the heart to receive your fleeting spirit, as I embraced your cold pale body, and to live on breathing the common air. Justly do I endure the agony that now is mine, and the thoughts that torment me.

Have I lost you at the moment when adoption by a consular had given hope that you would rise to all the high offices of state, when you were destined to be the son-in-law of your uncle the praetor, and gave promise of rivalling the eloquence of your grandsire? and do I your father survive only to weep? May my endurance (not my will to live, for that is gone from me) prove me worthy of you through all my remaining years. For it is in vain that we impute all our ills to fortune. No man grieves long save through his own fault.

But I still live, and must find something to make life tolerable, and must needs put faith in the verdict of the wise, who held that literature alone can provide true solace in adversity. Yet, if ever the violence of my present grief subside and admit the intrusion of some other thought on so many sorrowful reflexions, I may with good cause ask pardon for the delay in bringing my work to completion. Who can wonder that my studies have been interrupted, when the real marvel is that they have not been broken off altogether?

Should certain portions therefore betray a lack of finish compared with what was begun in the days when my affliction was less profound, I would ask that the imperfections should be regarded with indulgence, as being due to the cruel tyranny of fortune, which, if it has not utterly extinguished, has at any rate weakened such poor powers of intellect as I once possessed. But for this very reason I must rouse myself to face my task with greater spirit, since it is easy to despise fortune, though it may be hard to bear her blows. For there is nothing left that she can do to me, since out of my calamities she has wrought for me a security which, full of sorrow though it be, is such that nothing can shake it.

And the very fact that I have no personal interest in persevering with my present work, but am moved solely by the desire to serve others, if indeed anything that I write can be of such service, is a reason for regarding my labours with an indulgent eye. Alas! I shall bequeath it, like my patrimony, for others than those to whom it was my design to leave it.

The next subject which I was going to discuss was the peroration which some call the completion and others the conclusion. There are two kinds of peroration, for it may deal either with facts or with the emotional aspect of the case. The repetition and grouping of the facts, which the Greeks call ἀνακεφαλαίωσις and some of our own writers call the enumeration, serves both to refresh the memory of the judge and to place the whole of the case before his eyes, and, even although the facts may have made little impression on him in detail, their cumulative effect is considerable.

This final recapitulation must be as brief as possible and, as the Greek term indicates, we must summarise the facts under the appropriate heads. For if we devote too much time thereto, the peroration will cease to be an enumeration and will constitute something very like a second speech. On the other hand the points selected for enumeration must be treated with weight and dignity, enlivened by apt reflexions and diversified by suitable figures; for there is nothing more tiresome than a dry repetition of facts, which merely suggests a lack of confidence in the judges' memory.

There are however innumerable ways in which this may be done. The finest example is provided by Cicero's prosecution of Verres. If your own father were among your judges, what would he say when these facts were proved against you? Then follows the enumeration. Another admirable example may be found in the same speech where the enumeration of the temples which the praetor had despoiled takes the form of invoking the various deities concerned. We may also at times pretend to be in doubt whether we have not omitted something and to wonder what the accused will say in reply to certain points or what hope tile accuser can have after the manner in which we have refuted all the charges brought against us.

But the most attractive form of peroration is that which we may use when we have an opportunity of drawing some argument from our opponent's speech, as for instance when we say He omitted to deal with this portion of tile case, or He preferred to crush us by exciting odium against us, or He had good reason for resorting to entreaty, since lie knew certain facts.

But I must refrain from dealing with the various methods individually, for fear that the instances that I produce should be regarded as exhaustive, whereas our opportunities spring from the nature of the particular case, from the statements of our opponents and also from fortuitous circumstances. Nor must we restrict ourselves to recapitulating the points of our own speech, but must call upon our opponent to reply to certain questions.

This however is only possible if there is time for him to do so and if the arguments which we have put forward are such as not to admit of refutation. For to challenge points which tell in our opponent's favour is not to argue against him, but to play the part of prompter to him.

The majority of Athenians and almost all philosophers who have left anything in writing on the art of oratory have held that the recapitulation is the sole form of peroration. I imagine that the reason why the Athenians did so was that appeals to the emotions were forbidden to Athenian orators, a proclamation to this effect being actually made by the court-usher. I am less surprised at the philosophers taking this view, for they regard susceptibility to emotion as a vice, and think it immoral that the judge should be distracted from the truth by an appeal to his emotions and that it is unbecoming for a good man to make use of vicious procedure to serve his ends. None the less they must admit that appeals to emotion are necessary if there are no other means for securing the victory of truth, justice and the public interest.

It is however admitted by all that recapitulation may be profitably employed in other portions of the speech as well, if the case is complicated and a number of different arguments have been employed in the defence; though no one will doubt but that there are many cases, in which no recapitulation at all is necessary at any point, assuming, that is, that the cases are both brief and simple. This part of the peroration is common both to the prosecution and the defence.

Both parties as a general rule may likewise employ the appeal to the emotions, but they will appeal to different emotions and the defender will employ such appeals with greater frequency and fulness. For the accuser has to rouse the judge, while the defender has to soften him. Still even the accuser will sometimes make his audience weep by the pity excited for the man whose wrongs he seeks to avenge, while the defendant will at times develop no small vehemence when he complains of the injustice of the calumny or conspiracy of which he is the victim. It will therefore be best to treat these duties separately: as I have already said, they are much the same in the peroration as in the exordium, but are freer and wider in scope in the former.

For our attempts to sway the judges are made more sparingly at the commencement of the speech, when it is enough that such an attempt should gain admittance and we have the whole speech before us. On the other hand in the peroration we have to consider what the feelings of the judge will be when he retires to consider his verdict, for we shall have no further opportunity to say anything and cannot any longer reserve arguments to be produced later.

It is therefore the duty of both parties to seek to win the judge's goodwill and to divert it from their opponent, as also to excite or assuage his emotions. And the following brief rule may be laid down for the observation of both parties, that the orator should display the full strength of his case before the eyes of the judge, and, when he has made up his mind what points in his case actually deserve or may seem to deserve to excite envy, goodwill, dislike or pity, should dwell on those points by which he himself would be most moved were he trying the case.

But it will be safer to discuss these considerations in detail. The points likely to commend the accuser to the judge have already been stated in my remarks on the exordium. There are however certain things which require fuller treatment in the peroration than in the exordium, where it is sufficient merely to outline them. This fuller treatment is specially required if the accused be a man of violent, unpopular or dangerous character or if the condemnation of the accused is likely to cover the judges with glory or his acquittal with disgrace.

Calvus for example in his speech against Vatinius makes an admirable remark: You know, gentlemen, that bribery has been committed and everybody knows that you know it. Cicero again in the Verrines says that the ill-name acquired by the courts may be effaced by the condemnation of Verres, a statement that comes under the head of the conciliatory methods mentioned above. The appeal to tear also, if it is necessary to employ it to produce a like effect, occupies a more prominent place in the peroration than in the exordium, but I have expressed my views on this subject in an earlier book.

The peroration also provides freer opportunities for exciting the passions of jealousy, hatred or anger. As regards the circumstances likely to excite such feelings in the judge, jealousy will be produced by the influence of the accused, hatred by the disgraceful nature of his conduct, and anger by his disrespectful attitude to the court, if, for instance, he be contumacious, arrogant or studiously indifferent: such anger may be aroused not merely by specific acts or words, but by his looks, bearing and manner. In this connexion the remark made by the accuser of Cossutianus Capito in my young days was regarded with great approval: the words used were Greek, but may be translated thus:— You blush to fear even Caesar.

The best way however for the accuser to excite the feelings of the judge is to make the charge which he brings against the accused seem as atrocious or, if feasible, as deplorable as possible. Its atrocity may be enhanced by considerations of the nature of the act, the position of its author or the victim, the purpose, time, place and manner of the act: all of which may be treated with infinite variety.

Suppose that we are complaining that our client has been beaten. We must first speak of the act itself; we shall then proceed to point out that the victim was an old man, a child, a magistrate, an honest man or a benefactor to the state; we shall also point out that the assailant was a worthless and contemptible fellow, or (to take the opposite case) was in a position of excessive power or was the last man who should have given the blow, or again that the occasion was a solemn festival, or that the act was committed at a time when such crimes were punished with special severity by the courts or when public order was at a dangerously low ebb. Again the hatred excited by the act will be enhanced if it was committed in the theatre, in a temple, or at a public assembly, and if the blow was given not in mistake or in a moment of passion or, if it was the result of passion which was quite unjustifiable, being due to the fact that the victim had gone to the assistance of his father or had made some reply or was a candidate for the same office as his assailant; or finally we may hint that he wished to inflict more serious injury than he succeeded in inflicting. But it is the manner of the act that contributes most to the impression of its atrocity, if, for example, the blow was violent or insulting: thus Demosthenes seeks to excite hatred against Midias by emphasising the position of the blow, the attitude of the assailant and the expression of his face.

It is in this connexion that we shall have to consider whether a man was killed by sword or fire or poison, by one wound or several, and whether he was slain on the spot or tortured by being kept in suspense. The accuser will also frequently attempt to excite pity by complaining of the fate of the man whom he is seeking to avenge or of the desolation which has fallen upon his children or parents.

The judges may also be moved by drawing a picture of the future, of the fate which awaits those who have complained of violence and wrong, if they fail to secure justice. They must go into exile, give up their property or endure to the end whatever their enemy may choose to inflict upon them.

But it will more frequently be the duty of the accuser to divert the judge from all the temptations to pity which the accused will place before him, and to incite him to give a strong and dispassionate verdict. It will also be his duty in this connexion to forestall the arguments and actions to which his opponent seems likely to have recourse. For it makes the judge more cautious in observing the sanctity of his oath and destroys the influence of those who are going to reply to us when the arguments used by the defence have already been dealt with by the prosecution, since they lose their novelty. An instance of this will be found in the speech of Messala against Aufidia, where he warns Servius Sulpicius not to talk about the peril which threatens the signatories to the document and the defendant herself. Again Aesehines foretells the line of defence which Demosthenes will pursue. There are also occasions when the judges should be told what answer they should make to requests on behalf of the accused, a proceeding which is a form of recapitulation.

If we turn to the defendant, we must note that his worth, nis manly pursuits, the scars from wounds received in battle, his rank and the services rendered by his ancestors, will all commend him to the goodwill of the judges. Cicero, as I have already pointed out, and Asinius both make use of this form of appeal: indeed they may almost be regarded as rivals in this respect, since Cicero employed it when defending the elder Scaurus, Asinius when defending the son. Again, the cause which has brought the accused into peril may serve to produce the same effect, if, for example, it appears that he has incurred enmity on account of some honourable action: above all his goodness, humanity or pity may be emphasised with this end in view. For it adds to the apparent justice of his claim, if all that he asks of the judge is that he should grant to him what he himself has granted to others. We may also in this connexion lay stress on the interests of the state, the glory which will accrue to the judges, the importance of the precedent which their verdict will set and the place it will hold in the memory of after generations.

But the appeal which will carry most weight is the appeal to pity, which not merely forces the judge to change his views, but even to betray his emotion by tears. Such appeals to pity will be based either on the previous or present sufferings of the accused, or on those which await him if condemned. And the force of our appeal will be doubled if we contrast the fortune which he now enjoys with that to which he will be reduced, if he fail.

In this connexion great play may be made by reference to the age and sex of the accused, or to his nearest and dearest, that is, his children, parents and kindred, all of which topics are treated in different ways. Sometimes the advocate himself may even assume the role of close intimacy with his client, as Cicero does in the pro Milone, where he cries: Alas, unhappy that I am! Alas, my unfortunate friend! You succeeded by the agency of those who are now your judges in recalling me to my native land, and cannot I through the same agency retain you in yours? Such a method is especially serviceable when, as was the case with Milo, entreaty is not in keeping with the character of the accused.

Who would have endured to hear Milo pleading for his life, when he admitted that he had killed a man of noble birth because it was his duty to do so? Consequently Cicero sought to win the judges' goodwill for Milo by emphasising the staunchness of his character, and himself assumed the role of suppliant. Impersonation may also be employed with profit in such passages, and by impersonations I mean fictitious speeches supposed to be uttered, such as an advocate puts into the mouth of his client. The bare facts are no doubt moving in themselves; but when we pretend that the persons concerned themselves are speaking, the personal note adds to the emotional effect.

For then the judge seems no longer to be listening to a voice bewailing another's ills, but to hear the voice and feelings of the unhappy victims, men whose appearance alone would call forth his tears even though they uttered never a word. And as their plea would awaken yet greater pity if they urged it with their own lips, so it is rendered to some extent all the more effective when it is, as it were, put into their mouth by their advocate: we may draw a parallel from the stage, where the actor's voice and delivery produce greater emotional effect when he is speaking in an assumed role than when he speaks in his own character. Consequently Cicero, to quote him once again, although he will not put entreaties into Milo's mouth, and prefers to commend him by his staunchness of character, still lends him words in the form of such complaint as may become a brave man. Alas! he says, my labours have been in vain! Alas for my blighted hopes! Alas for my baffled purpose! Appeals to pity should, however, always be brief, and there is good reason for the saying that nothing dries so quickly as tears.

Time assuages even genuine grief, and it is therefore inevitable that the semblance of grief portrayed in our speech should vanish yet more rapidly. And if we spend too much time over such portrayal our hearer grows weary of his tears, takes a breathing space, and returns once more to the rational attitude from which lie has been distracted by the impulse of the moment.

We must not, therefore, allow the effect which we have produced to fall flat, and must consequently abandon our appeal to the emotion just when that emotion is at its height, nor must we expect anyone to weep for long over another's ills. For this reason our eloquence ought to be pitched higher in this portion of our speech than in any other, since, wherever it fails to add something to what has preceded, it seems even to diminish its previous effect, while a diminuendo is merely a step towards the rapid disappearance of the emotion.

Actions as well as words may be employed to move the court to tears. Hence the custom of bringing accused persons into court wearing squalid and unkempt attire, and of introducing their children and parents, and it is with this in view that we see blood-stained swords, fragments of bone taken from the wound, and garments spotted with blood, displayed by the accusers, wounds stripped of their dressings, and scourged bodies bared to view.

The impression produced by such exhibitions is generally enormous, since they seem to bring the spectators face to face with the cruel facts. For example, the sight of the bloodstains on the purple-bordered toga of Gaius Caesar, which was carried at the head of his funeral procession, aroused the Roman people to fury. They knew that he had been killed; they had even seen his body stretched upon the bier: but his garment, still wet with his blood, brought such a vivid image of the crime before their minds, that Caesar seemed not to have been murdered, but to be being murdered before their very eyes.

Still I would not for this reason go so far as to approve a practice of which I have read, and which indeed I have occasionally witnessed, of bringing into court a picture of the crime painted on wood or canvas, that the judge might be stirred to fury by the horror of the sight. For the pleader who prefers a voiceless picture to speak for him in place of his own eloquence must be singularly incompetent.

On the other hand, I know that the wearing of mourning and the presentation of an unkempt appearance, and the introduction of relatives similarly arrayed, has proved of value, and that entreaties have been of great service to save the accused from condemnation. The practice therefore of appealing to the judges by all that is near and dear to them will be of great service to the accused, especially if he, too, has children, a wife and parents.

Invocation of the gods, again, usually gives the impression that the speaker is conscious of the justice of his cause, while it may produce a good effect if the accused throws himself on the ground and embraces the knees of the judges, unless his character, his past life and station prohibit a resort to this device: for there are some acts which require to be defended with no less boldness than was required for their commission. But we must take care not to carry matters with too high a hand, for fear of creating a bad impression by an appearance of over-confidence.

The most effective of all such methods was in times past that by which more than anything else Cicero is considered to have saved Lucius Murena from the attacks of his accusers, who were men of the greatest distinction. For he persuaded the court that nothing was more necessary in view of the critical position of affairs than that Murena should assume the consulship on the thirty-first of December. This form of appeal is now, however, almost entirely obsolete, since the safety of the state is to-day dependent on the watchful care of a single ruler, and cannot conceivably be imperilled by the result of a trial.

I have spoken of accusers and accused because it is in situations involving danger that the emotional appeal is most serviceable. But private cases also admit of both kinds of peroration, namely, that which consists in the recapitulation of the proofs and that which takes the form of an appeal for pity, the latter being employed when the position or reputation of the litigant seems to be in danger. For to embark on such tragic methods in trivial cases would be like putting the mask and buskins of Hercules on a small child.

It is also worth while pointing out that, in my opinion, the manner in which the client whose sorrows we parade before the court conforms his behaviour to the methods of his advocate is of the utmost importance. For sometimes our appeal falls flat owing to the ignorance, rusticity, indifference or uncouthness of our client, and it is consequently most important that the advocate should take all necessary precautions in this connexion.

I have often seen clients whose behaviour was wholly out of keeping with the line adopted by their counsel, since their expression showed not the slightest emotion, while they displayed a most unseasonable cheerfulness and even aroused laughter by their looks or actions; such incongruity is especially frequent when the appeal is of a theatrical character.

On one occasion an advocate produced a girl alleged to be the sister of the opposing party (for it was on this point that the dispute turned) and led her across to the benches occupied by his opponents as though to leave her in the arms of her brother: I however had given tile brother timely warning and he had left his seat. The advocate, although as a rule an eloquent speaker, was struck dumb by the unexpected turn of events and took his little girl back again in the tamest possible manner.

There was another advocate who was defending a woman who thought to secure a great effect by producing the portrait of her husband, but sent the court into repeated peals of laughter. For the persons entrusted with the duty of handing in the portrait had no idea of the nature of a peroration and displayed it whenever the advocate looked their way, and when at last it was produced at the proper moment it destroyed all the good effect of his previous eloquence by its hideousness, for it was a wax cast taken from an old man's corpse.

We are also familiar with the story of what happened to Glycon, nicknamed Spiridion. He asked a boy whom he produced in court why he was crying; to which the boy replied, that his paedagogus was pinching him. But the most effective warning as to the perils which beset the peroration is the story told by Cicero about the Caepasii.

But all these perils may be boldly faced by those who have no difficulty in changing their line of pleading. Those however who cannot get away from what they have written, are reduced to silence by such emergencies or else led into making false statements, as for instance if an advocate should say, He stretches out suppliant hands to embrace your knees, or The unhappy man is locked in the embrace of his children, or See he recalls me to the point, although the person in question is doing none of these things.

Such faults are due to the practice of the schools, where we are free to feign what we will with impunity, because we are at liberty to invent facts. But this is impossible when we are confronted with realities, and it was an excellent remark that Cassius made to a young orator who said, Why do you look so fiercely at me, Severus? To which he replied, I was doing nothing of the kind, but if it is in your manuscript, here you are! And he fixed his eyes on him with the most ferocious scowl that he could muster.

There is one point which it is specially important to remember, that we should never attempt to move our audience to tears without drawing on all the resources of our eloquence. For while this form of emotional appeal is the most effective of all, when successful, its failure results in anti-climax, and if the pleader is a feeble speaker he would have been wiser to leave the pathos of the situation to the imagination of the judges.

For look and voice and even the expression on the face of the accused to which the attention of the court is drawn will generally awaken laughter where they fail to awaken compassion. Therefore the pleader must measure and make a careful estimate of his powers, and must have a just comprehension of the difficulty of the task which he contemplates. For there is no halfway house in such matters between tears and laughter.

The task of the peroration is not however confined to exciting pity in the judges: it may also be required to dispel the pity which they feel, either by a set speech designed to recall them from their tears to a consideration of the justice of the case, or by a few witticisms such as, Give the boy some bread to stop him crying, or the remark made by counsel to a corpulent client, whose opponent, a mere child, had been carried round the court by his advocate, What am I to do? I can't carry you!

Such jests should not however descend to buffoonery. Consequently I cannot give my approval to the orator, although he was one of the most distinguished speakers of his day, who, when his opponent brought in some children to enhance the effect of his peroration, threw some dice among them, with the result that they began to scramble for them. For their childish ignorance of the perils with which they were threatened might in itself have awakened compassion.

For the same reason I cannot commend the advocate who, when his opponent the accuser produced a bloodstained sword in court, fled suddenly from the benches as though in an agony of terror, and then, when his turn came to plead, peeped out of the crowd with his head half covered by his robe and asked whether the man with the sword had gone away. For though he caused a laugh, he made himself ridiculous.

Still, theatrical effects of the kind we are discussing can be dispelled by the power of eloquence. Cicero provides most admirable examples of the way in which this may be done both in the pro Rabirio where he attacks the production in court of the portrait of Saturninus in the most dignified language, and in the pro Vareno where he launches a number of witticisms against a youth whose wound had been unbound at intervals in the course of the trial.

There are also milder kinds of peroration in which, if our opponent is of such a character that he deserves to be treated with respect, we strive to ingratiate ourselves with him or give him some friendly warning or urge him to regard us as his friends. This method was admirably employed by Passienus when he pleaded in a suit brought by his wife Domitia against her brother Ahenobarbus for the recovery of a sum of money: he began by making a number of remarks about the relationship of the two parties and then, referring to their wealth, which was in both cases enormous, added, There is nothing either of you need less than the subject of this dispute.

All these appeals to emotion, although some hold that they should be confined to the exordium and the peroration, which are, I admit, the places where they are most often used, may be employed in other portions of the speech as well, but more briefly, since most of them must be reserved for the opening or the close. But it is in tile peroration, if anywhere, that we must let loose the whole torrent of our eloquence.

For, if we have spoken well in the rest of our speech, we shall now have the judges on our side, and shall be in a position, now that we have emerged from the reefs and shoals, to spread all our canvas, while since the chief task of the peroration consists of amplification, we may legitimately make free use of words and reflexions that are magnificent and ornate. It is at the close of our drama that we must really stir the theatre, when we have reached the place for the phrase with which the old tragedies and comedies used to end, Friends, give us your applause.

In other portions of the speech we must appeal to the emotions as occasion may arise. For it would clearly be wrong to set forth facts calling for horror and pity without any such appeal, while, if the question arises as to the quality of any fact, such an appeal may justifiably be subjoined to the proofs of the fact in question.

When we are pleading a complicated case which is really made up of several cases, it will be necessary to introduce a number of passages resembling perorations, as Cicero does in the Vetrines, where he laments over Philodamus, the ships' captains, the crucifixion of the Roman citizen, and a number of other tragic incidents.

Some call these μερικοὶ ἐπίλογοι, by which they mean a peroration distributed among different portions of a speech. I should regard them rather as species than as parts of the peroration, since the terms epilogue and peroration both clearly indicate that they form the conclusion of a speech.

II. The peroration is the most important part of forensic pleading, and in the main consists of appeals to the emotions, concerning which I have consequently been forced to say something. But I have not yet been able to give the topic specific consideration as a whole, nor should I have been justified in doing so. We have still, therefore, to discuss a task which forms tile most powerful means of obtaining what we desire, and is also more difficult than any of those which we have previously considered, namely that of stirring the emotions of the judges, and of moulding and transforming them to the attitude which we desire.

The few remarks which I have already made on this subject were only such as were essential to my theme, while my purpose was rather to show what ought to be done than to set forth the manner in which we can secure our aim. I must now review the whole subject in a more exhaustive fashion. There is scope for an appeal to the emotions, as I have already said,1 in every portion of a speech. Moreover these emotions present great variety, and demand more than cursory treatment, since it is in their handling that the power of oratory shews itself at its highest. Even a slight and limited talent may, with the assistance of practice or learning, perhaps succeed in giving life to other departments of oratory, and in developing them to a serviceable extent. At any rate there are, and have always been, a considerable number of pleaders capable of discovering arguments adequate to prove their points. I am far from despising such, but I consider that their utility is restricted to providing the judge with such facts as it is necessary for him to know, and, to be quite frank, I regard them merely as suitable persons to instruct pleaders of real eloquence in the facts of a case. But few indeed are those orators who can sweep the judge with them, lead him to adopt that attitude of mind which they desire, and compel him to weep with them or share their anger.

And yet it is this emotional power that dominates the court, it is this form of eloquence that is the queen of all. For as a rule arguments arise out of the case itself, and the better cause has always the larger number to support it, so that the party who wills by means of them will have no further satisfaction than that of knowing that his advocate did not fail him.

But the peculiar task of the orator arises when the minds of the judges require force to move them, and their thoughts have actually to be led away from the contemplation of the truth. No instruction from the litigant can secure this, nor can such power be acquired merely by the study of a brief. Proofs, it is true, may induce the judges to regard our case as superior to that of our opponent, but the appeal to the emotions will do more, for it will make them wish our case to be the better. And what they wish, they will also believe.

For as soon as they begin to be angry, to feel favourably disposed, to hate or pity, they begin to take a personal interest in the case, and just as lovers are incapable of forming a reasoned judgment on the beauty of the object of their affections, because passion forestalls the sense of sight, so the judge, when overcome by his emotions, abandons all attempt to enquire into the truth of the arguments, is swept along by the tide of passion, and yields himself unquestioning to the torrent.

Thus the verdict of the court shows how much weight has been carried by the arguments and the evidence; but when the judge has been really moved by the orator he reveals his feelings while he is still sitting and listening to the case. When those tears, which are the aim of most perorations, well forth from his eyes, is he not giving his verdict for all to see? It is to this, therefore, that the orator must devote all his powers,

There lie the task and toil!

Without this all else is bare and meagre, weak and devoid of charm. For it is in its power over the emotions that the life and soul of oratory is to be found.

Emotions however, as we learn from ancient authorities, fall into two classes; the one is called pathos by the Greeks and is rightly and correctly expressed in Latin by adfectus (emotion): the other is called ethos, a word for which in my opinion Latin has no equivalent: it is however rendered by mores (morals) and consequently the branch of philosophy known as ethics is styled moral philosophy by us.

But close consideration of the nature of the subject leads me to think that in this connexion it is not so much morals in general that is meant as certain peculiar aspects; for the term morals includes every attitude of the mind. The more cautious writers have preferred to give the sense of the term rather than to translate it into Latin. They therefore explain pathos as describing the more violent emotions and ethos as designating those which are calm and gentle: in the one case the passions are violent, in the other subdued, the former command and disturb, the latter persuade and induce a feeling of goodwill.

Some add that ethos is continuous, while pathos is momentary. While admitting that this is usually the ease, I still hold that there are some subjects which demand that the more violent emotion should be continuous. But, although the gentler emotions require less force and impetus, they call for no less art and experience than the more vehement, and are demanded in a greater number of cases, indeed in a certain sense they are required in all.

For as everything treated by the orator may be regarded from the ethical standpoint, we may apply the word ethos whenever he speaks of what is honourable and expedient or of what ought or ought not to be done. Some regard commendation and excuse as the peculiar spheres of ethos, but while I admit that they do fall within its sphere, I do not regard them as being alone in so doing.

Indeed I would add that pathos and ethos are sometimes of the same nature, differing only in degree; love for instance comes under the head of pathos, affection of ethos; sometimes however they differ, a distinction which is important for the peroration, since ethos is generally employed to calm the storm aroused by pathos. I ought however to explain what is meant by ethos in greater detail, since the term is not in itself sufficiently expressive of its meaning.

The ethos which I have in my mind and which I desiderate in an orator is commended to our approval by goodness more than aught else and is not merely calm and mild, but in most cases ingratiating and courteous and such as to excite pleasure and affection in our hearers, while the chief merit in its expression lies in making it seem that all that we say derives directly from the nature of the facts and persons concerned and in the revelation of the character of the orator in such a way that all may recognise it.

This kind of ethos should be especially displayed in cases where the persons concerned are intimately connected, whenever we tolerate or pardon any act or offer satisfaction or admonition, in all of which cases there should be no trace of anger or hatred. On the other hand the moderation shown by a father to his son, a guardian to his ward or a husband to his wife will differ from that which is shown by an old man to a youthful stranger who has insulted him or by a man of high rank to his inferior, since in the former cases they emphasise their affection for the wrongdoer and there is no desire to do anything that will excite dislike against them save by the manifestation of the fact that they still love them; while in the one case the offended party should be no more than provoked, in the other he should he really deeply moved. Of the same character, though less violent, is the emotion to be shown when we ask pardon for the errors of the young, or apologise for some youthful amour. Sometimes again gentle raillery of another's passion may derive its tone from ethos, though only to a partial extent. More closely dependent on ethos are the skilful exercise of feigned emotion or the employment of irony in making apologies or asking questions, irony being the term which is applied to words which mean something other than they seem to express.

From the same source springs also that more powerful method of exciting hatred, when by a feigned submission to our opponents we pass silent censure on their violence. For the very fact of our yielding serves to demonstrate their insupportable arrogance, while orators who have a passion for abuse or are given to affect freedom of speech fail to realise that it is a far more effective course to make your antagonist unpopular than to abuse him. For the former course makes our antagonists disliked, the latter ourselves.

The emotion of love and longing for our friends and connexions is perhaps of an intermediate character, being stronger than ethos and weaker than pathos. There is also good reason for giving the name of ethos to those scholastic exercises in which we portray rustics, misers, cowards and superstitious persons according as our theme may require. For if ethos denotes moral character, our speech must necessarily be based on ethos when it is engaged in portraying such character.

Finally ethos in all its forms requires the speaker to be a man of good character and courtesy. For it is most important that he should himself possess or be thought to possess those virtues for the possession of which it is his duty, if possible, to commend his client as well, while the excellence of his own character will make his pleading all the more convincing and will be of the utmost service to the cases which he undertakes. For the orator who gives the impression of being a bad man while he is speaking, is actually speaking badly, since his words seem to be insincere owing to the absence of ethos which would otherwise have revealed itself.

Consequently the style of oratory employed in such cases should be calm and mild with no trace of pride, elevation or sublimity, all of which would be out of place. It is enough to speak appropriately, pleasantly and persuasively, and therefore the intermediate style of oratory is most suitable.

The pathos of the Greeks, which we correctly translate by emotion, is of a different character, and I cannot better indicate the nature of the difference than by saying that ethos rather resembles comedy and pathos tragedy. For pathos is almost entirely concerned with anger, dislike, fear, hatred and pity. It will be obvious to all what topics are appropriate to such appeals and I have already spoken on the subject in discussing the exordium and the peroration.

I wish however to point out that fear is of two kinds, that which we feel and that which we cause in others. Similarly there are two kinds of invidia (hatred, envy), to which the two adjectives invidus (envious) and invidious (invidious, hateful) correspond. The first supplies an epithet for persons, the second for things, and it is in this latter connexion that the orator's task is even more onerous. For though some things are hateful in themselves such as parricide, murder, poisoning, other things have to be made to seem hateful.

This latter contingency arises when we attempt to shew that what we have suffered is of a more horrible nature than what are usually regarded as great evils. Vergil will provide an example in the lines:— blest beyond all maidens Priam's child,

Beneath Troy's lofty bulwarks doomed to die

Upon the tomb of him that was thy foe.

For how wretched was the lot of Andromache, if Polyxena be accounted happy in comparison with her!

Again the same problem arises when we endeavour to magnify our wrongs by saying that other far lesser ills are intolerable; e.g. If you had merely struck him, your conduct would have been indefensible. But you did more, you wounded him. However I will deal with this subject more fully when I come to speak of amplification. Meanwhile I will content myself with the observation that the aim of appeals to the emotion is not merely to slew the bitter and grievous nature of ills that actually are so, but also to make ills which are usually regarded as tolerable seem unendurable, as for instance when we represent insulting words as inflicting more grievous injury than an actual blow or represent disgrace as being worse than death.

For the force of eloquence is such that it not merely compels the judge to the conclusion toward which the nature of the facts lead him, but awakens emotions which either do not naturally arise from the case or are stronger than the case would suggest. This is known as deriosis, that is to say, language giving additional force to things unjust, cruel or hateful, an accomplishment in which Demosthenes created immense and special effect.

If I thought it sufficient to follow traditional rules, I should regard it as adequate treatment for this topic to omit nothing that I have read or been taught, provided that it be reasonably sound. But my design is to bring to light the secret principles of this art, and to open up the inmost recesses of the subject, giving the result not of teaching received from others, but of my own experience and the guidance of nature herself.

The prime essential for stirring the emotions of others is, in my opinion, first to feel those emotions oneself. It is sometimes positively ridiculous to counterfeit grief, anger and indignation, if we content ourselves with accommodating our words and looks and make no attempt to adapt our own feelings to the emotions to be expressed. What other reason is there for the eloquence with which mourners express their grief; or for the fluency which anger lends even to the uneducated, save the fact that their minds are stirred to power by the depth and sincerity of their feelings? Consequently, if we wish to give our words the appearance of sincerity, we must assimilate ourselves to the emotions of those who are genuinely so affected, and our eloquence must spring from the same feeling that we desire to produce in the mind of the judge. Will he grieve who can find no trace of grief in the words with which I seek to move him to grief? Will he be angry, if the orator who seeks to kindle his anger shows no sign of labouring under the emotion which he demands from his audience? Will he shed tears if the pleader's eyes are dry? It is utterly impossible.

Fire alone can kindle, and moisture alone can wet, nor can one thing impart any colour to another save that which it possesses itself. Accordingly, the first essential is that those feelings should prevail with us that we wish to prevail with the judge, and that we should be moved ourselves before we attempt to move others.

But how are we to generate these emotions in ourselves, since emotion is not in our own power? I will try to explain as best I may. There are certain experiences which the Greeks call φαντασίαι, and the Romans visions, whereby things absent are presented to our imagination with such extreme vividness that they seem actually to be before our very eyes.

It is the man who is really sensitive to such impressions who will have the greatest power over the emotions. Some writers describe the possessor of this power of vivid imagination, whereby things, words and actions are presented in the most realistic manner, by the Greek word εὐφαντασίωτος and it is a power which all may readily acquire if they will. When the mind is unoccupied or is absorbed by fantastic hopes or daydreams, we are haunted by these visions of which I am speaking to such an extent that we imagine that we are travelling abroad, crossing the sea, fighting, addressing the people, or enjoying the use of wealth that we do not actually possess, and seem to ourselves not to be dreaming but acting. Surely, then, it may be possible to turn this form of hallucination to some profit.

I am complaining that a man has been murdered. Shall I not bring before my eyes all the circumstances which it is reasonable to imagine must have occurred in such a connexion? Shall I not see the assassin burst suddenly from his hiding-place, the victim tremble, cry for help, beg for mercy, or turn to run? Shall I not see the fatal blow delivered and the stricken body fall? Will not the blood, the deathly pallor, the groan of agony, the death-rattle, be indelibly impressed upon my mind?

From such impressions arises that ἐνάργεια which Cicero calls illumination and actuality, which makes us seem not so much to narrate as to exhibit the actual scene, while our emotions will be no less actively stirred than if we were present at the actual occurrence. Is it not from visions such as these that Vergil was inspired to write—

Sudden her fingers let the shuttle fall

And all the thread was spilled,

Or,

In his smooth breast the gaping wound or the description of the horse at the funeral of Pallas, his trappings laid aside? And how vivid was the image of death conceived by the poet when he wrote- And dying sees his own dear Argive home? Again, when we desire to awaken pity, we must actually believe that the ills of which we complain have befallen our own selves, and must persuade our minds that this is really the case. We must identify ourselves with the persons of whom we complain that they have suffered grievous, unmerited and bitter misfortune, and must plead their case and for a brief space feel their suffering as though it were our own, while our words must be such as we should use if we stood in their shoes.

I have often seen actors, both in tragedy and comedy, leave the theatre still drowned in tears after concluding the performance of some moving role. But if the mere delivery of words written by another has the power to set our souls on fire with fictitious emotions, what will the orator do whose duty it is to picture to himself the facts and who has it in his power to feel the same emotion as his client whose interests are at stake?

Even in the schools it is desirable that the student should be moved by his theme, and should imagine it to be true; indeed, it is all the more desirable then, since, as a rule in scholastic declamations, the speaker more often appears as the actual litigant than as his advocate. Suppose we are impersonating an orphan, a shipwrecked man, or one in grave peril. What profit is there in assuming such a rôle unless we also assume the emotions which it involves? I have thought it necessary not to conceal these considerations from my reader, since they have contributed to the acquisition of such reputation for talent as I possess or once possessed. I have frequently been so much moved while speaking, that I have not merely been wrought upon to tears, but have turned pale and shown all the symptoms of genuine grief.

I now turn to a very different talent, namely that which dispels the graver emotions of the judge by exciting his laughter, frequently diverts his attention from the facts of the case, and sometimes even refreshes him and revives him when he has begun to be bored or wearied by the case. How hard it is to attain success in this connexion is shown by the cases of the two great masters of Greek and Roman oratory.

For many think that Demosthenes was deficient in this faculty, and that Cicero used it without discrimination. Indeed, it is impossible to suppose that Demosthenes deliberately avoided all display of humour, since his few jests are so unworthy of his other excellences that they clearly show that he lacked the power, not merely that he disliked to use it.

Cicero, on the other hand, was regarded as being unduly addicted to jests, not merely outside the courts, but in his actual speeches as well. Personally (though whether I am right in this view, or have been led astray by an exaggerated admiration for the prince of orators, I cannot say), I regard him as being the possessor of a remarkable turn of wit. For his daily speech was full of humour, while in his disputes in court and in his examination of witnesses he produced more good jests than any other, while the somewhat insipid jokes which he launches against Verres are always attributed by him to others and produced as evidence: wherefore, the more vulgar they are, the more probable is it that they are not the invention of the orator, but were current as public property. I wish, however, that Tiro, or whoever it may have been that published the three books of Cicero's jests, had restricted their number and had shown more judgment in selecting than zeal in collecting them. For he would then have been less exposed to the censure of his calumniators, although the latter will, in any case, as in regard to all the manifestations of his genius, find it easier to detect superfluities than deficiencies.

The chief difficulty which confronts the orator in this connexion lies in the fact that sayings designed to raise a laugh are generally untrue (and falsehood always involves a certain meanness), and are often deliberately distorted, and, further, never complimentary: while the judgments formed by the audience on such jests will necessarily vary, since the effect of a jest depends not on the reason, but on an emotion which it is difficult, if not impossible, to describe.

For I do not think that anybody can give an adequate explanation, though many have attempted to do so, of the cause of laughter, which is excited not merely by words or deeds, but sometimes even by touch. Moreover, there is great variety in the things which raise a laugh, since we laugh not merely at those words or actions which are smart or witty, but also at those which reveal folly, anger or fear. Consequently, the cause of laughter is uncertain, since laughter is never far removed from derision.

For, as Cicero says, Laughter has its basis in some kind or other of deformity or ugliness, and whereas, when we point to such a blemish in others, the result is known as wit, it is called folly when the same jest is turned against ourselves. Now, though laughter may be regarded as a trivial matter, and an emotion frequently awakened by buffoons, actors or fools, it has a certain imperious force of its own which it is very hard to resist.

It often breaks out against our will and extorts confession of its power, not merely from our face and voice, but convulses the whole body as well. Again, it frequently turns the scale in matters of great importance, as I have already observed: for instance, it often dispels hatred or anger.

A proof of this is given by the story of the young men of Tarentum, who had made a number of scurrilous criticisms of Pyrrhus over the dinner table: they were called upon to answer for their statements, and, since the charge was one that admitted neither of denial nor of excuse, they succeeded in escaping, thanks to a happy jest which made the king laugh: for one of the accused said, Yes, and if the bottle hadn't been empty, we should have killed you! a jest which succeeded in dissipating the animosity which the charge had aroused.

Still, whatever the essence of humour may be, and although I would not venture to assert that it is altogether independent of art (for it involves a certain power of observation, and rules for its employment have been laid down by writers both of Greece and Rome), I will insist on this much, that it depends mainly on nature and opportunity.

The influence of nature consists not merely in the fact that one man is quicker or cleverer than another in the invention of jests (for such a power can be increased by teaching), but also in the possession of some peculiar charm of look or manner, the effect of which is such that the same remarks would be less entertaining if uttered by another.

Opportunity, on the other hand, is dependent on circumstances, and is of such importance that with its assistance not merely the unlearned, but even mere country bumpkins are capable of producing effective witticisms: while much again may depend on some previous remark made by another which will provide opportunity for repartee. For wit always appears to greater advantage in reply than in attack.

We are also confronted by the additional difficulty that there are no specific exercises for the development of humour nor professors to teach it. Consequently, while convivial gatherings and conversation give rise to frequent displays of wit, since daily practice develops the faculty, oratorical wit is rare, for it has no fixed rules to guide it, but must adapt itself to the ways of the world.

There has, however, never been anything to prevent the composition of themes such as will afford scope for humour, so that our controversial declamations may have an admixture of jests, while special topics may be set which will give the young student practice in the play of wit.

Nay, even those pleasantries in which we indulge on certain occasions of festive licence (and to which we give the name of mots, as, indeed, they are), if only a little more good sense were employed in their invention, and they were seasoned by a slight admixture of seriousness, might afford a most useful training. As it is, they serve merely to divert the young and merrymakers.

There are various names by which we describe wit, but we have only to consider them separately to perceive their specific meaning. First, there is urbanitas, which I observe denotes language with a smack of the city in its words, accent and idiom, and further suggests a certain tincture of learning derived from associating with well-educated men; in a word, it represents the opposite of rusticity. The meaning of venustus is obvious;

it means that which is said with grace and charm. Salsus is, as a rule, applied only to what is laughable: but this is not its natural application, although whatever is laughable should have the salt of wit in it. For Cicero, when he says that whatever has the salt of wit is Attic, does not say this because persons of the Attic school are specially given to laughter; and again when Catullus says—

In all her body not a grain of salt!

he does not mean that there is nothing in her body to give cause for laughter.

When, therefore, we speak of the salt of wit, we refer to wit about which there is nothing insipid, wit, that is to say, which serves as a simple seasoning of language, a condiment which is silently appreciated by our judgment, as food is appreciated by the palate, with the result that it stimulates our taste and saves a speech from becoming tedious. But just as salt, if sprinkled freely over food, gives a special relish of its own, so long as it is not used to excess, so in the case of those who have the salt of wit there is something about their language which arouses in us a thirst to hear. Again, I do not regard the epithet facelus as applicable solely to that which raises a laugh.

If that were so Horace would never have said that nature had granted Vergil the gift of being facetus in song. I think that the term is rather applied to a certain grace and polished elegance. This is the meaning which it bears in Cicero's letters, where he quotes the words of Brutus, In truth her feet are graceful and soft as she goes delicately on her way. This meaning suits the passage in Horace, to which I have already made reference, To Vergil gave a soft and graceful wit.

locus is usually taken to mean the opposite of seriousness. This view is, however, somewhat too narrow. For to feign, to terrify, or to promise, are all at times forms of jesting. Dicacitas is no doubt derived from dico, and is therefore common to all forms of wit, but is specially applied to the language of banter, which is a humorous form of attack. Therefore, while the critics allow that Demosthenes was urbanus, they deny that he was dicax.

The essence, however, of the subject which we are now discussing is the excitement of laughter, and consequently the whole of this topic is entitled περὶ γελοίου by the Greeks. It has the same primary division as other departments of oratory, that is to say, it is concerned with things and words.

The application of humour to oratory may be divided into three heads: for there are three things out of which we may seek to raise a laugh, to wit, others, ourselves, or things intermediate. In the first case we either reprove or refute or make light of or retort or deride the arguments of others. In the second we speak of things which concern ourselves in a humorous manner and, to quote the words of Cicero, say things which have a suggestion of absurdity. For there are certain sayings which are regarded as folly if they slip from us unawares, but as witty if uttered ironically.

The third kind consists, as Cicero also tells us, in cheating expectations, in taking words in a different sense from what was intended, and in other things which affect neither party to the suit, and which I have, therefore, styled intermediate.

Further, things designed to raise a laugh may either be said or done. In the latter case laughter is sometimes caused by an act possessing a certain element of seriousness as well, as in the case of Marcus Caelius the praetor, who, when the consul Isauricus broke his curule chair, had another put in its place, the seat of which was made of leather thongs, by way of allusion to the story that the consul had once been scourged by his father: sometimes, again, it is aroused by an act which passes the grounds of decency, as in the case of Caelius' box, a jest which was not fit for an orator or any respectable man to make.

On the other hand the joke may lie in some remark about a ridiculous look or gesture; such jests are very attractive, more especially when delivered with every appearance of seriousness; for there are no jests so insipid as those which parade the fact that they are intended to be witty. Still, although the gravity with which a jest is uttered increases its attraction, and the mere fact that the speaker does not laugh himself makes his words laughable, there is also such a thing as a humorous look, manner or gesture, provided always that they observe the happy mean. Further, a jest will either be free and lively, like the majority of those uttered by Aulus Galba, or abusive, like those with which Junius Bassus recently made us familiar, or bitter, like those of Cassius Severus, or gentle, like those of Domitius Afer.

Much depends on the occasion on which a jest is uttered. For in social gatherings and the intercourse of every day a certain freedom is not unseemly in persons of humble rank, while liveliness is becoming to all. Our jests should never be designed to wound, and we should never make it our ideal to lose a friend sooner than lose a jest. Where the battles of the courts are concerned I am always better pleased when it is possible to indulge in gentle raillery, although it is, of course, permissible to be abusive or bitter in the words we use against our opponents, just as it is permissible to accuse them openly of crime, and to demand the last penalty of the law. But in the courts as elsewhere it is regarded as inhuman to hit a man when he is down, either because he is the innocent victim of misfortune or because such attacks may recoil on those who make them. Consequently, the first points to be taken into consideration are who the speaker is, what is the nature of the case, who is the judge, who is the victim, and what is the character of the remarks that are made.

It is most unbecoming for an orator to distort his features or use uncouth gestures, tricks that arouse such merriment in farce. No less unbecoming are ribald jests, and such as are employed upon the stage. As for obscenity, it should not merely be banished from his language, but should not even be suggested. For even if our opponent has rendered himself liable to such a charge, our denunciation should not take the form of a jest.

Further, although I want my orator to speak with wit, he must not give the impression of striving after it. Consequently lie must not display his wit on every possible occasion, but must sacrifice a jest sooner than sacrifice his dignity.

Again, no one will endure an accuser who employs jests to season a really horrible case, nor an advocate for the defence who makes merry over one that calls for pity. Moreover, there is a type of judge whose temperament is too serious to allow him to tolerate laughter.

It may also happen that a jest directed against an opponent may apply to the judge or to our own client, although there are some orators who do not refrain even from jests that may recoil upon themselves. This was the case with Sulpicius Longus, who, despite the fact that he was himself surpassingly hideous, asserted of a man against whom he was appearing in a case involving his status as a free man, that even his face was the face of a slave. To this Domitius Afer replied, Is it your profound conviction, Longus, that an ugly man must be a slave?

Insolence and arrogance are likewise to be avoided, nor must our jests seem unsuitable to the time or place, or give the appearance of studied premeditation, or smell of the lamp, while those directed against the unfortunate are, as I have already said, inhuman. Again, some advocates are men of such established authority and such known respectability, that any insolence shown them would only hurt the assailant. As regards the way in which we should deal with friends I have already given instructions.

It is the duty not merely of an orator, but of any reasonable human being, when attacking one whom it is dangerous to offend to take care that his remarks do not end in exciting serious enmity, or the necessity for a grovelling apology. Sarcasm that applies to a number of persons is injudicious: I refer to cases where it is directed against whole nations or classes of society, or against rank and pursuits which are common to many.

A good man will see that everything he says is consistent with his dignity and the respectability of his character; for we pay too dear for the laugh we raise if it is at the cost of our own integrity. It is, however, a difficult task to indicate the sources from which laughter may be legitimately derived or the topics where it may be naturally employed. To attempt to deal exhaustively with the subject would be an interminable task and a waste of labour.

For the topics suitable to jests are no less numerous than those from which we may derive reflexions, as they are called, and are, moreover, identical with the latter. The powers of invention and expression come into play no less where jests are concerned, while as regards expression its force will depend in part on the choice of words, in part on the figures employed.

Laughter then will be derived either from the physical appearance of our opponent or from his character as revealed in his words and actions, or from external sources; for all forms of raillery come under one or other of these heads; if the raillery is serious, we style it as severe; if, on the other hand, it is of a lighter character, we regard it as humorous. These themes for jest may be pointed out to the eye or described in words or indicated by some mot.

It is only on rare occasions that it is possible to make them visible to the eye, as Gaius Julius did when Helvius Mancia kept clamouring against him. I will show you what you're like! he cried, and then, as Mancia persisted in asking him to do so, pointed with his finger at the picture of a Gaul painted on a Cimbric shield, a figure to which Mancia bore a striking resemblance. There were shops round the forum and the shield had been hung up over one of them by way of a sign.

The narration of a humorous story may often be used with clever effect and is a device eminently becoming to an orator. Good examples are the story told of Caepasius and Fabricius, which Cicero tells in the pro Cluentio, or the story told by Caelius of the dispute between Decimus Laelius and his colleague when they were both in a hurry to reach their province first. But in all such cases the whole narrative must possess elegance and charm, while the orator's own contribution to the story should be the most humorous element. Take for instance the way in which Cicero gives a special relish to the flight of Fabricius.

And so, just at the moment when he thought his speech was showing him at his best and he had uttered the following solemn words, words designed to prove a master-stroke of art, 'Look at the fortunes of mankind, gentlemen, look at the aged form of Gaius Fabricius,' just at that very moment, I say, when he had repeated the word 'look' several times by way of making his words all the more impressive, he looked himself, and found that Fabricius had slunk out of court with his head hanging down. I will not quote the rest of the passage, for it is well known. But he develops the theme still further although the plain facts amount simply to this, that Fabricius had left the court.

The whole of the story told by Caelius is full of wit and invention, but the gem of the passage is its conclusion. He followed him, but how he crossed the straits, whether it was in a ship or a fisherman's boat, no one knew; but the Sicilians, being of a lively turn of wit, said that he rode on a dolphin and effected his crossing like a second Arion. Cicero thinks that humour belongs to narrative and wit to sallies against the speaker's antagonist. Domitius Afer showed remarkable finish in this department; for, while narratives of the kind I have described are frequent in his speeches, several books have been published of his witticisms as well.

This latter form of wit lies not merely in sallies and brief displays of wit, but may be developed at greater length, witness the story told by Cicero in the second book of his de Oratore, in which Lucius Crassus dealt with Brutus, against whom he was appearing in court.

Brutus was prosecuting Cnaeus Plancus and had produced two readers to show that Lucius Crassus, who was counsel for the defence, in the speech which he delivered on the subject of the colony of Narbo had advocated measures contrary to those which he recommended in speaking of the Servilian law. Crassus, in reply, called for three readers and gave them the dialogues of Brutus' father to read out. One of these dialogues was represented as taking place on his estate at Privernum, the second on his estate at Alba, and the third on his estate at Tibur. Crassus then asked where these estates were. Now Brutus had sold them all, and in those days it was considered somewhat discreditable to sell one's paternal acres. Similar attractive effects of narrative may be produced by the narration of fables or at times even of historical anecdotes.

On the other hand brevity in wit gives greater point and speed. It may be employed in two ways, according as we are the aggressors, or are replying to our opponents; the method, however, in both cases is to some extent the same. For there is nothing that can be said in attack that cannot be used in riposte.

But there are certain points which are peculiar to reply. For remarks designed for attack are usually brought ready-made into court, after long thought at home, whereas those made in reply are usually improvised during a dispute or the cross-examination of witnesses. But though there are many topics on which we may draw for our jests, I must repeat that not all these topics are becoming to orators:

above all doubles entendres and obscenity, such as is dear to the Atellan farce, are to be avoided, as also are those coarse jibes so common on the lips of the rabble, where the ambiguity of words is turned to the service of abuse. I cannot even approve of a similar from of jest, that sometimes slipped out even from Cicero, though not when he was pleading in the courts: for example, once when a candidate, alleged to be the son of a cook, solicited someone else's vote in his presence, he said, Ego quoque tibi favebo.

I say this not because I object absolutely to all play on words capable of two different meanings, but because such jests are rarely effective, unless they are helped out by actual facts as well as similarity of sound. For example, I regard the jest which Cicero levelled against that same Isauricus, whom I mentioned above, as being little less than sheer buffoonery. I wonder, he said, why your father, the steadiest of men, left behind him such a stripy gentleman as yourself.

On the other hand, the following instance of the same type of wit is quite admirable: when Milo's accuser, by way of proving that he had lain in wait for Clodius, alleged that he had put up at Bovillae before the ninth hour in order to wait until Clodius left his villa, and kept repeating the question, When was Clodius killed?, Cicero replied, Late! a retort which in itself justifies us in refusing to exclude this type of wit altogether. Sometimes, too, the same word may be used not merely in several senses, but in absolutely opposite senses. For example, Nero said of a dishonest slave, No one was more trusted in my house: there was nothing closed or sealed to him.

Such ambiguity may even go so far as to present all the appearance of a riddle, witness the jest that Cicero made at the expense of Pletorius, the accuser of Fonteius: His mother, he said, kept a school while she lived and masters after she was dead. The explanation is that in her lifetime women of infamous character used to frequent her house, while after her death her property was sold. (I may note however that ludus, is used metaphorically in the sense of school, while magisiri is used ambiguously.)

A similar form of jest may be made by use of the figure known as metalepsis, as when Fabius Maximus complained of the meagreness of the gifts made by Augustus to his friends, and said that his congiaria were heminaria: for congiarium implies at once liberality and a particular measure, and Fabius put a slight on the liberality of Augustus by a reference to the measure.

This form of jest is as poor as is the invention of punning names by the addition, subtraction or change of letters: I find, for instance, a case where a certain Acisculus was called Pacisculus because of some compact which he had made, while one Placidus was nicknamed Acidus because of his sour temper, and one Tullius was dubbed Tollius because he was a thief.

Such puns are more successful with things than names. It was, for example, a neat hit of Afer's when he said that Manlius Sura, who kept rushing to and fro while he was pleading, waving his hands, letting his toga fall and replacing it, was not merely pleading, but giving himself a lot of needless trouble. For there is a spice of wit about the word satagere in itself, even if there were no resemblance to any other word.

Similar jests may be produced by the addition or removal of the aspirate, or by splitting up a word or joining it to another: the effect is generally poor, but the practice is occasionally permissible. Jests drawn from names are of the same type. Cicero introduces a number of such jests against Verres, but always as quotations from others. On one occasion he says that he would sweep everything away, for his name was Verres; on another, that he had given more trouble to Hercules, whose temple he had pillaged, than was given by the Erymanthine boar; on another, that he was a bad priest who had left so worthless a pig behind him. For Verres' predecessor was named Sacerdos.

Sometimes, however, a lucky chance may give us an opportunity of employing such jests with effect, as for instance when Cicero in the pro Caecina says of the witness Sextus Clodius Phormio, He was not less black or less bold than the Phormio of Terence.

We may note therefore that jests which turn on the meaning of things are at once more pointed and more elegant. In such cases resemblances between things produce the best effects, more especially if we refer to something of an inferior or more trivial nature, as in the jests of which our forefathers were so fond, when they called Lentulus Spinther and Scipio Serapio. But such jests may be drawn not merely from the names of men, but from animals as well; for example when I was a boy, Junius Bassus, one of the wittiest of men, was nicknamed the white ass.

And Sarmentus compared Messius Cicirrus to a wild horse. The comparison may also be drawn from inanimate objects: for example Publius Blessius called a certain Julius, who was dark, lean and bent, the iron buckle. This method of raising a laugh is much in vogue to-day.

Such resemblances may be put to the service of wit either openly or allusively. Of the latter type is the remark of Augustus, made to a soldier who showed signs of timidity in presenting a petition, Don't hold it out as if you were giving a penny to an elephant.

Some of these jests turn on similarity of meaning. Of this kind was the witticism uttered by Vatinius when he was prosecuted by Calvus. Vatinius was wiping his forehead with a white handkerchief, and his accuser called attention to the unseemliness of the act. Whereupon Vatinius replied, Though I am on my trial, I go on eating white bread all the same.

Still more ingenious is the application of one thing to another on the ground of some resemblance, that is to say the adaptation to one thing of a circumstance which usually applies to something else, a type of jest which we may regard as being an ingenious form of fiction. For example, when ivory models of captured towns were carried in Caesar's triumphal procession, and a few days later wooden models of the same kind were carried at the triumph of Fabius Maximus, Chrysippus remarked that the latter were the cases for Caesar's ivory towns. And Pedo said of a heavy-armed gladiator who was pursuing another armed with a net and failed to strike him, He wants to catch him alive.

Resemblance and ambiguity may be used in conjunction: Galba for example said to a man who stood very much at his ease when playing ball, You stand as if you were one of Caesar's candidates. The ambiguity lies in the word stand, while the indifference shewn by the player supplies the resemblance.

I need say no more on this form of humour. But the practice of combining different types of jest is very common, and those are best which are of this composite character. A like use may be made of dissimilarity. Thus a Roman knight was once drinking at tile games, and Augustus sent him the following message, If I want to dine, I go home. To which the other replied, Yes, but you are not afraid of losing your seat Contraries give rise to more than one kind of jest. For instance the following jests made by Augustus and Galba differ in form. Augustus was engaged in dismissing an officer with dishonour from his service: the officer kept interrupting him with entreaties and said, What shall I say to my father? Augustus replied, Tell him that I fell under your displeasure. Galba, when a friend asked him for the loan of a cloak, said, I cannot lend it you, as I am going to stay at home, the point being that the rain was pouring through the roof of his garret at the time. I will add a third example, although out of respect to its author I withhold his name: You are more lustful than a eunuch, where we are surprised by the appearance of a word which is the very opposite of what we should have expected. Under the same heading, although it is quite different from any of the preceding, we must place the remark made by Marcus Vestinus when it was reported to him that a certain man was dead. Some day then he will cease to stink, was his reply.

But I shall overload this book with illustrations and turn it into a common jest-book, if I continue to quote each jest that was made by our forefathers. All forms of argument afford equal opportunity for jests. Augustus for example employed definition when he said of two ballet-dancers who were engaged in a contest, turn and turn about, as to who could make tile most exquisite gestures, that one was a dancer and the other merely interrupted the dancing.

Galba on the other hand made use of partition when he replied to a friend who asked him for a cloak, It is not raining and you don't need it; if it does rain, I shall wear it myself. Similar material for jests is supplied by genus, species, property, difference, conjugates, adjuncts, antecedents, consequents, contraries, causes, effects, and comparisons of things greater, equal, or less, as it is also by all forms of trope.

Are not a large number of jests made by means of hyperbole? Take for instance Cicero's remark about a man who was remarkable for his height, He bumped his head against the Fabian arch, or the remark made by Publius Oppius about the family of the Lentuli to the effect, that since the children were always smaller than their parents, the race would perish by propagation. Again, what of irony?

Is not even the most severe form of irony a kind of jest? Afer made a witty use of it when he replied to Didius Callus, who, after making the utmost efforts to secure a provincial government, complained on receiving the appointment that he had been forced into accepting, Well, then, do something for your country's sake. Cicero also employed metaphor to serve his jest, when on receiving a report of uncertain authorship to the effect that Vatinius was dead, he remarked, Well, for the meantime I shall make use of the interest.

He also employed allegory in the witticism that he was fond of making about Marcus Caelius, who was better at bringing charges than at defending his client against them, to the effect that he had a good right hand, but a weak left. As an example of the use of emphasis I may quote the jest of Aulus Villius, that Tuccius was killed by his sword falling upon him.

Figures of thought, which the Greeks call σχήματα διανοίας, may be similarly employed, and some writers have classified jests under their various headings. For we ask questions, express doubts, make assertions, threaten, wish and speak in pity or in anger. And everything is laughable that is obviously a pretence.

It is easy to make fun of folly, for folly is laughable in itself; but we may improve such jests by adding something of our own. Titius Maximus put a foolish question to Campatius, who was leaving the theatre, when he asked him if he had been watching the play. No, replied Campatius, I was playing ball in the stalls, whereby lie made the question seem even more foolish than it actually was.

Refutation consists in denying, rebutting, defending or making light of a charge, and each of these affords scope for humour. Manius Curius, for example, showed humour in the way in which he denied a charge that had been brought against him. His accuser had produced a canvas, in every scene of which he was depicted either as naked and in prison or as being restored to freedom by his friends paying off his gambling debts. His only comment was, Did I never win, then?

Sometimes we rebut a charge openly, as Cicero did when he refuted the extravagant lies of Vibius Curius about his age: Well, then, he remarked, in the days when you and I used to practise declamation together, you were not even born. At other times we may rebut it by pretending to agree. Cicero, for example, when Fabia the wife of Dolabella asserted that her age was thirty, remarked, That is true, for I have heard it for the last twenty years.

Sometimes too it is effective to add something more biting in place of the charge which is denied, as was done by Junius Bassus when Domitia the wife of Passienus complained that by way of accusing her of meanness he had alleged that she even sold old shoes. No, he replied, I never said anything of the sort. I said you bought them. A witty travesty of defence was once produced by a Roman knight who was charged by Augustus with having squandered his patrimony. I thought it was my own, he answered.

As regards making light of a charge, there are two ways in which this may be done. We may throw cold water on the excessive boasted of our opponent, as was done by Gaius Caesar, when Pomponius displayed a wound in his face which he had received in the rebellion of Sulpicius and which he boasted he had received while fighting for Caesar: You should never look round, he retorted, when you are running away. Or we may do the same with some charge that is brought against us, as was done by Cicero when he remarked to those who reproached him for marrying Publilia, a young unwedded girl, when he was already over sixty, Well, she will be a woman to-morrow.

Some style this type of jest consequent and, on the ground that both jests seem to follow so naturally and inevitably, class it with the jest which Cicero levelled against Curio, who always began his speeches by asking indulgence for his youth: You will find your exordium easier every day, he said.

Another method of making light of a statement is to suggest a reason. Cicero employed this method against Vatinius. The latter was lame and, wishing to make it seem that his health was improved, said that he could now walk as much as two miles. Yes, said Cicero, for the days are longer. Again Augustus, when the inhabitants of Tarraco reported that a palm had sprung up on the altar dedicated to him, replied, That shows how often you kindle fire upon it.

Cassius Severus showed his wit by transferring a charge made against himself to a different quarter. For when lie was reproached by the praetor on the ground that his advocates had insulted Lucius Varus, an Epicurean and a friend of Caesar, he replied, I do not know who they were who insulted him, I suppose they were Stoics. Of retorts there are a number of forms, the wittiest being that which is helped out by a certain verbal similarity, as in the retort made by Trachalus to Suelius. The latter had said, If that is the case, you go into exile: to which Trachalus replied, And if it is not the case, you go back into exile.

Cassius Severus baffled an opponent who reproached him with the fact that Proculeius had forbidden him to enter his house by replying, Do I ever go there? But one jest may also be defeated by another: for example, Augustus of blessed memory, when the Gauls gave him a golden necklet weighing a hundred pounds, and Dolabella, speaking in jest but with an eye to the success of his jest, said, General, give me your necklet, replied, I had rather give you the crown of oak leaves.

So, too, one lie may be defeated by another: Galba, for instance, when someone told him that he once bought a lamprey five feet long for half a denarius in Sicily, replied, There is nothing extraordinary in that: for they grow to such a length in those seas that the fishermen tie them round their waists in lieu of ropes! Then there is the opposite of denial, namely a feigned confession, which likewise may show no small wit. Thus Afer, when pleading against a freedman of Claudius Caesar and when another freedman called out from the opposite side of the court, You are always speaking against Caesar's freedmen, replied, Yes, but I make precious little headway. A similar trick is not to deny a charge, though it is obviously false and affords good opportunity for an excellent reply. For example, when Philippus said to Catulus, Why do you bark so? the latter replied, I see a thief.

To make jokes against oneself is scarcely fit for any save professed buffoons and is strongly to be disapproved in an orator. This form of jest has precisely the same varieties as those which we make against others and therefore I pass it by, although it is not infrequently employed.

On the other hand scurrilous or brutal jests, although they may raise a laugh, are quite unworthy of a gentleman. I remember a jest of this kind being made by a certain man against an inferior who had spoken with some freedom against him: I will smack your head, and bring an action against you for having such a hard skull! In such cases it is difficult to say whether the audience should laugh or be angry.

There remains the prettiest of all forms of humour, namely the jest which depends for success on deceiving anticipations or taking another's words in a sense other than he intended. The unexpected element may be employed by the attacking party, as in the example cited by Cicero, What does this man lack save wealth and—virtue? or in the remark of Afer, For pleading causes he is most admirably—dressed. Or it may be employed to meet a statement made by another, as it was by Cicero on hearing a false report of Vatinius' death: he had met one of the latter's freedmen and asked him, Is all well? The freedman answered, All is well. To which Cicero replied, Is he dead, then?

But the loudest laughter of all is produced by simulation and dissimulation, proceedings which differ but little and are almost identical; but whereas simulation implies the pretence of having a certain opinion of one's own, dissimulation consists in feigning that one does not understand someone else's meaning. Afer employed simulation, when his opponents in a certain case kept saying that Celsina (who was an influential lady) knew all about the facts, and he, pretending to believe that she was a man, said, Who is he?

Cicero on the other hand employed dissimulation when Sextus Annalis gave evidence damaging to the client whom lie was defending, and the accuser kept pressing him with the question, Tell me, Marcus Tullius, what have you to say about Sextus Annalis? To which he replied by beginning to recite the Sixth book of the Annals of Ennius, which commences with the line,

Who may the causes vast of war unfold?

This kind of jest finds its most frequent opportunity in ambiguity, as for example, when Cascellius, on being consulted by a client who said, I wish to divide my ship, replied, You will lose it then. But there are also other ways of distorting the meaning; we may for instance give a serious statement a comparatively trivial sense, like the man who, when asked what he thought of a man who had been caught in the act of adultery, replied that he had been too slow in his movements.

Of a similar nature are jests whose point lies in insinuation. Such was the reply which Cicero quotes as given to the man who complained that his wife had hung herself on a fig-tree. I wish, said someone, you would give me a slip of that tree to plant. For there the meaning is obvious, though it is not expressed in so many words.

Indeed the essence of all wit lies in the distortion of the true and natural meaning of words: a perfect instance of this is when we misrepresent our own or another's opinions or assert some impossibility.

Juba misrepresented another man's opinion, when he replied to one who complained of being bespattered by his horse, What, do you think I am a Centaur? Gaius Cassius misrepresented his own, when he said to a soldier whom he saw hurrying into battle without his sword, Shew yourself a handy man with your fists, comrade. So too did Galba, when served with some fish that had been partially eaten the day before and had been placed on the table with the uneaten sides turned uppermost: We must lose no time, he said, for there are people under the table at work on the other side. Lastly there is the jibe that Cicero made against Curius, which I have already cited; for it was clearly impossible that he should be still unborn at a time when he was already declaiming.

There is also a form of misrepresentation which has its basis in irony, of which a saying of Gaius Caesar will provide an example. A witness asserted that the accused attempted to wound him in the thighs, and although it would have been easy to ask him why he attacked that portion of his body above all others, he merely remarked, What else could he have done, when you had a helmet and breastplate?

Best of all is it when pretence is met by pretence, as was done in the following instance by Domitius Afer. He had made his will long ago, and one of his more recent friends, in the hopes of securing a legacy if he could persuade him to change it, produced a fictitious story and asked him whether he should advise a senior centurion who, being an old man, had already made his will to revise it; to which Afer replied, Don't do it: you will offend him.

But the most agreeable of all jests are those which are good humoured and easily digested. Take another example from Afer. Noting that an ungrateful client avoided him in the forum, he sent his servant to him to say, I hope you are obliged to me for not having seen you. Again when his steward, being unable to account for certain sums of money, kept saying, I have not eaten it: I live on bread and water, he replied, Master sparrow, pay what you owe. Such jests the Greeks style ὑπὸ τὸ ἦθος or adapted to character.

It is a pleasant form of jest to reproach a person with less than would be possible, as Afer did when, in answer to a candidate who said, I have always shown my respect for your family, he replied, although he might easily have denied the statement, You are right, it is quite true. Sometimes it may be a good joke to speak of oneself, while one may often raise a laugh by reproaching a person to his face with things that it would have been merely bad-mannered to bring up against him behind his back.

Of this kind was the remark made by Augustus, when a soldier was making some unreasonable request and Marcianus, whom he suspected of intending to make some no less unfair request, turned up at the same moment: I will no more grant your request, comrade, than I will that which Marcianus is just going to make.

Apt quotation of verse may add to the effect of wit. The lines may be quoted in their entirety without alteration, which is so easy a task that Ovid composed an entire book against bad poets out of lines taken from the quatrains of Macer. Such a procedure is rendered specially attractive if it be seasoned by a spice of ambiguity, as in the line which Cicero quoted against Lartius, a shrewd and cunning fellow who was suspected of unfair dealing in a certain case,

Had not Ulysses Lartius intervened.

Or the words may be slightly altered, as in the line quoted against the senator who, although he had always in previous times been regarded as an utter fool, was, after inheriting an estate, asked to speak first on a motion—

What men call wisdom is a legacy, where legacy is substituted for the original faculty. Or again we may invent verses resembling well known lines, a trick styled parody by the Greeks. A neat application of proverbs may also be effective, as when one man replied to another, a worthless fellow, who had fallen down and asked to be helped to his feet, Let someone pick you up who does not know you. Or we may shew our culture by drawing on legend for a jest, as Cicero did in the trial of Verres, when Hortensius said to him as he was examining a witness, I do not understand these riddles. You ought to, then, said Cicero, as you have got the Sphinx at home. Hortensius had received a bronze Sphinx of great value as a present from Verres.

Effects of mild absurdity are produced by the simulation of folly and would, indeed, themselves, be foolish were they not fictitious. Take as an example the remark of the man who, when people wondered why he had bought a stumpy candlestick, said, It will do for lunch. There are also sayings closely resembling absurdities which derive great point from their sheer irrelevance, like the reply of Dolabella's slave, who, on being asked whether his master had advertised a sale of his property, answered, He has sold his house.

Sometimes you may get out of a tight comer by giving a humorous explanation of your embarrassment, as the man did who asked a witness, who alleged that lie had been wounded by the accused, whether he had any scar to show for it. The witness proceeded to show a huge scar on his thigh, on which lie remarked, I wish he had wounded you in the side. A happy use may also be made of insult. Hispo, for example, when the accuser charged him with scandalous crimes, replied, You judge my character by your own; while Fulvius Propinquus, when asked by the representative of the emperor whether the documents which he produced were autographs, replied, Yes, Sir, and the handwriting is genuine, too!

Such I have either learned from others or discovered from my own experience to be the commonest sources of humour. But I must repeat that the number of ways in which one may speak wittily are of no less infinite variety than those in which one may speak seriously, for they depend on persons, place, time and chances, which are numberless.

I have, therefore, touched on the topics of humour that I may not be taxed with having omitted them; but with regard to my remarks on the actual practice and manner of jesting, I venture to assert that they are absolutely indispensable. To these Domitius Marsus, who wrote an elaborate treatise on Urbanity, adds several types of saying, which are not laughable, but rather elegant sayings with a certain charm and attraction of their own, which are suitable even to speeches of the most serious kind: they are characterized by a certain urbane wit, but not of a kind to raise a laugh.

And as a matter of fact his work was not designed to deal with humour, but with urbane wit, a quality which he regards as peculiar to this city, though it was not till a late period that it was understood in this sense, after the word Urbs had come to be accepted as indicating Rome without the addition of any proper noun. He defines it as follows:

Urbanity is a certain quality of language compressed into the limits of a brief saying and adapted to delight and move men to every kind of emotion, but specially suitable to resistance or attack according as the person or circumstances concerned may demand. But this definition, if we except the quality of brevity, includes all the virtues of oratory. For it is entirely concerned with persons and things to deal with which in appropriate language is nothing more nor less than the task of perfect eloquence. Why he insisted on brevity being essential I do not know, since in the same book he asserts that many speakers have revealed their urbanity in narrative. And a little later he gives the following definition, which is, as he says, based on the views expressed by Cato: Urbanity is the characteristic of a man who has produced many good sayings and replies, and who, whether in conversation, in social or convivial gatherings, in public speeches, or under any other circumstances, will speak with humour and appropriateness. If any orator do this, he will undoubtedly succeed in making his audience laugh.

But if we accept these definitions, we shall have to allow the title of urbane to anything that is well said. It was natural therefore that the author of this definition should classify such sayings under three heads, serious, humorous and intermediate, since all good sayings may be thus classified. But, in my opinion, there are certain forms of humorous saying that may be regarded as not possessing sufficient urbanity.

For to my thinking urbanity involves the total absence of all that is incongruous, coarse, unpolished and exotic whether in thought, language, voice or gesture, and resides not so much in isolated sayings as in the whole complexion of our language, just as for the Greeks Atticism means that elegance of taste which was peculiar to Athens.

However, out of respect to the judgment of Marsus, who was a man of the greatest learning, I will add that he divides serious utterances into three classes, the honorific, the derogatory and the intermediate. As an example of the honorific he quotes the words uttered by Cicero in the pro Ligario with reference to Caesar, You who forget nothing save injuries.

The derogatory he illustrates by the words used by Cicero of Pompey and Caesar in a letter to Atticus: I know whom to avoid, but whom to follow I know not. Finally, he illustrates the intermediate, which he calls apophthegmatic (as it is), by the passage from Cicero's speech against Catiline where he says, Death can never be grievous to the brave nor premature for one who has been consul nor a calamity to one that is truly wise. All these are admirable sayings, but what special title they have to be called urbane I do not see.

If it is not merely, as I think, the whole complexion of our oratory that deserves this title, but if it is to be claimed for individual sayings as well, I should give the name only to those sayings that are of the same general character as humorous sayings, without actually being humorous. I will give an illustration of what I mean. It was said of Asinius Pollio, who had equal gifts for being grave or gay, that he was a man for all hours, and of a pleader who was a fluent speaker extempore, that his ability was all in ready money. Of the same kind, too, was the remark recorded by Marsus as having been made by Pompey to Cicero when the latter expressed distrust of his party: Go over to Caesar and you will be afraid of me. Had this last remark been uttered on a less serious subject and with less serious purpose, or had it not been uttered by Pompey himself, we might have counted it among examples of humour.

I may also add the words used by Cicero in a letter to Caerellia to explain why he endured the supremacy of Caesar so patiently: These ills must either be endured with the courage of Cato or the stomach of Cicero, for here again the word stomach has a spice of humour in it. I felt that I ought not to conceal my feelings on this point. If I am wrong in my views, I shall not, at any rate, lead my readers astray, since I have stated the opposite view as well, which they are at liberty to adopt if they prefer it.

IV. With regard to the principles to be observed in forensic debate, it might seem that I should delay such instructions until I had finished dealing with all the details of continuous speaking, since such debates come after the set speeches are done. But since the art of debate turns on invention alone, does not admit of arrangement, has little need for the embellishments of style, and makes no large demand on memory or delivery, I think that it will not be out of place to deal with it here before I proceed to the second of the five parts, since it is entirely dependent on the first. Other writers have omitted to deal with it on the ground perhaps that they thought the subject had been sufficiently covered by their precepts on other topics.

For debate consists in attack and defence, on which enough has already been said, since whatever is useful in a continuous speech for the purpose of proof must necessarily be of service in this brief and discontinuous form of oratory. For we say the same things in debate, though we say them in a different manner, since debate consists of questions and replies, a topic with which we have dealt fairly exhaustively in connexion with the examination of witnesses.

But since this work is designed on an ample scale and since no one can be called a perfect orator unless he be an expert debater, we must devote a little special attention to this accomplishment as well, which as a matter of fact is not seldom the deciding factor in a forensic victory.

For just as the continuous speech is the predominant weapon in general questions of quality (where the inquiry is as to whether an act was right or wrong), and as a rule is adequate to clear up questions of definition and almost all those in which the facts are ascertained or inferred by conjecture from artificial proof, so on the other hand those cases, which are the most frequent of all and depend on proofs which are either entirely inartificial or of a composite character, give rise to the most violent debates; in fact I should say that there is no occasion when the advocate has to come to closer grips with his adversary.

For all the strongest points of the argument have to be sharply impressed on the memory of the judge, while we have also to make good all the promises we may have made in the course of our speech and to refute the lies of our opponents. There is no point of a trial where the judge's attention is keener. And even mediocre speakers have not without some reason acquired the reputation of being good advocates simply by their excellence in debate.

Some on the other hand think they have done their duty to their clients by an ostentatious and fatiguing display of elaborate declamation and straightway march out of court attended by an applauding crowd and leave the desperate battle of debate to uneducated performers who often are of but humble origin.

As a result in private suits you will generally find that different counsel are employed to plead and to prove the case. If the duties of advocacy are to be thus divided, the latter duty must surely be accounted the more important of the two, and it is a disgrace to oratory that inferior advocates should be regarded as adequate to render the greater service to the litigants. In public cases at any rate the actual pleader is cited by the usher as well as the other advocates.

For debate the chief requisites are a quick and nimble understanding and a shrewd and ready judgment. For there is no time to think; the advocate must speak at once and return the blow almost before it has been dealt by his opponent. Consequently while it is most important for every portion of the case that the advocate should not merely have given a careful study to the whole case, but that he should have it at his fingers' ends, when he comes to the debate it is absolutely necessary that he should possess a thorough acquaintance with all the persons, instruments and circumstances of time and place involved: otherwise he will often be reduced to silence and forced to give a hurried assent to those who prompt him as to what he should say, suggestions which are often perfectly fatuous owing to excess of zeal on the part of the prompter. As a result it sometimes happens that we are put to the blush by too ready acceptance of the foolish suggestions of another.

Moreover, we have to deal with others beside these prompters who speak for our ear alone. Somego so far as to turn the debate into an open brawl. For you may sometimes see several persons shouting angrily at the judge and telling him that the arguments thus suggested are contrary to the truth, and calling his attention to the fact that some point which is prejudicial to the case has been deliberately passed over in silence.

Consequently the skilled debater must be able to control his tendency to anger; there is no passion that is a greater enemy to reason, while it often leads an advocate right away from the point and forces him both to use gross and insulting language and to receive it in return; occasionally it will even excite him to such an extent as to attack the judges. Moderation, and sometimes even longsuffering, is the better policy, for the statements of our opponents have not merely to be refuted: they are often best treated with contempt, made light of or held up to ridicule, methods which afford unique opportunity for the display of wit. This injunction, however, applies only so long as the case is conducted with order and decency: if, on the other hand, our opponents adopt turbulent methods we must put on a bold front and resist their impudence with courage.

For there are some advocates so brazen-faced that they bluster and bellow at us, interrupt us in the middle of a sentence and try to throw everything into confusion. While, then, it would be wrong to pay them the compliment of imitation, we must none the less repel their onslaughts with vigour by crushing their insolence and making frequent appeals to the judges or presiding magistrates to insist on the observance of the proper order of speaking. The debater's task is not one that suits a meek temper or excessive modesty, and we are apt to be misled because that which is really weakness is dignified by the name of honesty.

But the quality which is the most serviceable in debate is acumen, which while it is not the result of art (for natural gifts cannot be taught), may none the less be improved by art.

In this connexion the chief essential is never for a moment to lose sight either of the question at issue or the end which we have in view. If we bear this in mind, we shall never descend to mere brawling nor waste the time allotted to the case by indulging in abuse, while we shall rejoice if our adversary does so.

Those who have given a careful study to the arguments that are likely to be produced by their opponents or the replies which may be made by themselves are almost always ready for the fray. There is, however, a further device available which consists in suddenly introducing into the debate arguments which were deliberately concealed in our set speech: it is a procedure which resembles a surprise attack or a sally from an ambush. The occasion for its employment arises when there is some point to which it is difficult to improvise an answer, though it would not be difficult to meet if time were allowed for consideration. For solid and irrefutable arguments are best produced at once in the actual pleading in order that they may be repeated and treated at greater length.

I think I need hardly insist on the necessity for the avoidance in debate of mere violence and noise and such forms of pleasantry as are dear to tile uneducated. For unscrupulous violence, although annoying to one's antagonist, makes an unpleasant impression on the judge. It is also bad policy to light hard for points which you cannot prove.

For where defeat is inevitable, it is wisest to yield, since, if there are a number of other points in dispute, we shall find it easier to prove what remains, while if there is only one point at issue, surrender with a good grace will generally secure some mitigation of punishment. For obstinacy in the defence of a fault, more especially after detection, is simply the commission of a fresh fault.

While the battle still rages, the task of luring on our adversary when he has once committed himself to error, and of forcing him to commit himself as deeply as possible, even to the extent at times of being puffed up with extravagant hopes of success, requires great prudence and skill. It is, therefore, wise to conceal some of our weapons: for our opponents will often press their attack and stake everything on some imagined weakness of our own, and will give fresh weight to our proofs by the instancy with which they demand us to produce them.

It may even be expedient to yield ground which the enemy thinks advantageous to himself: for in grasping at the fancied advantage he may be forced to surrender some greater advantage: at times, too, it may serve our purpose to give him a choice between two alternatives, neither of which he can select without damage to his cause. Such a course is more effective in debate than in a set speech, for the reason that in the latter we reply to ourselves, while in the former our opponent replies, and thereby delivers himself into our hands. It is, above all, the mark of a shrewd debater to perceive what remarks impress the judge and what he rejects: this may often be detected from his looks, and sometimes from some action or utterance. Arguments which help us must be pressed home, while it will be wise to withdraw as gently as possible from such as are of no service. We may take a lesson from doctors who continue or cease to administer remedies according as they note that they are received or rejected by the stomach. Sometimes, if we find difficulty in developing our point, it is desirable to raise another question and to divert the attention of the judge to it if this be feasible. For what can you do, if you are unable to answer an argument, save invent another to which your opponent can give no answer?

In most respects the rules to be observed in debate are, as I have said, identical with those for the cross examination of witnesses, the only difference lying in the fact that the debate is a battle between advocates, whereas cross-examination is a fight between advocate and witness. To practise the art of debate is, however, far easier. For it is most profitable to agree with a fellow-student on some subject, real or fictitious, and to take different sides, debating it as would be done in the courts. The same may also be done with the simpler class of questions.

I would further have an advocate realise the order in which his proofs should be presented to the judge: the method to be followed is the same as in arguments: the strongest should be placed first and last. For those which are presented first dispose the judge to believe us, and those which come last to decide in our favour.

V. Having dealt with these points to the best of my ability, I should have had no hesitation in proceeding to discuss arrangement, which is logically the next consideration, did I not fear that, since there are some who include judgment under the head of invention, they might think that I had deliberately omitted all discussion of judgment, although personally I regard it as so inextricably blent with and involved in every portion of this work, that its influence extends even to single sentences or words, and it is no more possible to teach it than it is to instruct the powers of taste and smell.

Consequently, all I can do is now and hereafter to show what should be done or avoided in each particular case, with a view thereby to guide the judgment. What use then is it for me to lay down general rules to the effect that we should not attempt impossibilities, that we should avoid whatever contradicts our case or is common to both, and shun all incorrectness or obscurity of style? In all these cases it is common sense that must decide, and common sense cannot be taught.

There is no great difference, in my opinion, between judgment and sagacity, except that the former deals with evident facts, while the latter is concerned with hidden facts or such as have not yet been discovered or still remain in doubt. Again judgment is more often than not a matter of certainty, while sagacity is a form of reasoning from deep-lying premises, which generally weighs and compares a number of arguments and in itself involves both invention and judgment.

But here again you must not expect me to lay down any general rules. For sagacity depends on circumstances and will often find its scope in something preceding the pleading of the cause. For instance in the prosecution of Verres Cicero seems to have shown the highest sagacity in preferring to cut down the time available for his speech rather than allow the trial to be postponed to the following year when Quintus Hortensius was to be consul.

And again in the actual pleading sagacity holds the first and most important place. For it is the duty of sagacity to decide what we should say and what we should pass by in silence or postpone; whether it is better to deny an act or to defend it, when we should employ an exordium and on what lines it should be designed, whether we should make a statement of facts and if so, how, whether we should base our plea on law or equity and what is the best order to adopt, while it must also decide on all the nuances of style, and settle whether it is expedient to speak harshly, gently or even with humility.

But I have already given advice on all these points as far as each occasion permitted, and I shall continue to do the same in the subsequent portions of this work. In the meantime, however, I will give a few instances to make my meaning clearer, since it is not possible, in my opinion, to do so by laying down general rules.

We praise Demosthenes for his sagacity because when he urged a policy of war upon the Athenians after they had met with a series of reverses, he pointed out that so far their action had been entirely irrational. For they might still make amends for their negligence, whereas, if they had made no mistakes, they would have had no ground for hopes of better success in the future. Again, since he feared to give offence if he taxed the people with lack of energy in defending the liberties of their country, he preferred to praise their ancestors for their courageous policy. Thus lie gained a ready hearing, with the natural result that the pride which they felt in the heroic past made them repent of their own degenerate behaviour.

If we turn to Cicero, we shall find that one speech alone, the pro Cluenltio, will suffice to provide a number of examples. The difficulty is to know what special exhibition of sagacity to admire most in this speech. His opening statement of the case, by which he discredited the mother whose authority pressed so hardly on her son? The fact that he preferred to throw the charge of having bribed the jury back upon his opponents rather than deny it on account of what he calls the notorious infamy of the verdict? Or his recourse, last of all, to the support of the law in spite of the odious nature of the affair, a method by which lie would have set the judges against him but for the fact that he had already softened their feelings towards him? Or the skill which lie shows in stating that he has adopted this course in spite of the protests of his client?

What again am I to select as an outstanding instance of his sagacity in the pro Milone? The fact that he refrains from proceeding to his statement of facts until he has cleared the ground by disposing of the previous verdicts against the accused? The manner in which he turns the odium of the attempted ambush against Clodius, although as a matter of fact the encounter was a pure chance? The way in which he at one and the same time praised the actual deed and showed that it was forced upon his client? Or the skill with which he avoided making Milo plead for consideration and undertook the role of suppliant himself? It would be an endless task to quote all the instances of his sagacity, how he discredited Cotta, how he put forward his own case in defence of Ligarius and saved Cornelius by his bold admission of the facts. It is enough, I think, to say that there is nothing not merely in oratory, but in all the tasks of life that is more important than sagacity and that without it all formal instruction is given in vain, while prudence unsupported by learning will accomplish more than learning unsupported by prudence. It is sagacity again that teaches us to adapt our speech to circumstances of time and place and to the persons with whom we are concerned. But since this topic covers a wide field and is intimately connected with eloquence itself, I shall reserve my treatment of it till I come to give instructions on the subject of appropriateness in speaking.