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Volume 4, by Cicero

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Title: The Orations of Marcus Tullius Cicero, Volume 4

Author: Cicero

Release Date: February 14, 2004 [EBook #11080]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

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THE

ORATIONS

OF

MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO

LITERALLY TRANSLATED BY

C.D. YONGE, M.A.

FELLOW OF THE ROYAL UNIVERSITY OF IRELAND, ETC.

VOL. IV.

CONTAINING

THE FOURTEEN ORATIONS AGAINST MARCUS ANTONIUS; TO WHICH ARE APPENDED
THE TREATISE ON RHETORICAL INVENTION; THE ORATOR; TOPICS; ON
RHETORICAL PARTITIONS, ETC.



1903


[_Reprinted from Stereotype plates_.]



CONTENTS.

The Fourteen Orations against M. Antonius, called Philippics:--

The First Philippic

The Second Philippic

The Third Philippic

The Fourth Philippic

The Fifth Philippic

The Sixth Philippic

The Seventh Philippic

The Eighth Philippic

The Ninth Philippic

The Tenth Philippic

The Eleventh Philippic

The Twelfth Philippic

The Thirteenth Philippic

The Fourteenth Philippic

       *       *       *       *       *

TREATISE ON RHETORICAL INVENTION:--

Book I.

Book II.

THE ORATOR

TREATISE on TOPICS

A DIALOGUE CONCERNING ORATORICAL PARTITIONS

TREATISE ON THE BEST STYLE OF ORATORS

THE FOURTEEN ORATIONS OF M.T. CICERO AGAINST MARCUS ANTONIUS, CALLED
PHILIPPICS.


THE FIRST PHILIPPIC.


THE ARGUMENT


When Julius, or, as he is usually called by Cicero Caius Caesar was
slain on the 15th of March, A.U.C. 710, B.C. 44 Marcus Antonius
was his colleague in the consulship, and he, being afraid that the
conspirators might murder him too, (and it is said that they had
debated among themselves whether they would or no) concealed himself
on that day and fortified his house, till perceiving that nothing
was intended against him, he ventured to appear in public the day
following. Lepidus was in the suburbs of Rome with a regular army,
ready to depart for the government of Spain, which had been assigned
to him with a part of Gaul. In the night, after Caesar's death he
occupied the forum with his troops and thought of making himself
master of the city, but Antonius dissuaded him from that idea and won
him over to his views by giving his daughter in marriage to Lepidus's
son, and by assisting him to seize on the office of Pontifex Maximus,
which was vacant by Caesar's death.

To the conspirators he professed friendship, sent his son among them
as a hostage of his sincerity, and so deluded them, that Brutus supped
with Lepidus, and Cassius with Antonius. By these means he got them to
consent to his passing a decree for the confirmation of all Caesar's
acts, without describing or naming them more precisely. At last, on
the occasion of Caesar's public funeral, he contrived so to inflame the
populace against the conspirators, that Brutus and Cassius had some
difficulty in defending their houses and their lives and he gradually
alarmed them so much, and worked so cunningly on their fears that they
all quitted Rome. Cicero also left Rome, disapproving greatly of the
vacillation and want of purpose in the conspirators. On the first of
June Antonius assembled the senate to deliberate on the affairs of
the republic, and in the interval visited all parts of Italy. In the
meantime young Octavius appeared on the stage; he had been left by
Caesar, who was his uncle, the heir to his name and estate. He returned
from Apollonia, in Macedonia, to Italy as soon as he heard of his
uncle's death, and arrived at Naples on the eighteenth of April, where
he was introduced by Hirtius and Pansa to Cicero, whom he promised
to be guided in all respects by his directions. He was now between
eighteen and nineteen years of age.

He began by the representation of public spectacles and games in
honour of Caesar's victories. In the meantime Antonius, in his progress
through Italy, was making great use of the decree confirming all
Caesar's acts, which he interpolated and forged in the most shameless
manner. Among other things he restored Deiotarus to all his dominions,
having been bribed to do so by a hundred millions of sesterces by the
king's agents, but Deiotarus himself, as soon as he heard of Caesar's
death, seized all his dominions by force. He also seized the public
treasure which Caesar had deposited in the temple of Ops, amounting to
above four millions and a half of our money, and with this he won over
Dolabella,[1] who had seized the consulship on the death of Caesar, and
the greater part of the army.

At the end of May Cicero began to return towards Rome, in order to
arrive there in time for the meeting of the senate on the first of
June, but many of his friends dissuaded him from entering the city,
and at last he determined not to appear in the senate on that day, but
to make a tour in Greece, to assist him in which, Dolabella named
him one of his lieutenants. Antonius also gave Brutus and Cassius
commissions to buy corn in Asia and Sicily for the use of the
republic, in order to keep them out of the city.

Meantime Sextus Pompeius, who was at the head of a considerable
army in Spain, addressed letters to the consuls proposing terms
of accommodation, which after some debate, and some important
modifications, were agreed to, and he quitted Spain, and came as far
as Marseilles on his road towards Rome.

Cicero having started for Greece was forced to put back by contrary
winds, and returned to Velia on the seventeenth of August, where he
had a long conference with Brutus, who soon after left Italy for his
province of Macedonia, which Caesar had assigned him before his death,
though Antonius now wished to compel him to exchange it for Crete.
After this conference Cicero returned to Rome, where he was received
with unexampled joy, immense multitudes thronging out to meet him, and
to escort him into the city. He arrived in Rome on the last day of
August. The next day the senate met, to which he was particularly
summoned by Antonius, but he excused himself as not having recovered
from the fatigue of his journey.

Antonius was greatly offended, and in his speech in the senate
threatened openly to order his house to be pulled down, the real
reason of Cicero's absenting himself from the senate being, that the
business of the day was to decree some new and extraordinary honours
to Caesar, and to order supplications to him as a divinity, which
Cicero was determined not to concur in, though he knew it would be
useless to oppose them.

The next day also the senate met, and Antonius absented himself, but
Cicero came down and delivered the following speech, which is
the first of that celebrated series of fourteen speeches made in
opposition to Antonius and his measures, and called Philippics from
the orations of Demosthenes against Philip, to which the Romans were
in the habit of comparing them.[2]

I. Before, O conscript fathers, I say those things concerning the
republic which I think myself bound to say at the present time, I
will explain to you briefly the cause of my departure from, and of
my return to the city. When I hoped that the republic was at last
recalled to a proper respect for your wisdom and for your authority, I
thought that it became me to remain in a sort of sentinelship, which
was imposed upon me by my position as a senator and a man of consular
rank. Nor did I depart anywhere, nor did I ever take my eyes off from
the republic, from the day on which we were summoned to meet in the
temple of Tellus,[3] in which temple, I, as far as was in my power,
laid the foundations of peace, and renewed the ancient precedent set
by the Athenians, I even used the Greek word,[4] which that city
employed in those times in allaying discords, and gave my vote that
all recollection of the existing dissensions ought to be effaced by
everlasting oblivion.

The oration then made by Marcus Antonius was an admirable one, his
disposition, too, appeared excellent, and lastly, by his means and
by his sons', peace was ratified with the most illustrious of the
citizens, and everything else was consistent with this beginning. He
invited the chief men of the state to those deliberations which
he held at his own house concerning the state of the republic, he
referred all the most important matters to this order. Nothing was
at that time found among the papers of Caius Caesar except what was
already well known to everybody, and he gave answers to every question
that was asked of him with the greatest consistency. Were any exiles
restored? He said that one was, and only one. Were any immunities
granted? He answered, None. He wished us even to adopt the proposition
of Servius Sulpicius, that most illustrious man, that no tablet
purporting to contain any decree or grant of Caesar's should be
published after the Ides of March were expired. I pass over many
other things, all excellent--for I am hastening to come to a very
extraordinary act of virtue of Marcus Antonius. He utterly abolished
from the constitution of the republic the Dictatorship, which had by
this time attained to the authority of regal power. And that measure
was not even offered to us for discussion. He brought with him a
decree of the senate, ready drawn up, ordering what he chose to have
done: and when it had been read, we all submitted to his authority in
the matter with the greatest eagerness; and, by another resolution
of the senate, we returned him thanks in the most honourable and
complimentary language.

II. A new light, as it were, seemed to be brought over us, now that
not only the kingly power which we had endured, but all fear of such
power for the future, was taken away from us; and a great pledge
appeared to have been given by him to the republic that he did wish
the city to be free, when he utterly abolished out of the republic the
name of dictator, which had often been a legitimate title, on account
of our late recollection of a perpetual dictatorship. A few days
afterwards the senate was delivered from the danger of bloodshed, and
a hook[5] was fixed into that runaway slave who had usurped the name
of Caius Marius. And all these things he did in concert with his
colleague. Some other things that were done were the acts of Dolabella
alone; but, if his colleague had not been absent, would, I believe,
have been done by both of them in concert.

For when enormous evil was insinuating itself into the republic, and
was gaining more strength day by day; and when the same men were
erecting a tomb[6] in the forum, who had performed that irregular
funeral; and when abandoned men, with slaves like themselves, were
every day threatening with more and more vehemence all the houses and
temples of the city; so severe was the rigour of Dolabella, not
only towards the audacious and wicked slaves, but also towards the
profligate and unprincipled freemen, and so prompt was his overthrow
of that accursed pillar, that it seems marvellous to me that the
subsequent time has been so different from that one day.

For behold, on the first of June, on which day they had given notice
that we were all to attend the senate, everything was changed.
Nothing was done by the senate, but many and important measures were
transacted by the agency of the people, though that people was both
absent and disapproving. The consuls elect said, that they did not
dare to come into the senate. The liberators of their country were
absent from that city from the neck of which they had removed the yoke
of slavery; though the very consuls themselves professed to praise
them in their public harangues and in all their conversation. Those
who were called Veterans, men of whose safety this order had been most
particularly careful, were instigated not to the preservation of those
things which they had, but to cherish hopes of new booty. And as I
preferred hearing of those things to seeing them, and as I had an
honorary commission as lieutenant, I went away, intending to be
present on the first of January, which appeared likely to be the first
day of assembling the senate.

III. I have now explained to you, O conscript fathers, my design
in leaving the city. Now I will briefly set before you, also, my
intention in returning, which may perhaps appear more unaccountable.
As I had avoided Brundusium, and the ordinary route into Greece, not
without good reason, on the first of August I arrived at Syracuse,
because the passage from that city into Greece was said to be a good
one. And that city, with which I had so intimate a connexion, could
not, though it was very eager to do so, detain me more than one night.
I was afraid that my sudden arrival among my friends might cause some
suspicion if I remained there at all. But after the winds had driven
me, on my departure from Sicily, to Leucopetra, which is a promontory
of the Rhegian district, I went up the gulf from that point, with the
view of crossing over. And I had not advanced far before I was driven
back by a foul wind to the very place which I had just quitted. And as
the night was stormy, and as I had lodged that night in the villa of
Publius Valerius, my companion and intimate friend, and as I remained
all the nest day at his house waiting for a fair wind, many of the
citizens of the municipality of Rhegium came to me. And of them there
were some who had lately arrived from Rome; from them I first heard
of the harangue of Marcus Antonius, with which I was so much pleased
that, after I had read it, I began for the first time to think of
returning. And not long afterwards the edict of Brutus and Cassius is
brought to me; which (perhaps because I love those men, even more for
the sake of the republic than of my own friendship for them) appeared
to me, indeed, to be full of equity. They added besides, (for it is a
very common thing for those who are desirous of bringing good news to
invent something to make the news which they bring seem more joyful,)
that parties were coming to an agreement; that the senate was to
meet on the first of August; that Antonius having discarded all evil
counsellors, and having given up the provinces of Gaul, was about to
return to submission to the authority of the senate.

IV. But on this I was inflamed with such eagerness to return, that no
oars or winds could be fast enough for me; not that I thought that I
should not arrive in time, but lest I should be later than I wished in
congratulating the republic; and I quickly arrived at Velia, where I
saw Brutus; how grieved I was, I cannot express. For it seemed to be
a discreditable thing for me myself, that I should venture to return
into that city from which Brutus was departing, and that I should be
willing to live safely in a place where he could not. But he himself
was not agitated in the same manner that I was; for, being elevated
with the consciousness of his great and glorious exploit, he had no
complaints to make of what had befallen him, though he lamented your
fate exceedingly. And it was from him that I first heard what had been
the language of Lucius Piso, in the senate of August; who, although
he was but little assisted (for that I heard from Brutus himself) by
those who ought to have seconded him, still according to the testimony
of Brutus, (and what evidence can be more trustworthy?) and to the
avowal of every one whom I saw afterwards, appeared to me to have
gained great credit. I hastened hither, therefore, in order that as
those who were present had not seconded him, I might do so; not with
the hope of doing any good, for I neither hoped for that, nor did I
well see how it was possible; but in order that if anything happened
to me, (and many things appeared to be threatening me out of the
regular course of nature, and even of destiny,) I might still leave
my speech on this day as a witness to the republic of my everlasting
attachment to its interests.

Since, then, O conscript fathers, I trust that the reason of my
adopting each determination appears praiseworthy to you, before I
begin to speak of the republic, I will make a brief complaint of the
injury which Marcus Antonius did me yesterday, to whom I am friendly,
and I have at all times admitted having received some services from
him which make it my duty to be so.

V. What reason had he then for endeavouring, with such bitter
hostility, to force me into the senate yesterday? Was I the only
person who was absent? Have you not repeatedly had thinner houses than
yesterday? Or was a matter of such importance under discussion, that
it was desirable for even sick men to be brought down? Hannibal, I
suppose, was at the gates, or there was to be a debate about peace
with Pyrrhus, on which occasion it is related that even the great
Appius, old and blind as he was, was brought down to the senate-house.
There was a motion being made about some supplications, a kind of
measure when senators are not usually wanting, for they are under the
compulsion, not of pledges, but of the influence of those men whose
honour is being complimented, and the case is the same when the motion
has reference to a triumph. The consuls are so free from anxiety at
these times, that it is almost entirely free for a senator to absent
himself if he pleases. And as the general custom of our body was well
known to me, and as I was hardly recovered from the fatigue of my
journey, and was vexed with myself, I sent a man to him, out of regard
for my friendship to him, to tell him that I should not be there. But
he, in the hearing of you all, declared that he would come with
masons to my house; this was said with too much passion and very
intemperately. For, for what crime is there such a heavy punishment
appointed as that, that any one should venture to say in this assembly
that he, with the assistance of a lot of common operatives, would pull
down a house which had been built at the public expense in accordance
with a vote of the senate? And who ever employed such compulsion
as the threat of such an injury as to a senator? or what severer
punishment has ever been he himself was unable to perform? As, in
fact, he has failed to perform many promises made to many people. And
a great many more of those promises have been found since his death,
than the number of all the services which he conferred on and did to
people during all the years that he was alive would amount to.

But all those things I do not change, I do not meddle with. Nay, I
defend all his good acts with the greatest earnestness. Would that the
money remained in the temple of Opis! Bloodstained, indeed, it may be,
but still needful at these times, since it is not restored to those to
whom it really belongs.[7] Let that, however, be squandered too, if
it is so written in his acts. Is there anything whatever that can be
called so peculiarly the act of that man who, while clad in the robe
of peace, was yet invested with both civil and military command in
the republic, as a law of his? Ask for the acts of Gracchus, the
Sempronian laws will be brought forward; ask for those of Sylla, you
will have the Cornelian laws. What more? In what acts did the third
consulship of Cnaeus Pompeius consist? Why, in his laws. And if you
could ask Caesar himself what he had done in the city and in the garb
of peace, he would reply that he had passed many excellent laws; but
his memoranda he would either alter or not produce at all; or, if
he did produce them, he would not class them among his acts. But,
however, I allow even these things to pass for acts; at some things I
am content to wink; but I think it intolerable that the acts of Caesar
in the most important instances, that is to say, in his laws, are to
be annulled for their sake.

VIII. What law was ever better, more advantageous, more frequently
demanded in the best ages of the republic, than the one which forbade
the praetorian provinces to be retained more than a year, and the
consular provinces more than two? If this law be abrogated, do you
think that the acts of Caesar are maintained? What? are not all the
laws of Caesar respecting judicial proceedings abrogated by the law
which has been proposed concerning the third decury? And are you the
defenders of the acts of Caesar who overturn his laws? Unless, indeed,
anything which, for the purpose of recollecting it, he entered in a
note-book, is to be counted among his acts, and defended, however
unjust or useless it may be; and that which he proposed to the people
in the comitia centuriata and carried, is not to be accounted one
of the acts of Caesar. But what is that third decury? The decury of
centurions, says he. What? was not the judicature open to that order
by the Julian law, and even before that by the Pompeian and Aurelian
laws? The income of the men, says he, was exactly defined. Certainly,
not only in the case of a centurion, but in the case, too, of a Roman
knight. Therefore, men of the highest honour and of the greatest
bravery, who have acted as centurions, are and have been judges. I am
not asking about those men, says he. Whoever has acted as centurion,
let him be a judge. But if you were to propose a law, that whoever had
served in the cavalry, which is a higher post, should be a judge, you
would not be able to induce any one to approve of that; for a man's
fortune and worth ought to be regarded in a judge. I am not asking
about those points, says he; I am going to add as judges, common
soldiers of the legion of Alaudae;[8] for our friends say, that that
is the only measure by which they can be saved. Oh what an insulting
compliment it is to those men whom you summon to act as judges though
they never expected it! For the effect of the law is, to make those
men judges in the third decury who do not dare to judge with freedom.
And in that how great, O ye immortal gods! is the error of those men
who have desired that law. For the meaner the condition of each judge
is, the greater will be the severity of judgment with which he will
seek to efface the idea of his meanness; and he will strive rather to
appear worthy of being classed in the honourable decuries, than to
have deservedly ranked in a disreputable one.

IX. Another law was proposed, that men who had been condemned of
violence and treason may appeal to the public if they please. Is this
now a law, or rather an abrogation of all laws? For who is there at
this day to whom it is an object that that law should stand? No one is
accused under those laws; there is no one whom we think likely to be
so accused. For measures which have been carried by force of arms will
certainly never be impeached in a court of justice. But the measure is
a popular one. I wish, indeed, that you were willing to promote any
popular measure; for, at present, all the citizens agree with one
mind and one voice in their view of its bearing on the safety of the
republic.

What is the meaning, then, of the eagerness to pass the law which
brings with it the greatest possible infamy, and no popularity at all?
For what can be more discreditable than for a man who has committed
treason against the Roman people by acts of violence, after he has
been condemned by a legal decision, to be able to return to that very
course of violence, on account of which he has been condemned? But why
do I argue any more about this law? as if the object aimed at were to
enable any one to appeal? The object is, the inevitable consequence
must be, that no one can ever be prosecuted under those laws. For
what prosecutor will be found insane enough to be willing, after the
defendant has been condemned, to expose himself to the fury of a
hired mob? or what judge will be bold enough to venture to condemn a
criminal, knowing that he will immediately be dragged before a gang of
hireling operatives? It is not, therefore, a right of appeal that is
given by that law, but two most salutary laws and modes of judicial
investigation that are abolished. And what is this but exhorting young
men to be turbulent, seditious, mischievous citizens?

To what extent of mischief will it not be possible to instigate the
frenzy of the tribunes now that these two rights of impeachment for
violence and for treason are annulled? What more? Is not this a
substitution of a new law for the laws of Caesar, which enact that
every man who has been convicted of violence, and also every man who
has been convicted of treason, shall be interdicted from fire and
water? And, when those men have a right of appeal given them, are not
the acts of Caesar rescinded? And those acts, O conscript fathers,
I, who never approved of them, have still thought it advisable to
maintain for the sake of concord, so that I not only did not think
that the laws which Caesar had passed in his lifetime ought to be
repealed, but I did not approve of meddling with those even which
since the death of Caesar you have seen produced and published.

X. Men have been recalled from banishment by a dead man; the freedom
of the city has been conferred, not only on individuals, but on entire
nations and provinces by a dead man; our revenues have been diminished
by the granting of countless exemptions by a dead man. Therefore, do
we defend these measures which have been brought from his house on the
authority of a single, but, I admit, a very excellent individual, and
as for the laws which he, in your presence, read, and declared, and
passed,--in the passing of which he gloried, and on which he believed
that the safety of the republic depended, especially those concerning
provinces and concerning judicial proceedings,--can we, I say, we who
defend the acts of Caesar, think that those laws deserve to be upset?

And yet, concerning those laws which were proposed, we have, at all
events, the power of complaining, but concerning those which are
actually passed we have not even had that privilege. For they, without
any proposal of them to the people, were passed before they were
framed. Men ask, what is the reason why I, or why any one of you, O
conscript fathers, should be afraid of bad laws while we have virtuous
tribunes of the people? We have men ready to interpose their veto,
ready to defend the republic with the sanctions of religion. We ought
to be strangers to fear. What do you mean by interposing the veto?
says he, what are all these sanctions of religion which you are
talking about? Those, forsooth, on which the safety of the republic
depends. We are neglecting those things, and thinking them too
old-fashioned and foolish. The forum will be surrounded, every
entrance of it will be blocked up, armed men will be placed in
garrison, as it were, at many points. What then?--whatever is
accomplished by those means will be law. And you will order, I
suppose, all those regularly passed decrees to be engraved on brazen
tablets "The consuls consulted the people in regular form," (Is this
the way of consulting the people that we have received from our
ancestors?) "and the people voted it with due regularity" What people?
that which was excluded from the forum? Under what law did they do so?
under that which has been wholly abrogated by violence and arms? But
I am saying all this with reference to the future, because it is the
part of a friend to point out evils which may be avoided and if they
never ensue, that will be the best refutation of my speech. I am
speaking of laws which have been proposed, concerning which you have
still full power to decide either way. I am pointing out the defects,
away with them! I am denouncing violence and arms, away with them too!

XI. You and your colleague, O Dolabella, ought not, indeed, to be
angry with me for speaking in defence of the republic. Although I do
not think that you yourself will be; I know your willingness to listen
to reason. They say that your colleague, in this fortune of his, which
he himself thinks so good, but which would seem to me more favourable
if (not to use any harsh language) he were to imitate the example set
him by the consulship of his grandfathers and of his uncle,--they say
that he has been exceedingly offended. And I see what a formidable
thing it is to have the same man angry with me and also armed;
especially at a time when men can use their swords with such impunity.
But I will propose a condition which I myself think reasonable, and
which I do not imagine Marcus Antonius will reject. If I have said
anything insulting against his way of life or against his morals,
I will not object to his being my bitterest enemy. But if I have
maintained the same habits that I have already adopted in the
republic,--that is, if I have spoken my opinions concerning the
affairs of the republic with freedom,--in the first place, I beg that
he will not be angry with me for that; but, in the next place, if I
cannot obtain my first request, I beg at least that he will show his
anger only as he legitimately may show it to a fellow-citizen.

Let him employ arms, if it is necessary, as he says it is, for his own
defence: only let not those arms injure those men who have declared
their honest sentiments in the affairs of the republic. Now, what can
be more reasonable than this demand? But if, as has been said to me by
some of his intimate friends, every speech which is at all contrary
to his inclination is violently offensive to him, even if there be no
insult in it whatever; then we will bear with the natural disposition
of our friend. But those men, at the same time, say to me, "You will
not have the same licence granted to you who are the adversary of
Caesar as might be claimed by Piso his father-in-law." And then they
warn me of something which I must guard against; and certainly, the
excuse which sickness supplies me with, for not coming to the senate,
will not be a more valid one than that which is furnished by death.

XII. But, in the name of the immortal gods! for while I look upon you,
O Dolabella, who are most dear to me, it is impossible for me to keep
silence respecting the error into which you are both falling; for I
believe that you, being both men of high birth, entertaining lofty
views, have been eager to acquire, not money, as some too credulous
people suspect, a thing which has at all times been scorned by every
honourable and illustrious man, nor power procured by violence and
authority such as never ought to be endured by the Roman people, but
the affection of your fellow-citizens, and glory. But glory is praise
for deeds which have been done, and the fame earned by great services
to the republic; which is approved of by the testimony borne in its
favour, not only by every virtuous man, but also by the multitude. I
would tell you, O Dolabella, what the fruit of good actions is, if I
did not see that you have already learnt it by experience beyond all
other men.

What day can you recollect in your whole life, as ever having beamed
on you with a more joyful light than the one on which, having purified
the forum, having routed the throng of wicked men, having inflicted
due punishment on the ringleaders in wickedness, and having delivered
the city from conflagration and from fear of massacre, you returned to
your house? What order of society, what class of people, what rank of
nobles even was there who did not then show their zeal in praising and
congratulating you? Even I, too, because men thought that you had been
acting by my advice in those transactions, received the thanks and
congratulations of good men in your name. Remember, I pray you, O
Dolabella, the unanimity displayed on that day in the theatre, when
every one, forgetful of the causes on account of which they had been
previously offended with you, showed that in consequence of your
recent service they had banished all recollection of their former
indignation. Could you, O Dolabella, (it is with great concern that I
speak,)--could you, I say, forfeit this dignity with equanimity?

XIII. And you, O Marcus Antonius, (I address myself to you, though
in your absence,) do you not prefer that day on which the senate was
assembled in the temple of Tellus, to all those months during which
some who differ greatly in opinion from me think that you have been
happy? What a noble speech was that of yours about unanimity! From
what apprehensions were the veterans, and from what anxiety was the
whole state relieved by you on that occasion! when, having laid aside
your enmity against him, you on that day first consented that your
present colleague should be your colleague, forgetting that the
auspices had been announced by yourself as augur of the Roman people;
and when your little son was sent by you to the Capitol to be a
hostage for peace. On what day was the senate ever more joyful than on
that day? or when was the Roman people more delighted? which had never
met in greater numbers in any assembly whatever. Then, at last, we did
appear to have been really delivered by brave men, because, as they
had willed it to be, peace was following liberty On the next day, on
the day after that, on the third day, and on all the following days,
you went on without intermission giving every day, as it were, some
fresh present to the republic, but the greatest of all presents was
that, when you abolished the name of the dictatorship. This was in
effect branding the name of the dead Caesar with everlasting ignominy,
and it was your doing,--yours, I say. For as, on account of the
wickedness of one Marcus Manlius, by a resolution of the Manlian
family it is unlawful that any patrician should be called Manlius, so
you, on account of the hatred excited by one dictator, have utterly
abolished the name of dictator.

When you had done these mighty exploits for the safety of the
republic, did you repent of your fortune, or of the dignity and renown
and glory which you had acquired? Whence then is this sudden change? I
cannot be induced to suspect that you have been caught by the desire
of acquiring money; every one may say what he pleases, but we are not
bound to believe such a thing; for I never saw anything sordid or
anything mean in you. Although a man's intimate friends do sometimes
corrupt his natural disposition, still I know your firmness; and I
only wish that, as you avoid that fault, you had been able also to
escape all suspicion of it.

XIV. What I am more afraid of is lest, being ignorant of the true path
to glory, you should think it glorious for you to have more power by
yourself than all the rest of the people put together, and lest you
should prefer being feared by your fellow-citizens to being loved by
them. And if you do think so, you are ignorant of the road to glory.
For a citizen to be dear to his fellow-citizens, to deserve well
of the republic, to be praised, to be respected, to be loved, is
glorious; but to be feared, and to be an object of hatred, is odious,
detestable; and moreover, pregnant with weakness and decay. And we see
that, even in the play, the very man who said,

  "What care I though all men should hate my name,
  So long as fear accompanies their hate?"

found that it was a mischievous principle to act upon.

I wish, O Antonius, that you could recollect your grand father of
whom, however, you have repeatedly heard me speak. Do you think that
he would have been willing to deserve even immortality, at the price
of being feared in consequence of his licentious use of arms? What he
considered life, what he considered prosperity, was the being equal to
the rest of the citizens in freedom, and chief of them all in worth.
Therefore, to say no more of the prosperity of your grandfather, I
should prefer that most bitter day of his death to the domination of
Lucius Cinna, by whom he was most barbarously slain.

But why should I seek to make an impression on you by my speech? For,
if the end of Caius Caesar cannot influence you to prefer being loved
to being feared, no speech of any one will do any good or have any
influence with you; and those who think him happy are themselves
miserable. No one is happy who lives on such terms that he may be put
to death not merely with impunity, but even to the great glory of his
slayer. Wherefore, change your mind, I entreat you, and look back
upon your ancestors, and govern the republic in such a way that your
fellow-citizens may rejoice that you were born; without which no one
can be happy nor illustrious.

XV. And, indeed, you have both of you had many judgments delivered
respecting you by the Roman people, by which I am greatly concerned
that you are not sufficiently influenced. For what was the meaning
of the shouts of the innumerable crowd of citizens collected at the
gladiatorial games? or of the verses made by the people? or of the
extraordinary applause at the sight of the statue of Pompeius? and at
that sight of the two tribunes of the people who are opposed to you?
Are these things a feeble indication of the incredible unanimity of
the entire Roman people? What more? Did the applause at the games of
Apollo, or, I should rather say, testimony and judgment there given
by the Roman people, appear to you of small importance? Oh! happy are
those men who, though they themselves were unable to be present on
account of the violence of arms, still were present in spirit, and
had a place in the breasts and hearts of the Roman people. Unless,
perhaps, you think that it was Accius who was applauded on that
occasion, and who bore off the palm sixty years after his first
appearance, and not Brutus, who was absent from the games which he
himself was exhibiting, while at that most splendid spectacle the
Roman people showed their zeal in his favour though he was absent, and
soothed their own regret for their deliverer by uninterrupted applause
and clamour.

I myself, indeed, am a man who have at all times despised that
applause which is bestowed by the vulgar crowd, but at the same time,
when it is bestowed by those of the highest, and of the middle, and of
the lowest rank, and, in short, by all ranks together, and when those
men who were previously accustomed to aim at nothing but the favour
of the people keep aloof, I then think that, not mere applause, but a
deliberate verdict. If this appears to you unimportant, which is in
reality most significant, do you also despise the fact of which you
have had experience,--namely, that the life of Aulus Hirtius is so
dear to the Roman people? For it was sufficient for him to be esteemed
by the Roman people as he is; to be popular among his friends, in
which respect he surpasses everybody; to be beloved by his own
kinsmen, who do love him beyond measure; but in whose case before
do we ever recollect such anxiety and such fear being manifested?
Certainly in no one's.

What, then, are we to do? In the name of the immortal gods, can you
interpret these facts, and see what is their purport? What do you
think that those men think of your lives, to whom the lives of those
men who they hope will consult the welfare of the republic are so
dear? I have reaped, O conscript fathers, the reward of my return,
since I have said enough to bear testimony of my consistency whatever
event may befall me, and since I have been kindly and attentively
listened to by you. And if I have such opportunities frequently
without exposing both myself and you to danger, I shall avail myself
of them. If not, as far as I can I shall reserve myself not for
myself, but rather for the republic. I have lived long enough for the
course of human life, or for my own glory. If any additional life is
granted to me, it shall be bestowed not so much on myself as on you
and on the republic.




THE SECOND SPEECH OF M.T. CICERO AGAINST MARCUS ANTONIUS.

CALLED ALSO THE SECOND PHILIPPIC.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE ARGUMENT.


This second speech was not actually spoken at all. Antonius was
greatly enraged at the first speech, and summoned another meeting of
the senate for the nineteenth day of the month, giving Cicero especial
notice to be present, and he employed the interval in preparing an
invective against Cicero, and a reply to the first Philippic. The
senate met in the temple of Concord, but Cicero himself was persuaded
not to attend by his friends, who were afraid of Antonius proceeding
to actual violence against him, (and indeed he brought a strong guard
of armed men with him to the senate) He spoke with the greatest fury
against Cicero, charging him with having been the principal author and
contriver of Caesar's murder, hoping by this to inflame the soldiers,
whom he had posted within hearing of his harangue.

Soon after this, Cicero removed to a villa near Naples for greater
safety, and here he composed this second Philippic, which he did not
publish immediately, but contented himself at first with sending a
copy to Brutus and Cassius, who were much pleased with it.

I. To what destiny of mine, O conscript fathers, shall I say that it
is owing, that none for the last twenty years has been an enemy to the
republic without at the same time declaring war against me? Nor is
there any necessity for naming any particular person; you yourselves
recollect instances in proof of my statement. They have all hitherto
suffered severer punishments than I could have wished for them; but I
marvel that you, O Antonius, do not fear the end of those men whose
conduct you are imitating. And in others I was less surprised at this.
None of those men of former times was a voluntary enemy to me; all of
them were attacked by me for the sake of the republic. But you, who
have never been injured by me, not even by a word, in order to appear
more audacious than Catiline, more frantic than Clodius, have of your
own accord attacked me with abuse, and have considered that your
alienation from me would be a recommendation of you to impious
citizens.

What am I to think? that I have been despised? I see nothing either in
my life, or in my influence in the city, or in my exploits, or even
in the moderate abilities with which I am endowed, which Antonius
can despise. Did he think that it was easiest to disparage me in the
senate? a body which has borne its testimony in favour of many most
illustrious citizens that they governed the republic well, but in
favour of me alone, of all men, that I preserved it. Or did he wish to
contend with me in a rivalry of eloquence? This, indeed, is an act of
generosity; for what could be a more fertile or richer subject for
me, than to have to speak in defence of myself, and against Antonius?
This, in fact, is the truth. He thought it impossible to prove to the
satisfaction of those men who resembled himself, that he was an enemy
to his country, if he was not also an enemy to me. And before I make
him any reply on the other topics of his speech, I will say a few
words; respecting the friendship formerly subsisting between us, which
he has accused me of violating,--for that I consider a most serious
charge.

II. He has complained that I pleaded once against his interest. Was
I not to plead against one with whom I was quite I unconnected, in
behalf of an intimate acquaintance, of a dear friend? Was I not to
plead against interest acquired not by hopes of virtue, but by the
disgrace of youth? Was I not to plead against an injustice which that
man procured to be done by the obsequiousness of a most iniquitous
interposer of his veto, not by any law regulating the privileges of
the praetor? But I imagine that this was mentioned by you, in order
that you might recommend yourself to the citizens, if they all
recollected that you were the son-in-law of a freedman, and that your
children were the grandsons of Quintus Fadius a freedman.

But you had entirely devoted yourself to my principles; (for this is
what you said;) you had been in the habit of coming to my house. In
truth, if you had done so, you would more have consulted your own
character and your reputation for chastity. But you did not do so,
nor, if you had wished it, would Caius Curio have ever suffered you to
do so. You have said, that you retired in my favour from the contest
for the augurship. Oh the incredible audacity! oh the monstrous
impudence of such an assertion! For, at the time when Cnaeus Pompeius
and Quintus Hortensius named me as augur, after I had been wished for
as such by the whole college, (for it was not lawful for me to be
put in nomination by more than two members of the college,) you were
notoriously insolvent, nor did you think it possible for your safety
to be secured by any other means than by the destruction of the
republic. But was it possible for you to stand for the augurship at a
time when Curio was not in Italy? or even at the time when you were
elected, could you have got the votes of one single tribe without the
aid of Curio? whose intimate friends even were convicted of violence
for having been too zealous in your favour.

III. But I availed myself of your friendly assistance. Of what
assistance? Although the instance which you cite I have myself at
all times openly admitted. I preferred confessing that I was under
obligations to you, to letting myself appear to any foolish person not
sufficiently grateful. However, what was the kindness that you did me?
not killing me at Brundusium? Would you then have slain the man whom
the conqueror himself, who conferred on you, as you used to boast,
the chief rank among all his robbers, had desired to be safe, and had
enjoined to go to Italy? Grant that you could have slain him, is not
this, O conscript fathers, such a kindness as is done by banditti, who
are contented with being able to boast that they have granted their
lives to all those men whose lives they have not taken? and if that
were really a kindness, then these who slew that man by whom they
themselves had been saved, and whom you yourself are in the habit of
styling most illustrious men, would never have acquired such immortal
glory. But what sort of kindness is it, to have abstained from
committing nefarious wickedness? It is a case in which it ought not
to appear so delightful to me not to have been killed by you, as
miserable, that it should have been in your power to do such a thing
with impunity. However, grant that it was a kindness, since no greater
kindness could be received from a robber, still in what point can
you call me ungrateful? Ought I not to complain of the ruin of the
republic, lest I should appear ungrateful towards you? But in that
complaint, mournful indeed and miserable, but still unavoidable for a
man of that rank in which the senate and people of Rome have placed
me, what did I say that was insulting? that was otherwise than
moderate? that was otherwise than friendly? and what instance was it
not of moderation to complain of the conduct of Marcus Antonius, and
yet to abstain from any abusive expressions? especially when you had
scattered abroad all relics of the republic; when everything was on
sale at your house by the most infamous traffic; when you confessed
that those laws which had never been promulgated, had been passed with
reference to you, and by you; when you, being augur, had abolished the
auspices; being consul, had taken away the power of interposing the
veto; when you were escorted in the most shameful manner by armed
guards; when, worn out with drunkenness and debauchery, you were every
day performing all sorts of obscenities in that chaste house of yours.
But I, as if I had to contend against Marcus Crassus, with whom I have
had many severe struggles, and not with a most worthless gladiator,
while complaining in dignified language of the state of the republic,
did not say one word which could be called personal. Therefore, to-day
I will make him understand with what great kindness he was then
treated by me.

IV. But he also read letters which he said that I had sent to him,
like a man devoid of humanity and ignorant of the common usages of
life. For who ever, who was even but slightly acquainted with the
habits of polite men, produced in an assembly and openly read letters
which had been sent to him by a friend, just because some quarrel had
arisen between them? Is not this destroying all companionship in life,
destroying the means by which absent friends converse together? How
many jests are frequently put in letters, which, if they were produced
in public, would appear stupid! How many serious opinions, which, for
all that, ought not to be published! Let this be a proof of your utter
ignorance of courtesy. Now mark, also, his incredible folly. What
have you to oppose to me, O you eloquent man, as you seem at least
to Mustela Tamisius, and to Tiro Numisius? And while these men are
standing at this very time in the sight of the senate with drawn
swords, I too will think you an eloquent man if you will show how you
would defend them if they were charged with being assassins. However
what answer would you make if I were to deny that I ever sent
those letters to you? By what evidence could you convict me? by my
handwriting? Of handwriting indeed you have a lucrative knowledge.[9]
How can you prove it in that manner? for the letters are written by
an amanuensis. By this time I envy your teacher, who for all that
payment, which I shall mention presently, has taught you to know
nothing.

For what can be less like, I do not say an orator, but a man, than to
reproach an adversary with a thing which if he denies by one single
word, he who has reproached him cannot advance one step further? But
I do not deny it; and in this very point I convict you not only of
inhumanity but also of madness. For what expression is there in those
letters which is not full of humanity and service and benevolence? and
the whole of your charge amounts to this, that I do not express a bad
opinion of you in those letters; that in them I wrote as to a citizen,
and as to a virtuous man, not as to a wicked man and a robber. But
your letters I will not produce, although I fairly might, now that I
am thus challenged by you; letters in which you beg of me that you may
be enabled by my consent to procure the recall of some one from exile;
and you will not attempt it if I have any objection, and you prevail
on me by your entreaties. For why should I put myself in the way
of your audacity? when neither the authority of this body, nor the
opinion of the Roman people, nor any laws are able to restrain you.
However, what was the object of your addressing these entreaties to
me, if the man for whom you were entreating was already restored by a
law of Caesar's? I suppose the truth was, that he wished it to be done
by me as a favour; in which matter there could not be any favour done
even by himself, if a law was already passed for the purpose.

V. But as, O conscript fathers, I have many things which I must say
both in my own defence and against Marcus Antonius, one thing I ask
you, that you will listen to me with kindness while I am speaking for
myself; the other I will ensure myself, namely, that you shall listen
to me with attention while speaking against him. At the same time
also, I beg this of you; that if you have been acquainted with my
moderation and modesty throughout my whole life, and especially as a
speaker, you will not, when to-day I answer this man in the spirit
in which he has attacked me, think that I have forgotten my usual
character. I will not treat him as a consul, for he did not treat me
as a man of consular rank; and although he in no respect deserves to
be considered a consul, whether we regard his way of life, or his
principle of governing the republic, or the manner in which he was
elected, I am beyond all dispute a man of consular rank.

That, therefore, you might understand what sort of a consul he
professed to be himself, he reproached me with my consulship;--a
consulship which, O conscript fathers, was in name, indeed, mine, but
in reality yours. For what did I determine, what did I contrive, what
did I do, that was not determined, contrived, or done, by the counsel
and authority and in accordance with the sentiments of this order? And
have you, O wise man, O man not merely eloquent, dared to find fault
with these actions before the very men by whose counsel and wisdom
they were performed? But who was ever found before, except Publius
Clodius, to find fault with my consulship? And his fate indeed awaits
you, as it also awaited Caius Curio; since that is now in your house
which was fatal to each of them.[10]

Marcus Antonius disapproves of my consulship; but it was approved of
by Publius Servilius--to name that man first of the men of consular
rank who had died most recently. It was approved of by Quintus
Catulus, whose authority will always carry weight in this republic;
it was approved of by the two Luculli, by Marcus Crassus, by Quintus
Hortensius, by Caius Curio, by Caius Piso, by Marcus Glabrio, by
Marcus Lepidus, by Lucius Volcatius, by Caius Figulus, by Decimus
Silanus and Lucius Murena, who at that time were the consuls elect;
the same consulship also which was approved of by those men of
consular rank, was approved of by Marcus Cato; who escaped many evils
by departing from this life, and especially the evil of seeing you
consul. But, above all, my consulship was approved of by Cnaeus
Pompeius, who, when he first saw me, as he was leaving Syria,
embracing me and congratulating me, said, that it was owing to my
services that he was about to see his country again. But why should I
mention individuals? It was approved of by the senate, in a very full
house, so completely, that there was no one who did not thank me as if
I had been his parent, who did not attribute to me the salvation of
his life, of his fortunes, of his children, and of the republic.

VI. But, since the republic has been now deprived of those men whom
I have named, many and illustrious as they were, let us come to the
living, since two of the men of consular rank are still left to us:
Lucius Cotta, a man of the greatest genius and the most consummate
prudence, proposed a supplication in my honour for those very actions
with which you find fault, in the most complimentary language, and
those very men of consular rank whom I have named, and the whole
senate, adopted his proposal; an honour which has never been paid to
any one else in the garb of peace from the foundation of the city
to my time. With what eloquence, with what firm wisdom, with what
a weight of authority did Lucius Caesar your uncle, pronounce his
opinion against the husband of his own sister, your stepfather. But
you, when you ought to have taken him as your adviser and tutor in all
your designs, and in the whole conduct of your life, preferred being
like your stepfather to resembling your uncle. I, who had no connexion
with him, acted by his counsels while I was consul. Did you, who
were his sister's son, ever once consult him on the affairs of the
republic?

But who are they whom Antonius does consult? O ye immortal gods, they
are men whose birthdays we have still to learn. To-day Antonius is not
coming down. Why? He is celebrating the birthday feast at his villa.
In whose honour? I will name no one. Suppose it is in honour of some
Phormio, or Gnatho, or even Ballio.[11] Oh the abominable profligacy
of the man! Oh how intolerable is his impudence, his debauchery, and
his lust! Can you, when you have one of the chiefs of the senate, a
citizen of singular virtue, so nearly related to you, abstain from
ever consulting him on the affairs of the republic, and consult men
who have no property whatever of their own, and are draining yours?

VII. Yes, your consulship, forsooth, is a salutary one for the state,
mine a mischievous one. Have you so entirely lost all shame as well
as all chastity, that you could venture to say this in that temple
in which I was consulting that senate which formerly in the full
enjoyment of its honours presided over the world? And did you place
around it abandoned men armed with swords? But you have dared besides
(what is there which you would not dare?) to say that the Capitoline
Hill, when I was consul, was full of armed slaves. I was offering
violence to the senate, I suppose, in order to compel the adoption of
those infamous decrees of the senate. O wretched man, whether those
things are not known to you, (for you know nothing that is good,) or
whether they are, when you dare to speak so shamelessly before such
men! For what Roman knight was there, what youth of noble birth except
you, what man of any rank or class who recollected that he was a
citizen, who was not on the Capitoline Hill while the senate was
assembled in this temple? who was there, who did not give in his name?
Although there could not be provided checks enough, nor were the books
able to contain their names.

In truth, when wicked men, being compelled by the revelations of the
accomplices, by their own handwriting, and by what I may almost call
the voices of their letters, were confessing that they had planned the
parricidal destruction of their country, and that they had agreed
to burn the city, to massacre the citizens, to devastate Italy, to
destroy the republic; who could have existed without being roused to
defend the common safety? especially when the senate and people of
Rome had a leader then; and if they had one now like he was then, the
same fate would befall you which did overtake them.

He asserts that the body of his stepfather was not allowed burial by
me. But this is an assertion that was never made by Publius Clodius,
a man whom, as I was deservedly an enemy of his, I grieve now to see
surpassed by you in every sort of vice. But how could it occur to you
to recal to our recollection that you had been educated in the house
of Publius Lentulus? Were you afraid that we might think that you
could have turned out as infamous as you are by the mere force of
nature, if your natural qualities had not been strengthened by
education?

VIII. But you are so senseless that throughout the whole of your
speech you were at variance with yourself; so that you said things
which had not only no coherence with each other but which were most
inconsistent with and contradictory to one another; so that there was
not so much opposition between you and me as there was between you and
yourself. You confessed that your stepfather had been duplicated
in that enormous wickedness, yet you complained that he had had
punishment inflicted on him. And by doing so you praised what was
peculiarly my achievement, and blamed that which was wholly the act of
the senate. For the detection and arrest of the guilty parties was my
work, their punishment was the work of the senate. But that eloquent
man does not perceive that the man against whom he is speaking is
being praised by him, and that those before whom he is speaking
are being attacked by him. But now what an act, I will not say of
audacity, (for he is anxious to be audacious,) but (and that is what
he is not desirous of) what an act of folly, in which he surpasses
all men, is it to make mention of the Capitoline Hill, at a time when
armed men are actually between our benches--when men, armed with
swords, are now stationed in this same temple of Concord, O ye
immortal gods, in which, while I was consul, opinions most salutary to
the state were delivered, owing to which it is that we are all alive
at this day.

Accuse the senate; accuse the equestrian body, which at that time was
united with the senate; accuse every order of society, and all the
citizens, as long as you confess that this assembly at this very
moment is besieged by Ityrean[12] soldiers. It is not so much a proof
of audacity to advance these statements so impudently, as of utter
want of sense to be unable to see their contradictory nature. For
what is more insane than, after you yourself have taken up arms to do
mischief to the republic, to reproach another with having taken them
up to secure its safety? On one occasion you attempted even to be
witty. O ye good gods, how little did that attempt suit you! And yet
you are a little to be blamed for your failure in that instance, too.
For you might have got some wit from your wife, who was an actress.
"Arms to the gown must yield." Well, have they not yielded? But
afterwards the gown yielded to your arms. Let us inquire then whether
it was better for the arms of wicked men to yield to the freedom of
the Roman people, or that our liberty should yield to your arms. Nor
will I make any further reply to you about the verses. I will only
say briefly that you do not understand them, nor any other literature
whatever. That I have never at any time been wanting to the claims
that either the republic or my friends had upon me; but nevertheless
that in all the different sorts of composition on which I have
employed myself, during my leisure hours, I have always endeavoured to
make my labours and my writings such as to be some advantage to our
youth, and some credit to the Roman name. But, however, all this
has nothing to do with the present occasion. Let us consider more
important matters.

IX. You have said that Publius Clodius was slain by my contrivance.
What would men have thought if he had been slain at the time when you
pursued him in the forum with a drawn sword, in the sight of all the
Roman people; and when you would have settled his business if he had
not thrown himself up the stairs of a bookseller's shop, and, shutting
them against you, checked your attack by that means? And I confess
that at that time I favoured you, but even you yourself do not say
that I had advised your attempt. But as for Milo, it was not possible
even for me to favour his action. For he had finished the business
before any one could suspect that he was going to do it. Oh, but I
advised it. I suppose Milo was a man of such a disposition that he was
not able to do a service to the republic if he had not some one to
advise him to do it. But I rejoiced at it. Well, suppose I did; was I
to be the only sorrowful person in the city, when every one else was
in such delight? Although that inquiry into the death of Publius
Clodius was not instituted with any great wisdom. For what was the
reason for having a new law to inquire into the conduct of the man who
had slain him, when there was a form of inquiry already established by
the laws? However, an inquiry was instituted. And have you now been
found, so many years afterwards, to say a thing which, at the time
that the affair was under discussion, no one ventured to say against
me? But as to the assertion that you have dared to make, and that at
great length too, that it was by my means that Pompeius was alienated
from his friendship with Caesar, and that on that account it was my
fault that the civil war was originated; in that you have not erred so
much in the main facts, as (and that is of the greatest importance) in
the times.

X. When Marcus Bibulus, a most illustrious citizen, was consul, I
omitted nothing which I could possibly do or attempt to draw off
Pompeius from his union with Caesar. In which, however, Caesar was
more fortunate than I, for he himself drew off Pompeius from his
intimacy with me. But afterwards, when Pompeius joined Caesar with all
his heart, what could have been my object in attempting to separate
them then? It would have been the part of a fool to hope to do so, and
of an impudent man to advise it. However, two occasions did arise, on
which I gave Pompeius advice against Caesar. You are at liberty to
find fault with my conduct on those occasions if you can. One was when
I advised him not to continue Caesar's government for five years more.
The other, when I advised him not to permit him to be considered as
a candidate for the consulship when he was absent. And if I had been
able to prevail on him in either of these particulars, we should never
have fallen into our present miseries.

Moreover, I also, when Pompeius had now devoted to the service of
Caesar all his own power, and all the power of the Roman people, and
had begun when it was too late to perceive all those things which I
had foreseen long before, and when I saw that a nefarious war was
about to be waged against our country, I never ceased to be the
adviser of peace, and concord, and some arrangement. And that language
of mine was well known to many people,--"I wish, O Cnaeus Pompeius,
that you had either never joined in a confederacy with Caius Caesar,
or else that you had never broken it off. The one conduct would have
become your dignity, and the other would have been suited to your
prudence." This, O Marcus Antonius, was at all times my advice both
respecting Pompeius and concerning the republic. And if it had
prevailed, the republic would still be standing, and you would have
perished through your own crimes, and indigence, and infamy.

XI. But these are all old stories now. This charge, however, is quite
a modern one, that Caesar was slain by my contrivance. I am afraid, O
conscript fathers, lest I should appear to you to have brought up a
sham accuser against myself (which is a most disgraceful thing to do);
a man not only to distinguish me by the praises which are my due, but
to load me also with those which do not belong to me. For who ever
heard my name mentioned as an accomplice in that most glorious action?
and whose name has been concealed who was in the number of that
gallant band? Concealed, do I say? Whose name was there which was not
at once made public? I should sooner say that some men had boasted in
order to appear to have been concerned in that conspiracy, though they
had in reality known nothing of it, than that any one who had been
an accomplice in it could have wished to be concealed. Moreover, how
likely it is, that among such a number of men, some obscure, some
young men who had not the wit to conceal any one, my name could
possibly have escaped notice! Indeed, if leaders were wanted for
the purpose of delivering the country, what need was there of my
instigating the Bruti, one of whom saw every day in his house the
image of Lucius Brutus, and the other saw also the image of Ahala?
Were these the men to seek counsel from the ancestors of others rather
than from their own? and out of doors rather than at home? What? Caius
Cassius, a man of that family which could not endure, I will not say
the domination, but even the power of any individual,--he, I suppose,
was in need of me to instigate him? a man who, even without
the assistance of these other most illustrious men, would have
accomplished this same deed in Cilicia, at the mouth of the river
Cydnus, if Caesar had brought his ships to that bank of the river
which he had intended, and not to the opposite one. Was Cnaeus
Domitius spurred on to seek to recover his dignity, not by the death
of his father, a most illustrious man, nor by the death of his uncle,
nor by the deprivation of his own dignity, but by my advice and
authority? Did I persuade Caius Trebonius? a man whom I should not
have ventured even to advise. On which account the republic owes him
even a larger debt of gratitude, because he preferred the liberty
of the Roman people to the friendship of one man, and because he
preferred overthrowing arbitrary power to sharing it. Was I the
instigator whom Lucius Tillius Cimber followed? a man whom I admired
for having performed that action, rather than ever expected that he
would perform it; and I admired him on this account, that he was
unmindful of the personal kindnesses which he had received, but
mindful of his country. What shall I say of the two Servilii? Shall
I call them Cascas, or Ahalas? and do you think that those men were
instigated by my authority rather than by their affection for the
republic? It would take a long time to go through all the rest; and it
is a glorious thing for the republic that they were so numerous, and a
most honourable thing also for themselves.

XII. But recollect, I pray you, how that clever man convicted me of
being an accomplice in the business. When Caesar was slain, says he,
Marcus Brutus immediately lifted up on high his bloody dagger, and
called on Cicero by name; and congratulated him on liberty being
recovered. Why on me above all men? Because I knew of it beforehand?
Consider rather whether this was not his reason for calling on me,
that, when he had performed an action very like those which I myself
had done, he called me above all men to witness that he had been an
imitator of my exploits. But you, O stupidest of all men, do not you
perceive, that if it is a crime to have wished that Caesar should be
slain--which you accuse me of having wished--it is a crime also to
have rejoiced at his death? For what is the difference between a man
who has advised an action, and one who has approved of it? or what
does it signify whether I wished it to be done, or rejoice that it has
been done? Is there any one then, except you yourself and those men
who wished him to become a king, who was unwilling that that deed
should be done, or who disapproved of it after it was done? All men,
therefore, are guilty as far as this goes. In truth, all good men, as
far as it depended on them, bore a part in the slaying of Caesar. Some
did not know how to contrive it, some had not courage for it, some had
no opportunity,--every one had the inclination.

However, remark the stupidity of this fellow,--I should rather say, of
this brute beast. For thus he spoke:--"Marcus Brutus, whom I name to
do him honour, holding aloft his bloody dagger, called upon Cicero,
from which it must be understood that he was privy to the action."
Am I then called wicked by you because you suspect that I suspected
something; and is he who openly displayed his reeking dagger, named by
you that you may do him honour? Be it so. Let this stupidity exist in
your language: how much greater is it in your actions and opinions!
Arrange matters in this way at last, O consul; pronounce the cause of
the Bruti, of Caius Cassius, of Cnaeus Domitius, of Caius Trebonius
and the rest to be whatever you please to call it: sleep off that
intoxication of yours, sleep it off and take breath. Must one apply
a torch to you to waken you while you are sleeping over such an
important affair? Will you never understand that you have to decide
whether those men who performed that action are homicides or assertors
of freedom?

XIII. For just consider a little; and for a moment think of the
business like a sober man. I who, as I myself confess, am an intimate
friend of those men, and, as you accuse me, an accomplice of theirs,
deny that there is any medium between these alternatives. I confess
that they, if they be not deliverers of the Roman people and saviours
of the republic, are worse than assassins, worse than homicides, worse
even than parricides: since it is a more atrocious thing to murder
the father of one's country, than one's own father. You wise and
considerate man, what do you say to this? If they are parricides, why
are they always named by you, both in this assembly and before the
Roman people, with a view to do them honour? Why has Marcus Brutus[13]
been, on your motion, excused from obedience to the laws, and allowed
to be absent. Why were the games of Apollo celebrated with incredible
honour to Marcus Brutus? why were provinces given to Brutus and
Cassius? why were quaestors assigned to them? why was the number of
their lieutenants augmented? And all these measures were owing to you.
They are not homicides then. It follows that in your opinion they are
deliverers of their country, since there can be no other alternative.
What is the matter? Am I embarrassing you? For perhaps you do not
quite understand propositions which are stated disjunctively. Still
this is the sum total of my conclusion; that since they are acquitted
by you of wickedness, they are at the same time pronounced most worthy
of the very most honourable rewards.

Therefore, I will now proceed again with my oration. I will write to
them, if any one by chance should ask whether what you have imputed to
me be true, not to deny it to any one. In truth, I am afraid that it
must be considered either a not very creditable thing to them, that
they should have concealed the fact of my being an accomplice; or else
a most discreditable one to me that I was invited to be one, and that
I shirked it. For what greater exploit (I call you to witness, O
august Jupiter!) was ever achieved not only in this city, but in all
the earth? What more glorious action was ever done? What deed was ever
more deservedly recommended to the everlasting recollection of men?
Do you, then, shut me up with the other leaders in the partnership in
this design, as in the Trojan horse? I have no objection; I even thank
you for doing so, with whatever intent you do it. For the deed is so
great an one, that I cannot compare the unpopularity which you wish to
excite against me on account of it, with its real glory.

For who can be happier than those men whom you boast of having now
expelled and driven from the city? What place is there either so
deserted or so uncivilized, as not to seem to greet and to covet the
presence of those men wherever they have arrived? What men are so
clownish as not, when they have once beheld them, to think that they
have reaped the greatest enjoyment that life can give? And what
posterity will be ever so forgetful, what literature will ever be
found so ungrateful, as not to cherish their glory with undying
recollection? Enrol me then, I beg, in the number of those men.

XIV. But one thing I am afraid you may not approve of. For if I had
really been one of their number, I should have not only got rid of the
king, but of the kingly power also out of the republic; and if I had
been the author of the piece, as it is said, believe me, I should not
have been contented with one act, but should have finished the whole
play. Although, if it be a crime to have wished that Caesar might be
put to death, beware, I pray you, O Antonius, of what must be your own
case, as it is notorious that you, when at Narbo, formed a plan of
the same sort with Caius Trebonius; and it was on account of your
participation in that design that, when Caesar was being killed, we
saw you called aside by Trebonius. But I (see how far I am from any
horrible inclination towards,) praise you for having once in your life
had a righteous intention; I return you thanks for not having revealed
the matter; and I excuse you for not having accomplished your purpose.
That exploit required a man.

And if any one should institute a prosecution against you, and employ
that test of old Cassius, "who reaped any advantage from it?" take
care, I advise you, lest you suit that description. Although, in
truth, that action was, as you used to say, an advantage to every one
who was not willing to be a slave, still it was so to you above all
men, who are not merely not a slave, but are actually a king; who
delivered yourself from an enormous burden of debt at the temple of
Ops; who, by your dealings with the account books, there squandered a
countless sum of money; who have had such vast treasures brought to
you from Caesar's house; at whose own house there is set up a most
lucrative manufactory of false memoranda and autographs, and a most
iniquitous market of lands, and towns, and exemptions, and revenues.
In truth, what measure except the death of Caesar could possibly have
been any relief to your indigent and insolvent condition? You appear
to be somewhat agitated. Have you any secret fear that you yourself
may appear to have had some connexion with that crime? I will release
you from all apprehension; no one will ever believe it; it is not like
you to deserve well of the republic; the most illustrious men in the
republic are the authors of that exploit; I only say that you are glad
it was done; I do not accuse you of having done it. I have replied to
your heaviest accusations, I must now also reply to the rest of them.

XV. You have thrown in my teeth the camp of Pompeius and all my
conduct at that time. At which time, indeed, if, as I have said
before, my counsels and my authority had prevailed, you would this day
be in indigence, we should be free, and the republic would not have
lost so many generals and so many armies. For I confess that, when I
saw that these things certainly would happen, which now have happened,
I was as greatly grieved as all the other virtuous citizens would have
been if they had foreseen the same things. I did grieve, I did grieve,
O conscript fathers, that the republic which had once been saved by
your counsels and mine, was fated to perish in a short time. Nor was
I so inexperienced in and ignorant of this nature of things, as to be
disheartened on account of a fondness for life, which while it endured
would wear me out with anguish, and when brought to an end would
release me from all trouble. But I was desirous that those most
illustrious men, the lights of the republic, should live: so many
men of consular rank, so many men of praetorian rank, so many most
honourable senators; and besides them all the flower of our nobility
and of our youth; and the armies of excellent citizens. And if they
were still alive, under ever such hard conditions of peace, (for any
sort of peace with our fellow-citizens appeared to me more desirable
than civil war,) we should be still this day enjoying the republic.

And if my opinion had prevailed, and if those men, the preservation of
whose lives was my main object, elated with the hope of victory, had
not been my chief opposers, to say nothing of other results, at all
events you would never have continued in this order, or rather in this
city. But say you, my speech alienated from me the regard of Pompeius?
Was there any one to whom he was more attached? any one with whom he
conversed or shared his counsels more frequently? It was, indeed,
a great thing that we, differing as we did respecting the general
interests of the republic, should continue in uninterrupted
friendship. But I saw clearly what his opinions and views were, and he
saw mine equally. I was for providing for the safety of the citizens
in the first place, in order that we might be able to consult their
dignity afterwards. He thought more of consulting their existing
dignity. But because each of us had a definite object to pursue, our
disagreement was the more endurable. But what that extraordinary and
almost godlike man thought of me is known to those men who pursued him
to Paphos from the battle of Pharsalia. No mention of me was ever made
by him that was not the most honourable that could be, that was not
full of the most friendly regret for me; while he confessed that I had
had the most foresight, but that he had had more sanguine hopes. And
do you dare taunt me with the name of that man whose friend you admit
that I was, and whose assassin you confess yourself?

XVI. However, let us say no more of that war, in which you were too
fortunate. I will not reply even with those jests to which you have
said that I gave utterance in the camp. That camp was in truth full of
anxiety, but although men are in great difficulties, still, provided
they are men, they sometimes relax their minds. But the fact that the
same man finds fault with my melancholy, and also with my jokes, is a
great proof that I was very moderate in each particular.

You have said that no inheritances come to me. Would that this
accusation of yours were a true one; I should have more of my friends
and connexions alive. But how could such a charge ever come into your
head? For I have received more than twenty millions of sesterces in
inheritances. Although in this particular I admit that you have been
more fortunate than I. No one has ever made me his heir except he was
a friend of mine, in order that my grief of mind for his loss might be
accompanied also with some gain, if it was to be considered as such.
But a man whom you never even saw, Lucius Rubrius, of Casinum, made
you his heir. And see now how much he loved you, who, though he did
not know whether you were white or black, passed over the son of his
brother, Quintus Fufius, a most honourable Roman knight, and most
attached to him, whom he had on all occasions openly declared his
heir, (he never even names him in his will,) and he makes you his heir
whom he had never seen, or at all events had never spoken to.

I wish you would tell me, if it is not too much trouble, what sort of
countenance Lucius Turselius was of; what sort of height; from what
municipal town he came; and of what tribe he was a member. "I know
nothing," you will say, "about him, except what farms he had."
Therefore, he, disinheriting his brother, made you his heir. And
besides these instances, this man has seized on much other property
belonging to men wholly unconnected with him, to the exclusion of the
legitimate heirs, as if he himself were the heir. Although the thing
that struck me with most astonishment of all was, that you should
venture to make mention of inheritances, when you yourself had not
received the inheritance of your own father.

XVII. And was it in order to collect all these arguments, O you
most senseless of men, that you spent so many days in practising
declamation in another man's villa? Although, indeed, (as your most
intimate friends usually say,) you are in the habit of declaiming,
not for the purpose of whetting your genius, but of working off the
effects of wine. And, indeed, you employ a master to teach you jokes,
a man appointed by your own vote and that of your boon companions; a
rhetorician, whom you have allowed to say what ever he pleased against
you, a thoroughly facetious gentleman; but there are plenty of
materials for speaking against you and against your friends. But just
see now what a difference there is between you and your grandfather.
He used with great deliberation to bring forth arguments advantageous
to the cause he was advocating; you pour forth in a hurry the
sentiments which you have been taught by another. And what wages have
you paid this rhetorician? Listen, listen, O conscript fathers,
and learn the blows which are inflicted on the republic. You have
assigned, O Antonius, two thousand acres[14] which is often translated
acre also, of land, in the Leontine district, to Sextus Clodius, the
rhetorician, and those, too, exempt from every kind of tax, for the
sake of putting the Roman people to such a vast expense that you might
learn to be a fool. Was this gift, too, O you most audacious of men,
found among Caesar's papers? But I will take another opportunity to
speak about the Leontine and the Campanian district; where he has
stolen lands from the republic to pollute them with most infamous
owners. For now, since I have sufficiently replied to all his charges,
I must say a little about our corrector and censor himself. And yet I
will not say all I could, in order that if I have often to battle
with him I may always come to the contest with fresh arms; and the
multitude of his vices and atrocities will easily enable me to do so.

XVIII. Shall we then examine your conduct from the time when you were
a boy? I think so. Let us begin at the beginning. Do you recollect
that, while you were still clad in the praetexta, you became a
bankrupt? That was the fault of your father, you will say. I admit
that. In truth, such a defence is full of filial affection. But it
is peculiarly suited to your own audacity, that you sat among the
fourteen rows of the knights, though by the Roscian law there was a
place appointed for bankrupts, even if any one had become so.

XIX. But let us say no more of your profligacy and debauchery. There
are things which it is not possible for me to mention with honour; but
you are all the more free for that, inasmuch as you have not scrupled
to be an actor in scenes which a modest enemy cannot bring himself to
mention.

Mark now, O conscript fathers, the rest of his life, which I will
touch upon rapidly. For my inclination hastens to arrive at those
things which he did in the time of the civil war, amid the greatest
miseries of the republic, and at those things which he does every day.
And I beg of you, though they are far better known to you than they
are to me, still to listen attentively, as you are doing, to my
relation of them. For in such cases as this, it is not the mere
knowledge of such actions that ought to excite the mind, but the
recollection of them also. Although we must at once go into the middle
of them, lest otherwise we should be too long in coming to the end.

He was very intimate with Clodius at the time of his tribuneship;
he, who now enumerates the kindnesses which he did me. He was the
firebrand to handle all conflagrations; and even in his house he
attempted something. He himself well knows what I allude to. From
thence he made a journey to Alexandria, in defiance of the authority
of the senate, and against the interests of the republic, and in spite
of religious obstacles; but he had Gabinius for his leader, with whom
whatever he did was sure to be right. What were the circumstances of
his return from thence? what sort of return was it? He went from Egypt
to the furthest extremity of Gaul before he returned home. And what
was his home? For at that time every man had possession of his own
house; and you had no house anywhere, O Antonius. House, do you say?
what place was there in the whole world where you could set your foot
on anything that belonged to you, except Mienum, which you farmed with
your partners, as if it had been Sisapo?[15]

XX. You came from Gaul to stand for the quaestorship. Dare to say that
you went to your own father before you came to me. I had already
received Caesar's letters, begging me to allow myself to accept of your
excuses; and therefore, I did not allow you even to mention thanks.
After that, I was treated with respect by you, and you received
attentions from me in your canvass for the quaestorship. And it was at
that time, indeed, that you endeavoured to slay Publius Clodius in the
forum, with the approbation of the Roman people; and though you made
the attempt of your own accord, and not at my instigation, still you
clearly alleged that you did not think, unless you slew him, that you
could possibly make amends to me for all the injuries which you had
done me. And this makes me wonder why you should say that Milo did
that deed at my instigation; when I never once exhorted you to do it,
who of your own accord attempted to do me the same service. Although,
if you had persisted in it, I should have preferred allowing the
action to be set down entirely to your own love of glory rather than
to my influence.

You were elected quaestor. On this, immediately, without any resolution
of the senate authorizing such a step, without drawing lots, without
procuring any law to be passed, you hastened to Caesar. For you thought
the camp the only refuge on earth for indigence, and debt, and
profligacy,--for all men, in short, who were in a state of utter ruin.
Then, when you had recruited your resources again by his largesses and
your own robberies, (if, indeed, a person can be said to recruit,
who only acquires something which he may immediately squander,) you
hastened, being again a beggar, to the tribuneship, in order that in
that magistracy you might, if possible, behave like your friend.

XXI. Listen now, I beseech you, O conscript fathers, not to those
things which he did indecently and profligately to his own injury and
to his own disgrace as a private individual; but to the actions which
he did impiously and wickedly against us and our fortunes,--that is to
say, against the whole republic. For it is from his wickedness that
you will find that the beginning of all these evils has arisen.

For when, in the consulship of Lucius Lentulus and Marcus Marcellus,
you, on the first of January, were anxious to prop up the republic,
which was tottering and almost falling, and were willing to consult
the interests of Caius Caesar himself, if he would have acted like
a man in his senses, then this fellow opposed to your counsels his
tribuneship, which he had sold and handed over to the purchaser, and
exposed his own neck to that axe under which many have suffered for
smaller crimes. It was against you, O Marcus Antonius, that the
senate, while still in the possession of its rights, before so many
of its luminaries were extinguished, passed that decree which, in
accordance with the usage of our ancestors, is at times passed against
an enemy who is a citizen. And have you dared, before these conscript
fathers, to say anything against me, when I have been pronounced by
this order to be the saviour of my country, and when you have been
declared by it to be an enemy of the republic? The mention of that
wickedness of yours has been interrupted, but the recollection of it
has not been effaced. As long as the race of men, as long as the name
of the Roman people shall exist, (and that, unless it is prevented
from being so by your means, will be everlasting,) so long will that
most mischievous interposition of your veto be spoken of. What was
there that was being done by the senate either ambitiously or rashly,
when you, one single young man, forbade the whole order to pass
decrees concerning the safety of the republic? and when you did so,
not once only, but repeatedly? nor would you allow any one to plead
with you in behalf of the authority of the senate; and yet, what did
any one entreat of you, except that you would not desire the republic
to be entirely overthrown and destroyed; when neither the chief men of
the state by their entreaties, nor the elders by their warnings, nor
the senate in a full house by pleading with you, could move you from
the determination which you had already sold and as it were delivered
to the purchaser? Then it was, after having tried many other
expedients previously, that a blow was of necessity struck at you
which had been struck at only few men before you, and which none of
them had ever survived. Then it was that this order armed the consuls,
and the rest of the magistrates who were invested with either military
or civil command, against you, and you never would have escaped them,
if you had not taken refuge in the camp of Caesar.

XXII. It was you, you, I say, O Marcus Antonius, who gave Caius Caesar,
desirous as he already was to throw everything into confusion, the
principal pretext for waging war against his country. For what other
pretence did he allege? what cause did he give for his own most
frantic resolution and action, except that the power of interposition
by the veto had been disregarded, the privileges of the tribunes taken
away, and Antonius's rights abridged by the senate? I say nothing of
how false, how trivial these pretences were; especially when there
could not possibly be any reasonable cause whatever to justify any one
in taking up arms against his country. But I have nothing to do with
Caesar. You must unquestionably allow, that the cause of that ruinous
war existed in your person.

O miserable man if you are aware, more miserable still if you are not
aware, that this is recorded in writings, is handed down to men's
recollection, that our very latest posterity in the most distant ages
will never forget this fact, that the consuls were expelled from
Italy, and with them Cnaeus Pompeius, who was the glory and light of
the empire of the Roman people; that all the men of consular rank,
whose health would allow them to share in that disaster and that
flight, and the praetors, and men of praetorian rank, and the tribunes
of the people, and a great part of the senate, and all the flower of
the youth of the city, and, in a word, the republic itself was driven
out and expelled from its abode. As, then, there is in seeds the cause
which produces trees and plants, so of this most lamentable war you
were the seed. Do you, O conscript fathers, grieve that these armies
of the Roman people have been slain? It is Antonius who slew them. Do
you regret your most illustrious citizens? It is Antonius, again, who
has deprived you of them. The authority of this order is overthrown;
it is Antonius who has overthrown it. Everything, in short, which we
have seen since that time, (and what misfortune is there that we
have not seen?) we shall, if we argue rightly, attribute wholly to
Antonius. As Helen was to the Trojans, so has that man been to this
republic,--the cause of war, the cause of mischief, the cause of ruin.
The rest of his tribuneship was like the beginning. He did everything
which the senate had laboured to prevent, as being impossible to be
done consistently with the safety of the republic. And see, now, how
gratuitously wicked he was even in accomplishing his wickedness.

XXIII. He restored many men who had fallen under misfortune. Among
them no mention was made of his uncle. If he was severe, why was he
not so to every one? If he was merciful, why was he not merciful to
his own relations? But I say nothing of the rest. He restored Licinius
Lenticula, a man who had been condemned for gambling, and who was a
fellow-gamester of his own. As if he could not play with a condemned
man; but in reality, in order to pay by a straining of the law in his
favour, what he had lost by the dice. What reason did you allege to
the Roman people why it was desirable that he should be restored?
I suppose you said that he was absent when the prosecution was
instituted against him; that the cause was decided without his having
been heard in his defence; that there was not by a law any judicial
proceeding established with reference to gambling; that he had been
put down by violence or by arms; or lastly, as was said in the case of
your uncle, that the tribunal had been bribed with money. Nothing of
this sort was said. Then he was a good man, and one worthy of the
republic. That, indeed, would have been nothing to the purpose, but
still, since being condemned does not go for much, I would forgive you
if that were the truth. Does not he restore to the full possession of
his former privileges the most worthless man possible,--one who would
not hesitate to play at dice even in the forum, and who had been
convicted under the law which exists respecting gambling,--does not he
declare in the most open manner his own propensities?

Then in this same tribuneship, when Caesar while on his way into Spain
had given him Italy to trample on, what journeys did he make in every
direction! how did he visit the municipal towns! I know that I am
only speaking of matters which have been discussed in every one's
conversation, and that the things which I am saying and am going to
say are better known to every one who was in Italy at that time, than
to me, who was not. Still I mention the particulars of his conduct,
although my speech cannot possibly come up to your own personal
knowledge. When was such wickedness ever heard of as existing upon
earth? or such shamelessness? or such open infamy?

XXIV. The tribune of the people was borne along in a chariot, lictors
crowned with laurel preceded him; among whom, on an open litter, was
carried an actress; whom honourable men, citizens of the different
municipalities, coming out from their towns under compulsion to meet
him, saluted not by the name by which she was well known on the stage,
but by that of Volumnia.[16] A car followed full of pimps; then a
lot of debauched companions; and then his mother, utterly neglected,
followed the mistress of her profligate son, as if she had been her
daughter-in-law. O the disastrous fecundity of that miserable woman!
With the marks of such wickedness as this did that fellow stamp every
municipality, and prefecture, and colony, and, in short, the whole of
Italy.

To find fault with the rest of his actions, O conscript fathers, is
difficult, and somewhat unsafe. He was occupied in war; he glutted
himself with the slaughter of citizens who bore no resemblance to
himself. He was fortunate--if at least there can be any good fortune
in wickedness. But since we wish to show a regard for the veterans,
although the cause of the soldiers is very different from yours; they
followed their chief; you went to seek for a leader; still, (that I
may not give you any pretence for stirring up odium against me among
them,) I will say nothing of the nature of the war.

When victorious, you returned with the legions from Thessaly to
Brundusium. There you did not put me to death. It was a great
kindness! For I confess that you could have done it. Although there
was no one of those men who were with you at that time, who did not
think that I ought to be spared. For so great is men's affection for
their country, that I was sacred even in the eyes of your legions,
because they recollected that the country had been saved by me.
However, grant that you did give me what you did not take away from
me; and that I have my life as a present from you, since it was not
taken from me by you; was it possible for me, after all your insults,
to regard that kindness of yours as I regarded it at first, especially
after you saw that you must hear this reply from me?

XXV. You came to Brundusium, to the bosom and embraces of your
actress. What is the matter? Am I speaking falsely? How miserable is
it not to be able to deny a fact which it is disgraceful to confess!
If you had no shame before the municipal towns, had you none even
before your veteran army? For what soldier was there who did not see
her at Brundusium? who was there who did not know that she had come
so many days' journey to congratulate you? who was there who did not
grieve that he was so late in finding out how worthless a man he had
been following?

Again you made a tour through Italy, with that same actress for your
companion. Cruel and miserable was the way in which you led your
soldiers into the towns; shameful was the pillage in every city, of
gold and silver, and above all, of wine. And besides all this, while
Caesar knew nothing about it, as he was at Alexandria, Antonius, by the
kindness of Caesar's friends, was appointed his master of the horse.
Then he thought that he could live with Hippia[17] by virtue of his
office, and that he might give horses which were the property of the
state to Sergius the buffoon. At that time he had selected for himself
to live in, not the house which he now dishonours, but that of Marcus
Piso. Why need I mention his decrees, his robberies, the possessions
of inheritances which were given him, and those too which were seized
by him? Want compelled him; he did not know where to turn. That great
inheritance from Lucius Rubrius, and that other from Lucius Turselius,
had not yet come to him. He had not yet succeeded as an unexpected
heir to the place of Cnaeus Pompeius, and of many others who were
absent. He was forced to live like a robber, having nothing beyond
what he could plunder from others.

However, we will say nothing of these things, which are acts of a more
hardy sort of villany. Let us speak rather of his meaner descriptions
of worthlessness. You, with those jaws of yours, and those sides of
yours, and that strength of body suited to a gladiator, drank such
quantities of wine at the marriage of Hippia, that you were forced
to vomit the next day in the sight of the Roman people. O action
disgraceful not merely to see, but even to hear of! If this had
happened to you at supper amid those vast drinking cups of yours, who
would not have thought it scandalous? But in an assembly of the Roman
people, a man holding a public office, a master of the horse, to whom
it would have been disgraceful even to belch, vomiting filled his own
bosom and the whole tribunal with fragments of what he had been eating
reeking with wine. But he himself confesses this among his other
disgraceful acts. Let us proceed to his more splendid offences.

XXVI. Caesar came back from Alexandria, fortunate, as he seemed at
least to himself; but in my opinion no one can be fortunate who is
unfortunate for the republic. The spear was set up in front of
the temple of Jupiter Stator, and the property of Cnaeus Pompeius
Magnus--(miserable that I am, for even now that my tears have ceased
to flow, my grief remains deeply implanted in my heart,)--the
property, I say, of Cnaeus Pompeius the Great was submitted to the
pitiless, voice of the auctioneer. On that one occasion the state
forgot its slavery, and groaned aloud, and though men's minds were
enslaved, as everything was kept under by fear, still the groans of
the Roman people were free. While all men were waiting to see who
would be so impious, who would be so mad, who would be so declared an
enemy to gods and to men as to dare to mix himself up with that wicked
auction, no one was found except Antonius, even though there were
plenty of men collected round that spear[18] who would have dared
anything else. One man alone was found to dare to do that which the
audacity of every one else had shrunk from and shuddered at. Were you,
then, seized with such stupidity,--or, I should rather say, with such
insanity,--as not to see that if you, being of the rank in which you
were born, acted as a broker at all, and above all as a broker in the
case of Pompeius's property, you would be execrated and hated by the
Roman people, and that all gods and all men must at once become and
for ever continue hostile to you? But with what violence did that
glutton immediately proceed to take possession of the property of that
man, to whose valour it had been owing that the Roman people had been
more terrible to foreign nations, while his justice had made it dearer
to them.

XXVII. When, therefore, this fellow had begun to wallow in the
treasures of that great man, he began to exult like a buffoon in a
play, who has lately been a beggar, and has become suddenly rich. But,
as some poet or other says,--


  "Ill gotten gain comes quickly to an end."


It is an incredible thing, and almost a miracle, how he in a few,
not months, but days, squandered all that vast wealth. There was an
immense quantity of wine, an excessive abundance of very valuable
plate, much precious apparel, great quantities of splendid furniture,
and other magnificent things in many places, such as one was
likely to see belonging to a man who was not indeed luxurious,
but who was very wealthy. Of all this in a few days there was
nothing left. What Charybdis was ever so voracious? Charybdis,
do I say? Charybdis, if she existed at all, was only one animal.
The ocean, I swear most solemnly, appears scarcely capable of
having swallowed up such numbers of things so widely scattered, and
distributed in such different places, with such rapidity. Nothing
was shut up, nothing sealed up, no list was made of anything. Whole
storehouses were abandoned to the most worthless of men. Actors seized
on this, actresses on that, the house was crowded with gamblers, and
full of drunken men, people were drinking all day, and that too in
many places, there were added to all this expense (for this fellow was
not invariably fortunate) heavy gambling losses. You might see in
the cellars of the slaves, couches covered with the most richly
embroidered counterpanes of Cnaeus Pompeius. Wonder not, then, that all
these things were so soon consumed. Such profligacy as that could have
devoured not only the patrimony of one individual, however ample it
might have been, (as indeed his was) but whole cities and kingdoms.

And then his houses and gardens! Oh the cruel audacity! Did you dare
to enter into that house? Did you dare to cross that most sacred
threshold? and to show your most profligate countenance to the
household gods who protect that abode? A house which for a long time
no one could behold, no one could pass by without tears! Are you not
ashamed to dwell so long in that house? one in which, stupid and
ignorant as you are, still you can see nothing which is not painful to
you.

XXVIII. When you behold those beaks of ships in the vestibule, and
those warlike trophies, do you fancy that you are entering into a
house which belongs to you? It is impossible. Although you are devoid
of all sense and all feeling,--as in truth you are,--still you are
acquainted with yourself, and with your trophies, and with your
friends. Nor do I believe that you either waking or sleeping, can ever
act with quiet sense. It is impossible but that, were you ever so
drunk and frantic,--as in truth you are,--when the recollection of the
appearance of that illustrious man comes across you, you should be
roused from sleep by your fears, and often stirred up to madness if
awake. I pity even the walls and the roof. For what had that house
ever beheld except what was modest, except what proceeded from the
purest principles and from the most virtuous practice? For that man
was, O conscript fathers, as you yourselves know, not only illustrious
abroad, but also admirable at home; and not more praiseworthy for his
exploits in foreign countries, than for his domestic arrangements. Now
in his house every bedchamber is a brothel, and every dining-room a
cookshop. Although he denies this:--Do not, do not make inquiries.
He is become economical. He desired that mistress of his to take
possession of whatever belonged to her, according to the laws of the
Twelve Tables. He has taken his keys from her, and turned her out of
doors. What a well-tried citizen! of what proved virtue is he! the
most honourable passage in whose life is the one when he divorced
himself from this actress.

But how constantly does he harp on the expression "the consul
Antonius!" This amounts to say "that most debauched consul," "that
most worthless of men, the consul." For what else is Antonius? For
if any dignity were implied in the name, then, I imagine, your
grandfather would sometimes have called himself "the consul Antonius."
But he never did. My colleague too, your own uncle, would have called
himself so. Unless you are the only Antonius. But I pass over those
offences which have no peculiar connexion with the part you took
in harassing the republic; I return to that in which you bore so
principal a share,--that is, to the civil war; and it is mainly owing
to you that that was originated, and brought to a head, and carried
on.

XXIX. Though you yourself took no personal share in it, partly through
timidity, partly through profligacy, you had tasted, or rather had
sucked in, the blood of fellow-citizens: you had been in the battle
of Pharsalia as a leader; you had slain Lucius Domitius, a most
illustrious and high-born man; you had pursued and put to death in the
most barbarous manner many men who had escaped from the battle, and
whom Caesar would perhaps have saved, as he did some others.

And after having performed these exploits, what was the reason why you
did not follow Caesar into Africa; especially when so large a portion
of the war was still remaining? And accordingly, what place did you
obtain about Caesar's person after his return from Africa? What was
your rank? He whose quaestor you had been when general, whose master of
the horse when he was dictator, to whom you had been the chief cause
of war, the chief instigator of cruelty, the sharer of his plunder,
his son, as you yourself said, by inheritance, proceeded against you
for the money which you owed for the house and gardens, and for
the other property which you had bought at that sale. At first you
answered fiercely enough, and that I may not appear prejudiced against
you in every particular, you used a tolerably just and reasonable
argument. "What, does Caius Caesar demand money of me? why should he do
so, any more than I should claim it of him? Was he victorious without
my assistance? No, and he never could have been. It was I who supplied
him with a pretext for civil war, it was I who proposed mischievous
laws, it was I who took up arms against the consuls and generals of
the Roman people, against the senate and people of Rome, against the
gods of the country, against its altars and healths, against the
country itself. Has he conquered for himself alone? Why should not
those men whose common work the achievement is, have the booty also in
common?" You were only claiming your right, but what had that to do
with it? He was the more powerful of the two.

Therefore, stopping all your expostulations, he sent his soldiers to
you, and to your sureties, when all on a sudden out came that splendid
catalogue of yours. How men did laugh! That there should be so vast a
catalogue, that their should be such a numerous and various list of
possessions, of all of which, with the exception of a portion of
Misenum, there was nothing which the man who was putting them up to
sale could call his own. And what a miserable sight was the auction. A
little apparel of Pompeius's, and that stained, a few silver vessels
belonging to the same man, all battered, some slaves in wretched
condition, so that we grieved that there was anything remaining to be
seen of these miserable relics. This auction, however, the heirs of
Lucius Rubrius prevented from proceeding, being armed with a decree of
Caesar to that effect. The spendthrift was embarrassed. He did not know
which way to turn. It was at this very time that an assassin sent
by him was said to have been detected with a dagger in the house of
Caesar. And of this Caesar himself complained in the senate, inveighing
openly against you. Caesar departs to Spain, having granted you a few
days delay for making the payment, on account of your poverty. Even
then you do not follow him. Had so good a gladiator as you retired
from business so early? Can any one then fear a man who was as timid
as this man in upholding his party, that is, in upholding his own
fortunes?

XXX. After some time he at last went into Spain; but, as he says, he
could not arrive there in safety. How then did Dolabella manage to
arrive there? Either, O Antonius, that cause ought never to have
been undertaken, or when you had undertaken it, it should have
been maintained to the end. Thrice did Caesar fight against his
fellow-citizens; in Thessaly, in Africa, and in Spain. Dolabella was
present at all these battles. In the battle in Spain he even received
a wound. If you ask my opinion, I wish he had not been there. But
still, if his design at first was blameable, his consistency and
firmness were praiseworthy. But what shall we say of you? In the first
place, the children of Cnaeus Pompeius sought to be restored to their
country. Well, this concerned the common interests of the whole party.
Besides that, they sought to recover their household gods, the gods of
their country, their altars, their hearths, the tutelar gods of their
family; all of which you had seized upon. And when they sought to
recover those things by force of arms which belonged to them by the
laws, who was it most natural--(although in unjust and unnatural
proceedings what can there be that is natural?)--still, who was it
most natural to expect would fight against the children of Cnaeus
Pompeius? Who? Why, you who had bought their property. Were you at
Narbo to be sick over the tables of your entertainers, while Dolabella
was fighting your battles in Spain?

And what a return was that of yours from Narbo? He even asked why
I had returned so suddenly from my expedition. I have just briefly
explained to you, O conscript fathers, the reason of my return. I was
desirous, if I could, to be of service to the republic even before the
first of January. For, as to your question, how I had returned; in the
first place, I returned by daylight, not in the dark; in the second
place, I returned in shoes, and in my Roman gown, not in any Gallic
slippers, or barbarian mantle. And even now you keep looking at me;
and, as it seems, with great anger. Surely you would be reconciled
to me if you knew how ashamed I am of your worthlessness, which you
yourself are not ashamed of. Of all the profligate conduct of all the
world, I never saw, I never heard of any more shameful than yours. You
who fancied yourself a master of the horse, when you were standing
for, or I should rather say begging for the consulship for the
ensuing year, ran in Gallic slippers and a barbarian mantle about the
municipal towns and colonies of Gaul from which we used to demand the
consulship when the consulship was stood for and not begged for.

XXXI. But mark now the trifling character of the fellow. When about
the tenth hour of the day he had arrived at Red Rocks, he skulked into
a little petty wine-shop, and, hiding there, kept on drinking till
evening. And from thence getting into a gig and being driven rapidly
to the city, he came to his own house with his head veiled. "Who are
you?" says the porter. "An express from Marcus." He is at once taken
to the woman for whose sake he had come; and he delivered the letter
to her. And when she had read it with tears, (for it was written in
a very amorous style, but the main subject of the letter was that he
would have nothing to do with that actress for the future; that he
had discarded all his love for her, and transferred it to his
correspondent,) when she, I say, wept plentifully, this soft-hearted
man could bear it no longer; he uncovered his head and threw himself
on her neck. Oh the worthless man! (for what else can I call him?
there is no more suitable expression for me to use,) was it for this
that you disturbed the city by nocturnal alarms, and Italy with
fears of many days' duration, in order that you might show yourself
unexpectedly, and that a woman might see you before she hoped to do
so? And he had at home a pretence of love; but out of doors a cause
more discreditable still, namely, lest Lucius Plancus should sell up
his sureties. But after you had been produced in the assembly by one
of the tribunes of the people, and had replied that you had come on
your own private business, you made even the people full of jokes
against you. But, however, we have said too much about trifles. Let us
come to more important subjects.

XXXII. You went a great distance to meet Caesar on his return from
Spain. You went rapidly, you returned rapidly in order that we might
see that, if you were not brave, you were at least active. You again
became intimate with him; I am sure I do not know how. Caesar had this
peculiar characteristic; whoever he knew to be utterly ruined by debt,
and needy, even if he knew him also to be an audacious and worthless
man, he willingly admitted him to his intimacy. You then, being
admirably recommended to him by these circumstances, were ordered to
be appointed consul, and that too as his own colleague. I do not make
any complaint against Dolabella, who was at that time acting under
compulsion, and was cajoled and deceived. But who is there who does
not know with what great perfidy both of you treated Dolabella in that
business? Caesar induced him to stand for the consulship. After having
promised it to him, and pledged himself to aid him, he prevented
his getting it, and transferred it to himself. And you endorsed his
treachery with your own eagerness.

The first of January arrives. We are convened in the senate. Dolabella
inveighed against him with much more fluency and premeditation than I
am doing now. And what things were they which he said in his anger, O
ye good gods! First of all, after Caesar had declared that before he
departed he would order Dolabella to be made consul, (and they deny
that he was a king who was always doing and saying something of this
sort,)--but after Caesar had said this, then this virtuous augur said
that he was invested with a pontificate of that sort that he was able,
by means of the auspices, either to hinder or to vitiate the comitia,
just as he pleased; and he declared that he would do so. And here, in
the first place, remark the incredible stupidity of the man. For what
do you mean? Could you not just as well have done what you said you
had now the power to do by the privileges with which that pontificate
had invested you, even if you were not an augur, if you were consul?
Perhaps you could even do it more easily. For we augurs have only the
power of announcing that the auspices are being observed, but the
consuls and other magistrates have the right also of observing them
whenever they choose. Be it so. You said this out of ignorance. For
one must not demand prudence from a man who is never sober. But still
remark his impudence. Many months before, he said in the senate that
he would either prevent the comitia from assembling for the election
of Dolabella by means of the auspices, or that he would do what he
actually did do. Can any one divine beforehand what defect there will
be in the auspices, except the man who has already determined to
observe the heavens? which in the first place it is forbidden by law
to do at the time of the comitia. And if any one has been observing
the heavens, he is bound to give notice of it, not after the comitia
are assembled, but before they are held. But this man's ignorance is
joined to impudence, nor does he know what an augur ought to know, nor
do what a modest man ought to do. And just recollect the whole of his
conduct during his consulship from that day up to the ides of March.
What lictor was ever so humble, so abject? He himself had no power at
all; he begged everything of others; and thrusting his head into the
hind part of his litter, he begged favours of his colleagues, to sell
them himself afterwards.

XXXIII. Behold, the day of the comitia for the election of Dolabella
arrives. The prerogative century draws its lot. He is quiet. The vote
is declared; he is still silent. The first class is called.[19]
Its vote is declared. Then, as is the usual course, the votes are
announced. Then the second class. And all this is done faster than I
have told it. When the business is over, that excellent augur (you
would say he must be Caius Laelius,) says,--"We adjourn it to another
day." Oh the monstrous impudence of such a proceeding! What had you
seen? what had you perceived? what had you heard? For you did not say
that you had been observing the heavens, and indeed you do not say
so this day. That defect then has arisen, which you on the first of
January had already foreseen would arise, and which you had predicted
so long before. Therefore, in truth, you have made a false declaration
respecting the auspices, to your own great misfortune, I hope, rather
than to that of the republic. You laid the Roman people under the
obligations of religion; you as augur interrupted an augur; you as
consul interrupted a consul by a false declaration concerning the
auspices.

I will say no more, lest I should seem to be pulling to pieces the
acts of Dolabella; which must inevitably sometime or other be
brought before our college. But take notice of the arrogance
and insolence of the fellow. As long as you please, Dolabella
is a consul irregularly elected; again, while you please,
he is a consul elected with all proper regard to the auspices. If it
means nothing when an augur gives this notice in those words in which
you gave notice, then confess that you, when you said,--"We adjourn
this to another day," were not sober. But if those words have any
meaning, then I, an augur, demand of my colleague to know what that
meaning is.

But lest by any chance, while enumerating his numerous exploits, our
speech should pass over the finest action of Marcus Antonius, let us
come to the Lupercalia.

XXXIV. He does not dissemble, O conscript fathers; it is plain that he
is agitated; he perspires; he turns pale. Let him do what he pleases,
provided he is not sick, and does not behave as he did in the Minucian
colonnade. What defence can be made for such beastly behaviour? I
wish to hear, that I may see the fruit of those high wages of that
rhetorician, of that land given in Leontini. Your colleague was
sitting in the rostra, clothed in purple robe, on a golden chair,
wearing a crown. You mount the steps; you approach his chair; (if you
were a priest of Pan, you ought to have recollected that you were
consul too;) you display a diadem. There is a groan over the whole
forum. Where did the diadem come from? For you had not picked it up
when lying on the ground, but you had brought it from home with you,
a premeditated and deliberately planned wickedness. You placed the
diadem on his head amid the groans of the people; he rejected it amid
great applause. You then alone, O wicked man, were found, both to
advise the assumption of kingly power, and to wish to have him for
your master who was your colleague; and also to try what the Roman
people might be able to bear and to endure. Moreover, you even sought
to move his pity; you threw yourself at his feet as a suppliant;
begging for what? to be a slave? You might beg it for yourself, when
you had lived in such a way from the time that you were a boy that you
could bear everything, and would find no difficulty in being a slave;
but certainly you had no commission from the Roman people to try for
such a thing for them.

Oh how splendid was that eloquence of yours, when you harangued the
people stark naked! What could be more foul than this? more shameful
than this? more deserving of every sort of punishment? Are you waiting
for me to prick you more? This that I am saying must tear you and
bring blood enough if you have any feeling at all. I am afraid that I
may be detracting from the glory of some most eminent men. Still my
indignation shall find a voice. What can be more scandalous than for
that man to live who placed a diadem on a man's head, when every one
confesses that that man was deservedly slain who rejected it? And,
moreover, he caused it to be recorded in the annals, under the head
of Lupercalia, "That Marcus Antonius, the consul, by command of the
people, had offered the kingdom to Caius Caesar, perpetual dictator;
and that Caesar had refused to accept it." I now am not much surprised
at your seeking to disturb the general tranquillity; at your hating
not only the city but the light of day; and at your living with a pack
of abandoned robbers, disregarding the day, and yet regarding nothing
beyond the day.[20] For where can you be safe in peace? What place can
there be for you where laws and courts of justice have sway, both of
which you, as far as in you lay, destroyed by the substitution of
kingly power? Was it for this that Lucius Tarquinius was driven out;
that Spurius Cassius, and Spurius Maelius, and Marcus Manlius were
slain; that many years afterwards a king might be established at Rome
by Marcus Antonius, though the bare idea was impiety? However, let us
return to the auspices.

XXXV. With respect to all the things which Caesar was intending to
do in the senate on the ides of March, I ask whether you have done
anything? I heard, indeed, that you had come down prepared, because
you thought that I intended to speak about your having made a false
statement respecting the auspices, though it was still necessary for
us to respect them. The fortune of the Roman people saved us from that
day. Did the death of Caesar also put an end to your opinion respecting
the auspices? But I have come to mention that occasion which must
be allowed to precede those matters which I had begun to discuss.
What a flight was that of yours! What alarm was yours on that
memorable day! How, from the consciousness of your wickedness,
did you despair of your life! How, while flying, were you enabled
secretly to get home by the kindness of those men who wished
to save you, thinking you would show more sense than you do! O
how vain have at all times been my too true predictions of the future!
I told those deliverers of ours in the Capitol, when they wished me to
go to you to exhort you to defend the republic, that as long as you
were in fear you would promise everything, but that as soon as you
had emancipated yourself from alarm you would be yourself again.
Therefore, while the rest of the men of consular rank were going
backwards and forwards to you, I adhered to my opinion, nor did I see
you at all that day, or the next; nor did I think it possible for an
alliance between virtuous citizens and a most unprincipled enemy to be
made, so as to last, by any treaty or engagement whatever. The third
day I came into the temple of Tellus, even then very much against my
will, as armed men were blockading all the approaches. What a day was
that for you, O Marcus Antonius! Although you showed yourself all on a
sudden an enemy to me; still I pity you for having envied yourself.

XXXVI. What a man, O ye immortal gods! and how great a man might
you have been, if you had been able to preserve the inclination you
displayed that day;--we should still have peace which was made then by
the pledge of a hostage, a boy of noble birth, the grandson of Marcus
Bambalio. Although it was fear that was then making you a good
citizen, which is never a lasting teacher of duty; your own audacity,
which never departs from you as long as you are free from fear, has
made you a worthless one. Although even at that time, when they
thought you an excellent man, though I indeed differed from that
opinion, you behaved with the greatest wickedness while presiding at
the funeral of the tyrant, if that ought to be called a funeral. All
that fine panegyric was yours, that commiseration was yours, that
exhortation was yours. It was you--you, I say--who hurled those
firebrands, both those with which your friend himself was nearly
burnt, and those by which the house of Lucius Bellienus was set
on fire and destroyed. It was you who let loose those attacks of
abandoned men, slaves for the most part, which we repelled by violence
and our own personal exertions; it was you who set them on to attack
our houses. And yet you, as if you had wiped off all the soot and
smoke in the ensuing days, carried those excellent resolutions in the
Capitol, that no document conferring any exemption, or granting any
favour, should be published after the ides of March. You recollect
yourself, what you said about the exiles; you know what you said
about the exemption; but the best thing of all was, that you for ever
abolished the name of the dictatorship in the republic. Which act
appeared to show that you had conceived such a hatred of kingly power
that you took away all fear of it for the future, on account of him
who had been the last dictator.

To other men the republic now seemed established, but it did not
appear so at all to me, as I was afraid of every sort of shipwreck,
as long as you were at the helm. Have I been deceived? or, was it
possible for that man long to continue unlike himself? While you were
all looking on, documents were fixed up over the whole Capitol, and
exemptions were being sold, not merely to individuals, but to entire
states. The freedom of the city was also being given now not to single
persons only, but to whole provinces. Therefore, if these acts are to
stand,--and stand they cannot if the republic stands too,--then, O
conscript fathers, you have lost whole provinces; and not the revenues
only, but the actual empire of the Roman people has been diminished by
a market this man held in his own house.

XXXVII. Where are the seven hundred millions of sesterces which were
entered in the account-books which are in the temple of Ops? a sum
lamentable indeed, as to the means by which it was procured, but still
one which, if it were not restored to those to whom it belonged, might
save us from taxes. And how was it, that when you owed forty millions
of sesterces on the fifteenth of March, you had ceased to owe them
by the first of April? Those things are quite countless which were
purchased of different people, not without your knowledge; but there
was one excellent decree posted up in the Capitol affecting king
Deiotarus, a most devoted friend to the Roman people. And when that
decree was posted up, there was no one who, amid all his indignation,
could restrain his laughter. For who ever was a more bitter enemy to
another than Caesar was to Deiotarus? He was as hostile to him as he
was to this order, to the equestrian order, to the people of Massilia,
and to all men whom he knew to look on the republic of the Roman
people with attachment. But this man, who neither present nor absent
could ever obtain from him any favour or justice while he was alive,
became quite an influential man with him when he was dead. When
present with him in his house he had called for him though he was his
host, he had made him give in his accounts of his revenue, he had
exacted money from him; he had established one of his Greek retainers
in his tetrarchy, and he had taken Armenia from him, which had been
given to him by the senate. While he was alive he deprived him of all
these things; now that he is dead, he gives them back again. And in
what words? At one time he says, "that it appears to him to be just,
..." at another, "that it appears not to be unjust...." What a strange
combination of words! But while alive, (I know this, for I always
supported Deiotarus, who was at a distance,) he never said that
anything which we were asking for, for him, appeared just to him. A
bond for ten millions of sesterces was entered into in the women's
apartment, (where many things have been sold, and are still
being sold,) by his ambassadors, well-meaning men, but timid and
inexperienced in business, without my advice or that of the rest of
the hereditary friends of the monarch. And I advise you to consider
carefully what you intend to do with reference to this bond. For the
king himself, of his own accord, without waiting for any of Caesar's
memoranda, the moment that he heard of his death, recovered his own
rights by his own courage and energy. He, like a wise man, knew that
this was always the law, that those men from whom the things which
tyrants had taken away had been taken, might recover them when the
tyrants were slain. No lawyer, therefore, not even he who is your
lawyer and yours alone, and by whose advice you do all these things,
will say that anything is due to you by virtue of that bond for those
things which had been recovered before that bond was executed. For he
did not purchase them of you; but, before you undertook to sell him
his own property, he had taken possession of it. He was a man--we,
indeed, deserve to be despised, who hate the author of the actions,
but uphold the actions themselves.

XXXVIII. Why need I mention the countless mass of papers, the
innumerable autographs which have been brought forward? writings of
which there are imitators who sell their forgeries as openly as if
they were gladiators' playbills. Therefore, there are now such heaps
of money piled up in that man's house, that it is weighed out instead
of being counted.[21] But how blind is avarice! Lately, too, a
document has been posted up by which the most wealthy cities of the
Cretans are released from tribute; and by which it is ordained that
after the expiration of the consulship of Marcus Brutus, Crete shall
cease to be a province. Are you in your senses? Ought you not to be
put in confinement? Was it possible for there really to be a decree
of Caesar's exempting Crete after the departure of Marcus Brutus, when
Brutus had no connexion whatever with Crete while Caesar was alive? But
by the sale of this decree (that you may not, O conscript fathers,
think it wholly ineffectual) you have lost the province of Crete.
There was nothing in the whole world which any one wanted to buy that
this fellow was not ready to sell.

Caesar too, I suppose, made the law about the exiles which you have
posted up. I do not wish to press upon any one in misfortune; I only
complain, in the first place, that the return of those men has had
discredit thrown upon it, whose cause Caesar judged to be different
from that of the rest; and in the second place, I do not know why you
do not mete out the same measure to all. For there can not be more
than three or four left. Why do not they who are in similar misfortune
enjoy a similar degree of your mercy? Why do you treat them as you
treated your uncle? about whom you refused to pass a law when you
were passing one about all the rest; and whom at the same time you
encouraged to stand for the censorship, and instigated him to a
canvass, which excited the ridicule and the complaint of every one.

But why did you not hold that comitia? Was it because a tribune of the
people announced that there had been an ill-omened flash of lightning
seen? When you have any interest of your own to serve, then auspices
are all nothing; but when it is only your friends who are concerned,
then you become scrupulous. What more? Did you not also desert him
in the matter of the septemvirate?[22] "Yes, for he interfered
with me." What were you afraid of? I suppose you were afraid that
you would be able to refuse him nothing if he were restored to the
full possession of his rights. You loaded him with every species
of insult, a man whom you ought to have considered in the place
of a father to you, if you had had any piety or natural affection
at all. You put away his daughter, your own cousin, having already
looked out and provided yourself beforehand with another. That
was not enough. You accused a most chaste woman of misconduct.
What can go beyond this? Yet you were not content with this.
In a very full senate held on the first of January, while your
uncle was present, you dared to say that this was your reason for
hatred of Dolabella, that you had ascertained that he had committed
adultery with your cousin and your wife. Who can decide whether it
was more shameless of you to make such profligate and such impious
statements against that unhappy woman in the senate, or more wicked to
make them against Dolabella, or more scandalous to make them in the
presence of her father, or more cruel to make them at all?

XXXIX. However, let us return to the subject of Caesar's written
papers. How were they verified by you? For the acts of Caesar were for
peace's sake confirmed by the senate; that is to say, the acts which
Caesar had really done, not those which Antonius said that Caesar had
done. Where do all these come from? By whom are they produced and
vouched for? If they are false, why are they ratified? If they are
true, why are they sold? But the vote which was come to enjoined you,
after the first of June, to make an examination of Caesar's acts with
the assistance of a council. What council did you consult? Whom did
you ever invite to help you? What was the first of June that you
waited for? Was it that day on which you, having travelled all
through the colonies where the veterans were settled, returned
escorted by a band of armed men?

Oh what a splendid progress of yours was that in the months of April
and May, when you attempted even to lead a colony to Capua! How you
made your escape from thence, or rather how you barely made your
escape, we all know. And now you are still threatening that city. I
wish you would try, and we should not then be forced to say "barely."
However, what a splendid progress of yours that was! Why need
I mention your preparations for banquets, why your frantic
hard-drinking? Those things are only an injury to yourself; these are
injuries to us. We thought that a great blow was inflicted on the
republic when the Campanian district was released from the payment of
taxes, in order to be given to the soldiery; but you have divided
it among your partners in drunkenness and gambling. I tell you, O
conscript fathers, that a lot of buffoons and actresses have been
settled in the district of Campania. Why should I now complain of what
has been done in the district of Leontini? Although formerly these
lands of Campania and Leontini were considered part of the patrimony
of the Roman people, and were productive of great revenue, and very
fertile. You gave your physician three thousand acres; what would you
have done if he had cured you? and two thousand to your master of
oratory; what would you have done if he had been able to make you
eloquent? However, let us return to your progress, and to Italy.

XL. You led a colony to Casilinum, a place to which Caesar had
previously led one. You did indeed consult me by letter about the
colony of Capua, (but I should have given you the same answer about
Casilinum,) whether you could legally lead a new colony to a place
where there was a colony already. I said that a new colony could not
be legally conducted to an existing colony, which had been established
with a due observance of the auspices, as long as it remained in a
flourishing state; but I wrote you word that new colonists might
be enrolled among the old ones. But you, elated and insolent,
disregarding all the respect due to the auspices, led a colony to
Casilinum, whither one had been previously led a few years before; in
order to erect your standard there, and to mark out the line of the
new colony with a plough. And by that plough you almost grazed the
gate of Capua, so as to diminish the territory of that flourishing
colony. After this violation of all religious observances, you hasten
off to the estate of Marcus Varro, a most conscientious and upright
man, at Casinum. By what right? with what face do you do this? By just
the same, you will say, as that by which you entered on the estates of
the heirs of Lucius Rubrius, or of the heirs of Lucius Turselius,
or on other innumerable possessions. If you got the right from any
auction, let the auction have all the force to which it is entitled;
let writings be of force, provided they are the writings of Caesar,
and not your own; writings by which you are bound, not those by which
you have released yourself from obligation.

But who says that the estate of Varro at Casinum was ever sold at all?
who ever saw any notice of that auction? Who ever heard the voice of
the auctioneer? You say that you sent a man to Alexandria to buy it
of Caesar. It was too long to wait for Caesar himself to come! But
whoever heard (and there was no man about whose safety more people
were anxious) that any part whatever of Varro's property had been
confiscated? What? what shall we say if Caesar even wrote you that you
were to give it up? What can be said strong enough for such enormous
impudence? Remove for a while those swords which we see around us. You
shall now see that the cause of Caesar's auctions is one thing, and
that of your confidence and rashness is another. For not only shall
the owner drive you from that estate, but any one of his friends, or
neighbours, or hereditary connexions, and any agent, will have the
right to do so.

XLI. But how many days did he spend revelling in the most scandalous
manner in that villa! From the third hour there was one scene of
drinking, gambling, and vomiting. Alas for the unhappy house itself!
how different a master from its former one has it fallen to the share
of! Although, how is he the master at all? but still by how different
a person has it been occupied! For Marcus Varro used it as a place of
retirement for his studies, not as a theatre for his lusts. What
noble discussions used to take place in that villa! what ideas were
originated there! what writings were composed there! The laws of the
Roman people, the memorials of our ancestors, the consideration of all
wisdom, and all learning, were the topics that used to be dwelt on
then;--but now, while you were the intruder there, (for I will not
call you the master,) every place was resounding with the voices of
drunken men; the pavements were floating with wine; the walls were
dripping; nobly-born boys were mixing with the basest hirelings;
prostitutes with mothers of families. Men came from Casinum, from
Aquinum, from Interamna to salute him. No one was admitted. That,
indeed, was proper. For the ordinary marks of respect were unsuited
to the most profligate of men. When going from thence to Rome he
approached Aquinum, a pretty numerous company (for it is a populous
municipality) came out to meet him. But he was carried through the
town in a covered litter, as if he had been dead. The people of
Aquinum acted foolishly, no doubt; but still they were in his road.
What did the people of Anagnia do? who, although they were out of
his line of road, came down to meet him, in order to pay him their
respects, as if he were consul. It is an incredible thing to say, but
still it was only too notorious at the time, that he returned nobody's
salutation; especially as he had two men of Anagnia with him, Mustela
and Laco; one of whom had the care of his swords, and the other of his
drinking cups.

Why should I mention the threats and insults with which he inveighed
against the people of Teanum Sidicinum, with which he harassed the men
of Puteoli, because they had adopted Caius Cassius and the Bruti as
their patrons? a choice dictated, in truth, by great wisdom, and great
zeal, benevolence, and affection for them; not by violence and force
of arms, by which men have been compelled to choose you, and Basilus,
and others like you both,--men whom no one would choose to have for
his own clients, much less to be their client himself.

XLII. In the mean time, while you yourself were absent, what a day was
that for your colleague when he overturned that tomb in the forum,
which you were accustomed to regard with veneration! And when that
action was announced to you, you--as is agreed upon by all who were
with you at the time--fainted away. What happened afterwards I know
not. I imagine that terror and arms got the mastery. At all events,
you dragged your colleague down from his heaven; and you rendered him,
not even now like yourself, but at all events very unlike his own
former self.

After that what a return was that of yours to Rome! How great was the
agitation of the whole city! We recollected Cinna being too powerful;
after him we had seen Sylla with absolute authority, and we had lately
beheld Caesar acting as king. There were perhaps swords, but they were
sheathed, and they were not very numerous. But how great and how
barbaric a procession is yours! Men follow you in battle array with
drawn swords; we see whole litters full of shields borne along. And
yet by custom, O conscript fathers, we have become inured and callous
to these things. When on the first of June we wished to come to the
senate, as it had been ordained, we were suddenly frightened and
forced to flee. But he, as having no need of a senate, did not miss
any of us, and rather rejoiced at our departure, and immediately
proceeded to those marvellous exploits of his. He who had defended the
memoranda of Caesar for the sake of his own profit, overturned the laws
of Caesar--and good laws too--for the sake of being able to agitate the
republic. He increased the number of years that magistrates were
to enjoy their provinces; moreover, though he was bound to be the
defender of the acts of Caesar, he rescinded them both with reference
to public and private transactions.

In public transactions nothing is more authoritative than law; in
private affairs the most valid of all deeds is a will. Of the laws,
some he abolished without giving the least notice; others he gave
notice of bills to abolish. Wills he annulled; though they have been
at all times held sacred even in the case of the very meanest of the
citizens. As for the statues and pictures which Caesar bequeathed to
the people, together with his gardens, those he carried away, some to
the house which belonged to Pompeius, and some to Scipio's villa.

XLIII. And are you then diligent in doing honour to Caesar's memory?
Do you love him even now that he is dead? What greater honour had he
obtained than that of having a holy cushion, an image, a temple, and
a priest? As then Jupiter, and Mars, and Quirinus have priests, so
Marcus Antonius is the priest of the god Julius. Why then do you
delay? why are not you inaugurated? Choose a day; select some one to
inaugurate you; we are colleagues; no one will refuse O you detestable
man, whether you are the priest of a tyrant, or of a dead man! I ask
you then, whether you are ignorant what day this is? Are you ignorant
that yesterday was the fourth day of the Roman games in the Circus?
and that you yourself submitted a motion to the people, that a fifth
day should be added besides, in honour of Caesar? Why are we not all
clad in the praetexta? Why are we permitting the honour which by your
law was appointed for Caesar to be deserted? Had you no objection to so
holy a day being polluted by the addition of supplications, while you
did not choose it to be so by the addition of ceremonies connected
with a sacred cushion? Either take away religion in every case, or
preserve it in every case.

You will ask whether I approve of his having a sacred cushion, a
temple and a priest? I approve of none of those things. But you,
who are defending the acts of Caesar, what reason can you give for
defending some, and disregarding others? unless, indeed, you choose
to admit that you measure everything by your own gain, and not by
his dignity. What will you now reply to these arguments?--(for I am
waiting to witness your eloquence; I knew your grandfather, who was
a most eloquent man, but I know you to be a more undisguised speaker
than he was; he never harangued the people naked; but we have seen
your breast, man, without disguise as you are.) Will you make any
reply to these statements? will you dare to open your mouth at all?
Can you find one single article in this long speech of mine, to which
you trust that you can make any answer? However, we will say no more
of what is past.

XLIV. But this single day, this very day that now is, this very moment
while I am speaking, defend your conduct during this very moment, if
you can. Why has the senate been surrounded with a belt of armed men?
Why are your satellites listening to me sword in hand? Why are not the
folding-doors of the temple of Concord open? Why do you bring men of
all nations the most barbarous, Ityreans, armed with arrows, into the
forum? He says, that he does so as a guard. Is it not then better to
perish a thousand times than to be unable to live in one's own city
without a guard of armed men? But believe me, there is no protection
in that;--a man must be defended by the affection and good-will of his
fellow citizens, not by arms. The Roman people will take them from
you, will wrest them from your hands, I wish that they may do so while
we are still safe. But however you treat us, as long as you adopt
those counsels, it is impossible for you, believe me, to last long. In
truth, that wife of yours, who is so far removed from covetousness,
and whom I mention without intending any slight to her, has been too
long owing[23] her third payment to the state. The Roman people has
men to whom it can entrust the helm of the state, and wherever they
are, there is all the defence of the republic, or rather, there is
the republic itself, which as yet has only avenged, but has not
reestablished itself. Truly and surely has the republic most high born
youths ready to defend it,--though they may for a time keep in the
background from a desire for tranquillity, still they can be recalled
by the republic at any time.

The name of peace is sweet, the thing itself is most salutary. But
between peace and slavery there is a wide difference. Peace is liberty
in tranquillity, slavery is the worst of all evils,--to be repelled,
if need be, not only by war, but even by death. But if those
deliverers of ours have taken themselves away out of our sight, still
they have left behind the example of their conduct. They have done
what no one else had done. Brutus pursued Tarquinius with war, who
was a king when it was lawful for a king to exist in Rome. Spurius
Cassius, Spurius Maelius, and Marcus Manlius were all slain because
they were suspected of aiming at regal power. These are the first men
who have ever ventured to attack, sword in hand, a man who was not
aiming at regal power, but actually reigning. And their action is not
only of itself a glorious and godlike exploit, but it is also one put
forth for our imitation, especially since by it they have acquired
such glory as appears hardly to be bounded by heaven itself. For
although in the very consciousness of a glorious action there is a
certain reward, still I do not consider immortality of glory a thing
to be despised by one who is himself mortal.

XLV. Recollect then, O Marcus Antonius, that day on which you
abolished the dictatorship. Set before you the joy of the senate and
people of Rome, compare it with this infamous market held by you
and by your friends, and then you will understand how great is the
difference between praise and profit. But in truth, just as some
people, through some disease which has blunted the senses, have
no conception of the niceness of food, so men who are lustful,
avaricious, and criminal, have no taste for true glory. But if praise
cannot allure you to act rightly, still cannot even fear turn you away
from the most shameful actions? You are not afraid of the courts of
justice. If it is because you are innocent I praise you, if because
you trust in your power of overbearing them by violence, are you
ignorant of what that man has to fear, who on such an account as that
does not fear the courts of justice?

But if you are not afraid of brave men and illustrious citizens,
because they are prevented from attacking you by your armed retinue,
still, believe me, your own fellows will not long endure you. And
what a life is it, day and night to be fearing danger from one's own
people! Unless, indeed, you have men who are bound to you by greater
kindnesses than some of those men by whom he was slain were bound to
Caesar, or unless there are points in which you can be compared with
him.

In that man were combined genius, method, memory, literature,
prudence, deliberation, and industry. He had performed exploits in war
which, though calamitous for the republic, were nevertheless mighty
deeds. Having for many years aimed at being a king, he had with great
labour, and much personal danger, accomplished what he intended. He
had conciliated the ignorant multitude by presents, by monuments, by
largesses of food, and by banquets, he had bound his own party to him
by rewards, his adversaries by the appearances of clemency. Why need I
say much on such a subject? He had already brought a free city, partly
by fear, partly by patience, into a habit of slavery.

XLVI. With him I can, indeed, compare you as to your desire to reign,
but in all other respects you are in no degree to be compared to
him. But from the many evils which by him have been burnt into the
republic, there is still this good, that the Roman people has now
learnt how much to believe every one, to whom to trust itself, and
against whom to guard. Do you never think on these things? And do you
not understand that it is enough for brave men to have learnt how
noble a thing it is as to the act, how grateful it is as to the
benefit done, how glorious as to the fame acquired, to slay a tyrant?
When men could not bear him, do you think they will bear you? Believe
me, the time will come when men will race with one another to do
this deed, and when no one will wait for the tardy arrival of an
opportunity.

Consider, I beg you, Marcus Antonius, do some time or other consider
the republic: think of the family of which you are born, not of the
men with whom you are living. Be reconciled to the republic. However,
do you decide on your conduct. As to mine, I myself will declare what
that shall be. I defended the republic as a young man, I will not
abandon it now that I am old. I scorned the sword of Catiline, I will
not quail before yours. No, I will rather cheerfully expose my own
person, if the liberty of the city can be restored by my death.

May the indignation of the Roman people at last bring forth what it
has been so long labouring with. In truth, if twenty years ago in this
very temple I asserted that death could not come prematurely upon a
man of consular rank, with how much more truth must I now say the same
of an old man? To me, indeed, O conscript fathers, death is now even
desirable, after all the honours which I have gained, and the deeds
which I have done. I only pray for these two things: one, that dying
I may leave the Roman people free. No greater boon than this can be
granted me by the immortal gods. The other, that every one may meet
with a fate suitable to his deserts and conduct towards the republic.




THE THIRD PHILIPPIC, OR THIRD SPEECH OF M. T. CICERO AGAINST MARCUS
ANTONIUS.


THE ARGUMENT.


After the composition of the last speech, Octavius, considering that
he had reason to be offended with Antonius, formed a plot for his
assassination by means of some slaves, which however was discovered.
In the mean time Antonius began to declare more and more openly
against the conspirators. He erected a statue in the forum to Caesar,
with the inscription, "To the most worthy Defender of his Country."
Octavius at the same time was trying to win over the soldiers of his
uncle Julius, and out-bidding Antonius in all his promises to them, so
that he soon collected a formidable army of veterans. But as he had no
public office to give him any colour for this conduct, he paid great
court to the republican party, in hopes to get his proceedings
authorized by the senate; and he kept continually pressing Cicero to
return to Rome and support him. Cicero, however, for some time kept
aloof, suspecting partly his abilities, on account of his exceeding
youth, and partly his sincerity in reconciling himself to his uncle's
murderers; however, at last he returned, after expressly stipulating
that Octavius should employ all his forces in defence of Brutus and
his accomplices.

Antonius left Rome about the end of September, in order to engage in
his service four legions of Caesar's, which were on their return from
Macedonia. But when they arrived at Brundusium three of them refused
to follow him, on which he murdered all their centurions, to the
number of three hundred, who were all put to death in his lodgings, in
the sight of himself and Fulvia his wife, and then returned to Rome
with the one legion which he had prevailed on; while the other three
legions declared as yet for neither party. On his arrival in Rome he
published many very violent edicts, and summoned the senate to meet
on the twenty-fourth of October; then he adjourned it to the
twenty-eighth; and a day or two before it met, he heard that two out
of the three legions had declared for Octavius, and encamped at Alba.
And this news alarmed him so much, that he abandoned his intention of
proposing to the senate a decree to declare Octavius a public enemy,
and after distributing some provinces among his friends, he put on
his military robes, and left the city to take possession of Cisalpine
Gaul, which had been assigned to him by a pretended law of the people,
against the will of the senate.

On the news of his departure Cicero returned to Rome, where he arrived
on the ninth of December. He immediately conferred with Pansa, one of
the consuls elect, (Hirtius his colleague was ill,) as to the measures
to be taken. He was again addressed with earnest solicitations by
the friends of Octavius, who, to confirm his belief in his good
intentions, allowed Casca, who had been one of the slayers of Caesar,
and had himself given him the first blow, to enter on his office as
tribune of the people on the tenth of December.

The new tribunes convoked the senate for the nineteenth, on which
occasion Cicero had intended to be absent, but receiving the day
before the edict of Decimus Brutus, by which he forbade Antonius to
enter his province (immediately after the death of Caesar he had taken
possession of Cisalpine Gaul, which had been conferred on him by
Caesar), and declared that he would defend it against him by force and
preserve it in its duty to the senate, he thought it necessary to
procure for Brutus a resolution of the senate in his favour. He went
down therefore very early, and, in a very full house, delivered the
following speech.

I. We have been assembled at length, O conscript fathers, altogether
later than the necessities of the republic required; but still we are
assembled, a measure which I, indeed, have been every day demanding,
inasmuch as I saw that a nefarious war against our altars and our
hearths, against our lives and our fortunes was, I will not say being
prepared, but being actually waged by a profligate and desperate man.
People are waiting for the first of January. But Antonius is not
waiting for that day, who is now attempting with an army to invade the
province of Decimus Brutus, a most illustrious and excellent man. And
when he has procured reinforcements and equipments there, he threatens
that he will come to this city. What is the use then of waiting, or
of even a delay for the very shortest time? For although the first of
January is at hand, still a short time is a long one for people who
are not prepared. For a day, or I should rather say an hour, often
brings great disasters, if no precautions are taken. And it is not
usual to wait for a fixed day for holding a council, as it is for
celebrating a festival. But if the first of January had fallen on
the day when Antonius first fled from the city, or if people had not
waited for it, we should by this time have no war at all. For we
should easily have crushed the audacity of that frantic man by the
authority of the senate and the unanimity of the Roman people. And
now, indeed, I feel confident that the consuls elect will do so,
as soon as they enter on their magistracy. For they are men of the
highest courage, of the most consummate wisdom, and they will act in
perfect harmony with each other. But my exhortations to rapid and
instant action are prompted by a desire not merely for victory, but
for speedy victory.

For how long are we to trust to the prudence of an individual to repel
so important, so cruel, and so nefarious a war? Why is not the public
authority thrown into the scale as quickly as possible?

II. Caius Caesar, a young man, or, I should rather say, almost a boy,
endued with an incredible and godlike degree of wisdom and valour, at
the time when the frenzy of Antonius was at its height, and when
his cruel and mischievous return from Brundusium was an object of
apprehension to all, while we neither desired him to do so, nor
thought of such a measure, nor ventured even to wish it, (because it
did not seem practicable,) collected a most trustworthy army from the
invincible body of veteran soldiers, and has spent his own patrimony
in doing so. Although I have not used the expression which I
ought,--for he has not spent it,--he has invested it in the safety of
the republic.

And although it is not possible to requite him with all the thanks to
which he is entitled, still we ought to feel all the gratitude towards
him which our minds are capable of conceiving. For who is so ignorant
of public affairs, so entirely indifferent to all thoughts of the
republic, as not to see that, if Marcus Antonius could have come with
those forces which he made sure that he should have, from Brundusium
to Rome, as he threatened, there would have been no description of
cruelty which he would not have practised? A man who in the house of
his entertainer at Brundusium ordered so many most gallant men
and virtuous citizens to be murdered, and whose wife's face was
notoriously besprinkled with the blood of men dying at his and her
feet. Who is there of us, or what good man is there at all, whom a man
stained with this barbarity would ever have spared; especially as he
was coming hither much more angry with all virtuous men than he had
been with those whom he had massacred there? And from this calamity
Caesar has delivered the republic by his own individual prudence, (and,
indeed, there were no other means by which it could have been done.)
And if he had not been born in this republic we should, owing to the
wickedness of Antonius, now have no republic at all.

For this is what I believe, this is my deliberate opinion, that if
that one young man had not checked the violence and inhuman projects
of that frantic man, the republic would have been utterly destroyed.
And to him we must, O conscript fathers, (for this is the first time,
met in such a condition, that, owing to his good service, we are at
liberty to say freely what we think and feel,) we must, I say, this
day give authority, so that he may be able to defend the republic, not
because that defence has been voluntarily undertaken by him but also
because it has been entrusted to him by us.

III. Nor (since now after a long interval we are allowed to speak
concerning the republic) is it possible for us to be silent about the
Martial legion. For what single man has ever been braver, what single
man has ever been more devoted to the republic than the whole of the
Martial legion? which, as soon as it had decided that Marcus Antonius
was an enemy of the Roman people, refused to be a companion of his
insanity; deserted him though consul; which, in truth, it would not
have done if it had considered him as consul, who, as it saw, was
aiming at nothing and preparing nothing but the slaughter of the
citizens, and the destruction of the state. And that legion has
encamped at Alba. What city could it have selected either more
suitable for enabling it to act, or more faithful, or full of more
gallant men, or of citizens more devoted to the republic?

The fourth legion, imitating the virtue of this legion, under the
leadership of Lucius Egnatuleius, the quaestor, a most virtuous and
intrepid citizen, has also acknowledged the authority and joined the
army of Caius Caesar.

We, therefore, O conscript fathers, must take care that those things
which this most illustrious young man, this most excellent of all men
has of his own accord done, and still is doing, be sanctioned by our
authority; and the admirable unanimity of the veterans, those most
brave men, and of the Martial and of the fourth legion, in their zeal
for the reestablishment of the republic, be encouraged by our praise
and commendation. And let us pledge ourselves this day that their
advantage, and honours, and rewards shall be cared for by us as soon
as the consuls elect have entered on their magistracy.

IV. And the things which I have said about Caesar and about his army,
are, indeed, already well known to you. For by the admirable valour
of Caesar, and by the firmness of the veteran soldiers, and by the
admirable discernment of those legions which have followed our
authority, and the liberty of the Roman people, and the valour of
Caesar, Antonius has been repelled from his attempts upon our lives.
But these things, as I have said, happened before; but this recent
edict of Decimus Brutus, which has just been issued, can certainly not
be passed over in silence. For he promises to preserve the province of
Gaul in obedience to the senate and people of Rome. O citizen, born
for the republic; mindful of the name he bears; imitator of his
ancestors! Nor, indeed, was the acquisition of liberty so much an
object of desire to our ancestors when Tarquinius was expelled, as,
now that Antonius is driven away, the preservation of it is to us.
Those men had learnt to obey kings ever since the foundation of
the city, but we from the time when the kings were driven out have
forgotten how to be slaves. And that Tarquinius, whom our ancestors
expelled, was not either considered or called cruel or impious,
but only The Proud. That vice which we have often borne in private
individuals, our ancestors could not endure even in a king.

Lucius Brutus could not endure a proud king. Shall Decimus Brutus
submit to the kingly power of a man who is wicked and impious? What
atrocity did Tarquinius ever commit equal to the innumerable acts of
the sort which Antonius has done and is still doing? Again, the kings
were used to consult the senate; nor, as is the case when Antonius
holds a senate, were armed barbarians ever introduced into the council
of the king. The kings paid due regard to the auspices, which this
man, though consul and augur, has neglected, not only by passing laws
in opposition to the auspices, but also by making his colleague (whom
he himself had appointed irregularly, and had falsified the auspices
in order to do so) join in passing them. Again, what king was ever
so preposterously impudent as to have all the profits, and
kindnesses, and privileges of his kingdom on sale? But what immunity
is there, what rights of citizenship, what rewards that this man has
not sold to individuals, and to cities, and to entire provinces?
We have never heard of anything base or sordid being imputed to
Tarquinius. But at the house of this man gold was constantly being
weighed out in the spinning room, and money was being paid, and in
one single house every soul who had any interest in the business was
selling the whole empire of the Roman people. We have never heard of
any executions of Roman citizens by the orders of Tarquinius, but this
man both at Suessa murdered the man whom he had thrown into prison,
and at Brundusium massacred about three hundred most gallant men and
most virtuous citizens. Lastly, Tarquinius was conducting a war in
defence of the Roman people at the very time when he was expelled.
Antonius was leading an army against the Roman people at the time
when, being abandoned by the legions, he cowered at the name of Caesar
and at his army, and neglecting the regular sacrifices, he offered up
before daylight vows which he could never mean to perform, and at
this very moment he is endeavouring to invade a province of the Roman
people. The Roman people, therefore, has already received and is still
looking for greater services at the hand of Decimus Brutus than our
ancestors received from Lucius Brutus, the founder of this race and
name which we ought to be so anxious to preserve.

V. But, while all slavery is miserable, to be slave to a man who is
profligate, unchaste, effeminate, never, not even while in fear,
sober, is surely intolerable. He, then, who keeps this man out of
Gaul, especially by his own private authority, judges, and judges most
truly, that he is not consul at all. We must take care, therefore, O
conscript fathers, to sanction the private decision of Decimus Brutus
by public authority. Nor, indeed, ought you to have thought Marcus
Antonius consul at any time since the Lupercalia. For on the day
when he, in the sight of the Roman people, harangued the mob, naked,
perfumed, and drunk, and laboured moreover to put a crown on the head
of his colleague, on that day he abdicated not only the consulship,
but also his own freedom. At all events he himself must at once have
become a slave, if Caesar had been willing to accept from him that
ensign of royalty. Can I then think him a consul, can I think him a
Roman citizen, can I think him a freeman, can I even think him a man,
who on that shameful and wicked day showed what he was willing to
endure while Caesar lived, and what he was anxious to obtain himself
after he was dead?

Nor is it possible to pass over in silence the virtue and the firmness
and the dignity of the province of Gaul. For that is the flower of
Italy, that is the bulwark of the empire of the Roman people, that is
the chief ornament of our dignity. But so perfect is the unanimity of
the municipal towns and colonies of the province of Gaul, that all
men in that district appear to have united together to defend the
authority of this order, and the majesty of the Roman people.
Wherefore, O tribunes of the people, although you have not actually
brought any other business before us beyond the question of
protection, in order that the consuls may be able to hold the senate
with safety on the first of January, still you appear to me to have
acted with great wisdom and great prudence in giving an opportunity
of debating the general circumstances of the republic. For when you
decided that the senate could not be held with safety without some
protection or other, you at the same time asserted by that decision
that the wickedness and audacity of Antonius was still continuing its
practices within our walls.

VI. Wherefore, I will embrace every consideration in my opinion which
I am now going to deliver, a course to which you, I feel sure, have no
objection, in order that authority may be conferred by us on admirable
generals, and that hope of reward may be held out by us to gallant
soldiers, and that a formal decision may be come to, not by words
only, but also by actions, that Antonius is not only not a consul, but
is even an enemy. For if he be consul, then the legions which have
deserted the consul deserve beating[24] to death. Caesar is wicked,
Brutus is impious, since they of their own heads have levied an army
against the consul. But if new honours are to be sought out for the
soldiers on account of their divine and immortal merits, and if it
is quite impossible to show gratitude enough to the generals, who is
there who must not think that man a public enemy, whose conduct
is such that those who are in arms against him are considered the
saviours of the republic?

Again, how insulting is he in his edicts! how ignorant! How like a
barbarian! In the first place, how has he heaped abuse on Caesar,
in terms drawn from his recollection of his own debauchery and
profligacy. For where can we find any one who is chaster than this
young man? who is more modest? where have we among our youth a more
illustrious example of the old-fashioned strictness? Who, on the other
hand, is more profligate than the man who abuses him? He reproaches
the son of Caius Caesar with his want of noble blood, when even his
natural[25] father, if he had been alive, would have been made consul.
His mother is a woman of Aricia. You might suppose he was saying a
woman of Tralles, or of Ephesus. Just see how we all who come from the
municipal towns--that is to say, absolutely all of us--are looked down
upon; for how few of us are there who do not come from those towns?
and what municipal town is there which he does not despise who looks
with such contempt on Aricia; a town most ancient as to its antiquity;
if we regard its rights, united with us by treaty; if we regard its
vicinity, almost close to us; if we regard the high character of its
inhabitants, most honourable? It is from Aricia that we have received
the Voconian and Atinian laws; from Aricia have come many of those
magistrates who have filled our curule chairs, both in our fathers'
recollection and in our own; from Aricia have sprung many of the best
and bravest of the Roman knights. But if you disapprove of a wife from
Aricia, why do you approve of one from Tusculum? Although the father
of this most virtuous and excellent woman, Marcus Atius Balbus, a man
of the highest character, was a man of praetorian rank; but the father
of your wife,--a good woman, at all events a rich one,--a fellow of
the name of Bambalio, was a man of no account at all. Nothing could be
lower than he was, a fellow who got his surname as a sort of insult,
derived[26] from the hesitation of his speech and the stolidity of his
understanding. Oh, but your grandfather was nobly born. Yes, he was
that Tuditanus who used to put on a cloak and buskins, and then go
and scatter money from the rostra among the people. I wish he had
bequeathed his contempt of money to his descendants! You have, indeed,
a most glorious nobility of family! But how does it happen that the
son of a woman of Aricia appears to you to be ignoble, when you
are accustomed to boast of a descent on the mother's side which is
precisely the same?[27] Besides, what insanity is it for that man to
say anything about the want of noble birth in men's wives, when his
father married Numitoria of Fregellae, the daughter of a traitor, and
when he himself has begotten children of the daughter of a freedman.
However, those illustrious men Lucius Philippus, who has a wife who
came from Aricia, and Caius Marcellus, whose wife is the daughter of
an Arician, may look to this; and I am quite sure that they have no
regrets on the score of the dignity of those admirable women.

VII. Moreover, Antonius proceeds to name Quintus Cicero, my brother's
son, in his edict; and is so mad as not to perceive that the way in
which he names him is a panegyric on him. For what could happen more
desirable for this young man, than to be known by every one to be the
partner of Caesar's counsels, and the enemy of the frenzy of Antonius?
But this gladiator has dared to put in writing that he had designed
the murder of his father and of his uncle. Oh the marvellous
impudence, and audacity, and temerity of such an assertion! to dare to
put this in writing against that young man, whom I and my brother,
on account of his amiable manners, and pure character, and splendid
abilities, vie with one another in loving, and to whom we incessantly
devote our eyes, and ears, and affections! And as to me, he does not
know whether he is injuring or praising me in those same edicts. When
he threatens the most virtuous citizens with the same punishment which
I inflicted on the most wicked and infamous of men, he seems to praise
me as if he were desirous of copying me; but when he brings up again
the memory of that most illustrious exploit, then he thinks that he is
exciting some odium against me in the breasts of men like himself.

VIII. But what is it that he has done himself? When he had published
all these edicts, he issued another, that the senate was to meet in a
full house on the twenty-fourth of November. On that day he himself
was not present. But what were the terms of his edict? These, I
believe, are the exact words of the end of it: "If any one fails to
attend, all men will be at liberty to think him the adviser of my
destruction and of most ruinous counsels". What are ruinous counsels?
those which relate to the recovery of the liberty of the Roman people?
Of those counsels I confess that I have been and still am an adviser
and prompter to Caesar. Although he did not stand in need of any one's
advice, but still I spurned on the willing horse, as it is said. For
what good man would not have advised putting you to death, when on
your death depended the safety and life of every good man, and the
liberty and dignity of the Roman people?

But when he had summoned us all by so severe an edict, why did he not
attend himself? Do you suppose that he was detained by any melancholy
or important occasion? He was detained drinking and feasting. If,
indeed, it deserves to be called a feast, and not rather gluttony.
He neglected to attend on the day mentioned in his edict, and he
adjourned the meeting to the twenty-eighth. He then summoned us to
attend in the Capitol, and at that temple he did arrive himself,
coming up through some mine left by the Gauls. Men came, having been
summoned, some of them indeed men of high distinction, but forgetful
of what was due to their dignity. For the day was such, the report of
the object of the meeting such, such too the man who had convened the
senate, that it was discreditable for a senate to feel no fear for the
result. And yet to those men who had assembled he did not dare to
say a single word about Caesar, though he had made up his mind[28]
to submit a motion respecting him to the senate. There was a man of
consular rank who had brought a resolution ready drawn up. Is it not
now admitting that he is himself an enemy, when he does not dare to
make a motion respecting a man who is leading an army against him
while he is consul? For it is perfectly plain that one of the two
must be an enemy, nor is it possible to come to a different decision
respecting adverse generals. If then Caius Caesar be an enemy, why does
the consul submit no motion to the senate? If he does not deserve to
be branded by the senate, then what can the consul say, who, by his
silence respecting him, has confessed that he himself is an enemy? In
his edicts he styles him Spartacus, while in the senate he does not
venture to call him even a bad citizen.

IX. But in the most melancholy circumstances what mirth does he not
provoke? I have committed to memory some short phrases of one edict,
which he appears to think particularly clever, but I have not as yet
found any one who has understood what he intended by them. "That is no
insult which a worthy man does." Now, in the first place, what is the
meaning of "worthy?" For there are many men worthy of punishment, as
he himself is. Does he mean what a man does who is invested with any
dignity?[29] if so, what insult can be greater? Moreover, what is the
meaning of "doing an insult?" Who ever uses such an expression? Then
comes, "Nor any fear which an enemy threatens" What then? is fear
usually threatened by a friend? Then came many similar sentences. Is
it not better to be dumb, than to say what no one can understand? Now
see why his tutor, exchanging pleas for ploughs, has had given to him
in the public domain of the Roman people two thousand acres of land in
the Leontine district, exempt from all taxes, for making a stupid man
still stupider at the public expense.

However, these perhaps are trifling matters. I ask now, why all on a
sudden he became so gentle in the senate, after having been so fierce
in his edicts? For what was the object of threatening Lucius Cassius,
a most fearless tribune of the people, and a most virtuous and loyal
citizen, with death if he came to the Senate? of expelling Decimus
Caifulenus, a man thoroughly attached to the republic, from the senate
by violence and threats of death? of interdicting Titus Canutius, by
whom he had been repeatedly and deservedly harassed by most legitimate
attacks, not only from the temple itself but from all approach to it?
What was the resolution of the senate which he was afraid that they
would stop by the interposition of their veto? That, I suppose,
respecting the supplication in honour of Marcus Lepidus, a most
illustrious man! Certainly there was a great danger of our hindering
an ordinary compliment to a man on whom we were every day thinking
of conferring some extraordinary honour. However, that he might not
appear to have had no reason at all for ordering the senate to
meet, he was on the point of bringing forward some motion about the
republic, when the news about the fourth legion came; which entirely
bewildered him, and hastening to flee away, he took a division on the
resolution for decreeing this supplication, though such a proceeding
had never been heard of before.[30]

X. But what a setting out was his after this! what a journey when he
was in his robe as a general! How did he shun all eyes, and the light
of day, and the city, and the forum! How miserable was his flight! how
shameful! how infamous! Splendid, too, were the decrees of the senate
passed on the evening of that very day; very religiously solemn
was the allotment of the provinces; and heavenly indeed was the
opportunity, when everyone got exactly what he thought most desirable.
You are acting admirably, therefore, O tribunes of the people, in
bringing forward a motion about the protection of the senate and
consuls, and most deservedly are we all bound to feel and to prove to
you the greatest gratitude for your conduct. For how can we be free
from fear and danger while menaced by such covetousness and audacity?
And as for that ruined and desperate man, what more hostile decision
can be passed upon him than has already been passed by his own
friends? His most intimate friend, a man connected with me too, Lucius
Lentulus, and also Publius Naso, a man destitute of covetousness, have
shown that they think that they have no provinces assigned them, and
that the allotments of Antonius are invalid. Lucius Philippus, a man
thoroughly worthy of his father and grandfather and ancestors, has
done the same. The same is the opinion of Marcus Turanius, a man of
the greatest integrity and purity of life. The same is the conduct
of Publius Oppius; and those very men,--who, influenced by their
friendship for Marcus Antonius, have attributed to him more power than
they would perhaps really approve of,--Marcus Piso, my own connexion,
a most admirable man and virtuous citizen, and Marcus Vehilius, a man
of equal respectability, have both declared that they would obey the
authority of the senate. Why should I speak of Lucius Cinna? whose
extraordinary integrity, proved under many trying circumstances, makes
the glory of his present admirable conduct less remarkable; he has
altogether disregarded the province assigned to him; and so has Caius
Cestius, a man of great and firm mind.

Who are there left then to be delighted with this heavensent
allotment? Lucius Antonius and Marcus Antonius! O happy pair! for
there is nothing that they wished for more. Caius Antonius has
Macedonia. Happy, too, is he! For he was constantly talking about this
province. Caius Calvisius has Africa. Nothing could be more fortunate,
for he had only just departed from Africa, and, as if he had divined
that he should return, he left two lieutenants at Utica. Then Marcus
Iccius has Sicily, and Quintus Cassius Spain. I do not know what to
suspect. I fancy the lots which assigned these two provinces, were not
quite so carefully attended to by the gods.

XI. O Caius Caesar, (I am speaking of the young man,) what safety have
you brought to the republic! How unforeseen has it been! how sudden!
for if he did these things when flying, what would he have done when
he was pursuing? In truth, he had said in a harangue that he would be
the guardian of the city; and that he would keep his army at the
gates of the city till the first of May. What a fine guardian (as the
proverb goes) is the wolf of the sheep! Would Antonius have been a
guardian of the city, or its plunderer and destroyer? And he said too
that he would come into the city and go out as he pleased. What more
need I say? Did he not say, in the hearing of all the people, while
sitting in front of the temple of Castor, that no one should remain
alive but the conqueror?

On this day, O conscript fathers, for the first time after a long
interval do we plant our foot and take possession of liberty. Liberty,
of which, as long as I could be, I was not only the defender, but even
the saviour. But when I could not be so, I rested; and I bore the
misfortunes and misery of that period without abjectness, and not
without some dignity. But as for this most foul monster, who could
endure him, or how could any one endure him? What is there in Antonius
except lust, and cruelty, and wantonness, and audacity? Of these
materials he is wholly made up. There is in him nothing ingenuous,
nothing moderate, nothing modest, nothing virtuous. Wherefore, since
the matter has come to such a crisis that the question is whether he
is to make atonement to the republic for his crimes, or we are to
become slaves, let us at last, I beseech you, by the immortal gods,
O conscript fathers, adopt our fathers' courage, and our fathers'
virtue, so as either to recover the liberty belonging to the Roman
name and race, or else to prefer death to slavery. We have borne and
endured many things which ought not to be endured in a free city, some
of us out of a hope of recovering our freedom, some from too great a
fondness for life. But if we have submitted to these things, which
necessity and a sort of force which may seem almost to have been put
on us by destiny have compelled us to endure, though, in point of
fact, we have not endured them, are we also to bear with the most
shameful and inhuman tyranny of this profligate robber?

XII. What will he do in his passion, if ever he has the power, who,
when he is not able to show his anger against any one, has been the
enemy of all good men? What will he not dare to do when victorious,
who, without having gained any victory, has committed such crimes as
these since the death of Caesar? has emptied his well filled house? has
pillaged his gardens? has transferred to his own mansion all their
ornaments? has sought to make his death a pretext for slaughter and
conflagration? who, while he has carried two or three resolutions of
the senate which have been advantageous to the republic, has made
everything else subservient to his own acquisition of gain and
plunder? who has put up exemptions and annuities to sale? who has
released cities from obligations? who has removed whole provinces
from subjection to the Roman empire? who has restored exiles? who has
passed forged laws in the name of Caesar, and has continued to have
forged decrees engraved on brass and fixed up in the Capitol, and has
set up in his own house a domestic market for all things of that sort?
who has imposed laws on the Roman people? and who, with armed troops
and guards, has excluded both the people and the magistrates from the
forum? who has filled the senate with armed men? and has introduced
armed men into the temple of Concord when he was holding a senate
there? who ran down to Brundusium to meet the legions, and then
murdered all the centurions in them who were well affected to the
republic? who endeavoured to come to Rome with his army to accomplish
our massacre and the utter destruction of the city?

And he, now that he has been prevented from succeeding in this attempt
by the wisdom and forces of Caesar, and the unanimity of the veterans,
and the valour of the legions, even now that his fortunes are
desperate, does not diminish his audacity, nor, mad that he is, does
he cease proceeding in his headlong career of fury. He is leading his
mutilated army into Gaul, with one legion, and that too wavering in
its fidelity to him, he is waiting for his brother Lucius, as he
cannot find any one more nearly like himself than him. But now what
slaughter is this man, who has thus become a captain instead of a
matador, a general instead of a gladiator, making, wherever he sets
his foot! He destroys stores, he slays the flocks and herds, and all
the cattle, wherever he finds them, his soldiers revel in their spoil,
and he himself, in order to imitate his brother, drowns himself in
wine. Fields are laid waste, villas are plundered, matrons, virgins,
well born boys are carried off and given up to the soldiery, and
Marcus Antonius has done exactly the same wherever he has led his
army.

XIII. Will you open your gates to these most infamous brothers? will
you ever admit them into the city? will you not rather, now that the
opportunity is offered to you, now that you have generals ready, and
the minds of the soldiers eager for the service, and all the Roman
people unanimous, and all Italy excited with the desire to recover its
liberty,--will you not, I say, avail yourself of the kindness of the
immortal gods? You will never have an opportunity if you neglect this
one. He will be hemmed in in the rear, in the front, and in flank, if
he once enters Gaul. Nor must he be attacked by arms alone, but by
our decrees also. Mighty is the authority, mighty is the name of
the senate when all its members are inspired by one and the same
resolution. Do you not see how the forum is crowded? how the Roman
people is on tiptoe with the hope of recovering its liberty? which
now, beholding us, after a long interval, meeting here in numbers,
hopes too that we are also met in freedom. It was in expectation of
this day that I avoided the wicked army of Marcus Antonius, at a
time when he, while inveighing against me, was not aware for what an
occasion I was reserving myself and my strength. If at that time I had
chosen to reply to him, while he was seeking to begin the massacre
with me, I should not now be able to consult the welfare of the
republic. But now that I have this opportunity, I will never, O
conscript fathers, neither by day nor by night, cease considering what
ought to be thought concerning the liberty of the Roman people, and
concerning your dignity. And whatever ought to be planned or done, I
not only will never shrink from, but I will offer myself for, and beg
to have entrusted to me. This is what I did before while it was in my
power; when it was no longer in my power to do so, I did nothing. But
now it is not only in my power, but it is absolutely necessary for me,
unless we prefer being slaves to fighting with all our strength and
courage to avoid being slaves. The immortal gods have given us these
protectors, Caesar for the city, Brutus for Gaul. For if he had been
able to oppress the city we must have become slaves at once; if he had
been able to get possession of Gaul, then it would not have been long
before every good man must have perished and all the rest have been
enslaved.

XIV. Now then that this opportunity is afforded to you, O conscript
fathers, I entreat you in the name of the immortal gods, seize upon
it; and recollect at last that you are the chief men of the most
honourable council on the whole face of the earth. Give a token to the
Roman people that your wisdom shall not fail the republic, since that
too professes that its valour shall never desert it either. There
is no need for my warning you: there is no one so foolish as not to
perceive that if we go to sleep over this opportunity we shall have to
endure a tyranny which will be not only cruel and haughty, but also
ignominious and flagitious. You know the insolence of Antonius; you
know his friends; you know his whole household. To be slaves to
lustful, wanton, debauched, profligate, drunken gamblers, is the
extremity of misery combined with the extremity of infamy. And if now
(but may the immortal gods avert the omen!) that worst of fates shall
befall the republic, then, as brave gladiators take care to perish
with honour, let us too, who are the chief men of all countries and
nations, take care to fall with dignity rather than to live as slaves
with ignominy.

There is nothing more detestable than disgrace; nothing more shameful
than slavery. We have been born to glory and to liberty; let us either
preserve them or die with dignity. Too long have we concealed what we
have felt: now at length it is revealed: every one has plainly shown
what are his feelings to both sides, and what are his inclinations.
There are impious citizens, measured by the love I bear my country,
too many; but in proportion to the multitude of well-affected ones,
very few; and the immortal gods have given the republic an incredible
opportunity and chance for destroying them. For, in addition to the
defences which we already have, there will soon be added consuls
of consummate prudence, and virtue, and concord, who have already
deliberated and pondered for many months on the freedom of the Roman
people. With these men for our advisers and leaders, with the gods
assisting us, with ourselves using all vigilance and taking great
precautions for the future, and with the Roman people acting
with unanimity, we shall indeed be free in a short time, and the
recollection of our present slavery will make liberty sweeter.

XV. Moved by these considerations, since the tribunes of the people
have brought forward a motion to ensure that the senate shall be able
to meet in safety on the first of January, and that we may be able
to deliver our sentiments on the general welfare of the state with
freedom, I give my vote that Caius Pansa and Aulus Hirtius, the
consuls elect, do take care that the senate be enabled to meet in
safety on the first of January; and, as an edict has been published
by Decimus Brutus, imperator and consul elect, I vote that the senate
thinks that Decimus Brutus, imperator and consul, deserves excellently
well of the republic, inasmuch as he is upholding the authority of the
senate, and the freedom and empire of the Roman people; and as he is
also retaining the province of Gallia Citerior, a province full of
most virtuous and brave men, and of citizens most devoted to the
republic, and his army, in obedience to the senate, I vote that the
senate judges that he, and his army, and the municipalities and
colonies of the province of Gaul, have acted and are acting properly,
and regularly, and in a manner advantageous to the republic. And
the senate thinks that it will be for the general interests of the
republic that the provinces which are at present occupied by Decimus
Brutus and by Lucius Plancus, both imperators, and consuls elect, and
also by the officers who are in command of provinces, shall continue
to be held by them in accordance with the provisions of the Julian
law, until each of these officers has a successor appointed by a
resolution of the senate; and that they shall take care to maintain
those provinces and armies in obedience to the senate and people of
Rome, and as a defence to the republic. And since, by the exertions
and valour and wisdom of Caius Caesar, and by the admirable unanimity
of the veteran soldiers, who, obeying his authority, have been and are
a protection to the republic, the Roman people has been defended, and
is at this present time being defended, from the most serious dangers.
And as the Martial legion has encamped at Alba, in a municipal town
of the greatest loyalty and courage, and has devoted itself to the
support of the authority of the senate, and of the freedom of the
Roman people; and as the fourth legion, behaving with equal wisdom
and with the same virtue, under the command of Lucius Egnatuleius the
quaestor, an illustrious citizen, has defended and is still defending
the authority of the senate and the freedom of the Roman people; I
give my vote, That it is and shall be an object of anxious care to the
senate to pay due honour and to show due gratitude to them for their
exceeding services to the republic: and that the senate hereby orders
that when Caius Pausa and Aulus Hirtius, the consuls elect, have
entered on their office, they take the earliest opportunity of
consulting this body on these matters, as shall seem to them expedient
for the republic, and worthy of their own integrity and loyalty.




THE FOURTH ORATION OF M.T. CICERO AGAINST MARCUS ANTONIUS.

CALLED ALSO THE FOURTH PHILIPPIC.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE ARGUMENT.


After delivering the preceding speech in the senate, Cicero proceeded
to the forum, where he delivered the following speech to the people,
to give them information of what had been done.

I. The great numbers in which you are here met this day, O Romans, and
this assembly, greater than, it seems to me, I ever remember, inspires
me with both an exceeding eagerness to defend the republic, and with a
great hope of reestablishing it. Although my courage indeed has never
failed; what has been unfavourable is the time; and the moment that
that has appeared to show any dawn of light, I at once have been the
leader in the defence of your liberty. And if I had attempted to have
done so before, I should not be able to do so now. For this day, O
Romans, (that you may not think it is but a trifling business in which
we have been engaged,) the foundations have been laid for future
actions. For the senate has no longer been content with styling
Antonius an enemy in words, but it has shown by actions that it thinks
him one. And now I am much more elated still, because you too with
such great unanimity and with such a clamour have sanctioned our
declaration that he is an enemy.

And indeed, O Romans, it is impossible but that either the men must
be impious who have levied armies against the consul, or else that he
must be an enemy against whom they have rightly taken arms. And this
doubt the senate has this day removed--not indeed that there really
was any; but it has prevented the possibility of there being any.
Caius Caesar, who has upheld and who is still upholding the republic
and your freedom by his seal and wisdom, and at the expense of his
patrimonial estate, has been complimented with the highest praises of
the senate. I praise you,--yes, I praise you greatly, O Romans,
when you follow with the most grateful minds the name of that
most illustrious youth, or rather boy; for his actions belong to
immortality, the name of youth only to his age. I can recollect many
things; I have heard of many things; I have read of many things; but
in the whole history of the whole world I have never known anything
like this. For, when we were weighed down with slavery, when the evil
was daily increasing, when we had no defence, while we were in dread
of the pernicious and fatal return of Marcus Antonius from Brundusium,
this young man adopted the design which none of us had ventured to
hope for, which beyond all question none of us were acquainted with,
of raising an invincible army of his father's soldiers, and so
hindering the frenzy of Antonius, spurred on as it was by the most
inhuman counsels, from the power of doing mischief to the republic.

II. For who is there who does not see clearly that, if Caesar had not
prepared an army, the return of Antonius must have been accompanied by
our destruction? For, in truth, he returned in such a state of mind,
burning with hatred of you all, stained with the blood of the Roman
citizens, whom he had murdered at Suessa and at Brundusium, that he
thought of nothing but the utter destruction of the republic. And what
protection could have been found for your safety and for your liberty
if the army of Caius Caesar had not been composed of the bravest of his
father's soldiers? And with respect to his praises and honours,--and
he is entitled to divine and everlasting honours for his godlike and
undying services,--the senate has just consented to my proposals, and
has decreed that a motion be submitted to it at the very earliest
opportunity.

Now who is there who does not see that by this decree Antonius has
been adjudged to be an enemy? For what else can we call him, when the
senate decides that extraordinary honours are to be devised for those
men who are leading armies against him? What? did not the Martial
legion (which appears to me by some divine permission to have derived
its name from that god from whom we have heard that the Roman people
descended) decide by its resolutions that Antonius was an enemy before
the senate had come to any resolution? For if he be not an enemy, we
must inevitably decide that those men who have deserted the consul are
enemies. Admirably and seasonably, O Romans, have you by your cries
sanctioned the noble conduct of the men of the Martial legion, who
have come over to the authority of the senate, to your liberty, and
to the whole republic; and have abandoned that enemy and robber and
parricide of his country. Nor did they display only their spirit
and courage in doing this, but their caution and wisdom also. They
encamped at Alba, in a city convenient, fortified, near, full of brave
men and loyal and virtuous citizens. The fourth legion imitating
the virtue of this Martial legion, under the leadership of Lucius
Egnatuleius, whom the senate deservedly praised a little while ago,
has also joined the army of Caius Caesar.

III. What more adverse decisions, O Marcus Antonius, can you want?
Caesar, who has levied an army against you, is extolled to the skies.
The legions are praised in the most complimentary language, which have
abandoned you, which were sent for into Italy by you; and which,
if you had chosen to be a consul rather than an enemy, were wholly
devoted to you. And the fearless and honest decision of those legions
is confirmed by the senate, is approved of by the whole Roman
people,--unless, indeed, you to-day, O Romans, decide that Antonius is
a consul and not an enemy. I thought, O Romans, that you did think as
you show you do. What? do you suppose that the municipal towns, and
the colonies, and the prefectures have any other opinion? All men are
agreed with one mind; so that every one who wishes the state to be
saved must take up every sort of arms against that pestilence. What?
does, I should like to know, does the opinion of Decimus Brutus,
O Romans, which you can gather from his edict, which has this day
reached us, appear to any one deserving of being lightly esteemed?
Rightly and truly do you say No, O Romans. For the family and name
of Brutus has been by some especial kindness and liberality of the
immortal gods given to the republic, for the purpose of at one time
establishing, and at another of recovering, the liberty of the Roman
people. What then has been the opinion which Decimus Brutus has formed
of Marcus Antonius? He excludes him from his province. He opposes him
with his army. He rouses all Gaul to war, which is already used of its
own accord, and in consequence of the judgment which it has itself
formed. If Antonius be consul, Brutus is an enemy. Can we then doubt
which of these alternatives is the fact?

IV. And just as you now with one mind and one voice affirm that you
entertain no doubt, so did the senate just now decree that Decimus
Brutus deserved excellently well of the republic, inasmuch as he was
defending the authority of the senate and the liberty and empire of
the Roman people. Defending it against whom? Why, against an enemy.
For what other sort of defence deserves praise? In the next place the
province of Gaul is praised, and is deservedly complimented in most
honourable language by the senate for resisting Antonius. But if that
province considered him the consul, and still refused to receive him,
it would be guilty of great wickedness. For all the provinces belong
to the consul of right, and are bound to obey him. Decimus Brutus,
imperator and consul elect, a citizen born for the republic, denies
that he is consul; Gaul denies it; all Italy denies it; the senate
denies it; you deny it. Who then think that he is consul except a few
robbers? Although even they themselves do not believe what they say;
nor is it possible that they should differ from the judgment of all
men, impious and desperate men though they be. But the hope of plunder
and booty blinds their minds; men whom no gifts of money, no allotment
of land, nor even that interminable auction has satisfied; who have
proposed to themselves the city, the properties and fortunes of all
the citizens as their booty; and who, as long as there is something
for them to seize and carry off, think that nothing will be wanting to
them; among whom Marcus Antonius (O ye immortal gods, avert, I pray
you, and efface this omen,) has promised to divide this city. May
things rather happen, O Romans, as you pray that they should, and may
the chastisement of this frenzy fall on him and on his friend. And,
indeed, I feel sure that it will be so. For I think that at present
not only men but the immortal gods have all united together to
preserve this republic. For if the immortal gods foreshow us the
future, by means of portents and prodigies, then it has been openly
revealed to us that punishment is near at hand to him, and liberty to
us. Or if it was impossible for such unanimity on the part of all men
to exist without the inspiration of the gods, in either case how can
we doubt as to the inclinations of the heavenly deities? It only
remains, O Romans, for you to persevere in the sentiments which you at
present display.

V. I will act, therefore, as commanders are in the habit of doing when
their army is ready for battle, who, although they see their soldiers
ready to engage, still address an exhortation to them; and in like
manner I will exhort you who are already eager and burning to recover
your liberty. You have not--you have not, indeed, O Romans, to war
against an enemy with whom it is possible to make peace on any terms
whatever. For he does not now desire your slavery, as he did before,
but he is angry now and thirsts for your blood. No sport appears more
delightful to him than bloodshed, and slaughter, and the massacre
of citizens before his eyes. You have not, O Romans, to deal with a
wicked and profligate man, but with an unnatural and savage beast.
And, since he has fallen into a well, let him be buried in it. For if
he escapes out of it, there will be no inhumanity of torture which it
will be possible to avoid. But he is at present hemmed in, pressed,
and besieged by those troops which we already have, and will soon be
still more so by those which in a few days the new consuls will levy.
Apply yourselves then to this business, as you are doing. Never have
you shown greater unanimity in any cause; never have you been so
cordially united with the senate. And no wonder. For the question now
is not in what condition we are to live, but whether we are to live at
all, or to perish with torture and ignominy.

Although nature, indeed, has appointed death for all men: but valour
is accustomed to ward off any cruelty or disgrace in death. And that
is an inalienable possession of the Roman race and name. Preserve, I
beseech you, O Romans, this attribute which your ancestors have left
you as a sort of inheritance. Although all other things are uncertain,
fleeting, transitory; virtue alone is planted firm with very deep
roots; it cannot be undermined by any violence; it can never be moved
from its position. By it your ancestors first subdued the whole of
Italy; then destroyed Carthage, overthrew Numantia, and reduced the
most mighty kings and most warlike nations under the dominion of this
empire.

VI. And your ancestors, O Romans, had to deal with an enemy who had
also a republic, a senate-house, a treasury, harmonious and united
citizens, and with whom, if fortune had so willed it, there might have
been peace and treaties on settled principles. But this enemy of yours
is attacking your republic, but has none himself; is eager to destroy
the senate, that is to say, the council of the whole world, but has no
public council himself; he has exhausted your treasury, and has none
of his own. For how can a man be supported by the unanimity of his
citizens, who has no city at all? And what principles of peace
can there be with that man who is full of incredible cruelty, and
destitute of faith?

The whole then of the contest, O Romans, which is now before the Roman
people, the conqueror of all nations, is with an assassin, a robber, a
Spartacus.[31] For as to his habitual boast of being like Catilina, he
is equal to him in wickedness, but inferior in energy. He, though he
had no army, rapidly levied one. This man has lost that very army
which he had. As, therefore, by my diligence, and the authority of the
senate, and your own zeal and valour, you crushed Catilina, so you
will very soon hear that this infamous piratical enterprise of
Antonius has been put down by your own perfect and unexampled harmony
with the senate, and by the good fortune and valour of your armies and
generals. I, for my part, as far as I am able to labour, and to effect
anything by my care, and exertions, and vigilance, and authority,
and counsel, will omit nothing which I may think serviceable to your
liberty. Nor could I omit it without wickedness after all your most
ample and honourable kindness to me. However, on this day, encouraged
by the motion of a most gallant man, and one most firmly attached to
you, Marcus Servilius, whom you see before you, and his colleagues
also, most distinguished men, and most virtuous citizens; and partly,
too, by my advice and my example, we have, for the first time after a
long interval, fired up again with a hope of liberty.




THE FIFTH ORATION OF M.T. CICERO AGAINST MARCUS ANTONIUS.

OTHERWISE CALLED THE FIFTH PHILIPPIC.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE ARGUMENT.


The new consuls Hirtius and Pansa were much attached to Cicero, had
consulted him a great deal, and professed great respect for his
opinion; but they were also under great obligations to Julius Caesar
and, consequently, connected to some extent with his party and with
Antonius, on which account they wished, if possible, to employ
moderate measures only against him.

As soon as they had entered on their office, they convoked the senate
to meet for the purpose of deliberating on the general welfare of the
republic. They both spoke themselves with great firmness, promising to
be the leaders in defending the liberties of Rome, and exhorting the
senate to act with courage. And then they called on Quintus Fufius
Calenus, who had been consul A.U.C. 707, and who was Pansa's
father-in-law, to deliver his opinion first. He was known to be a firm
friend of Antonius. Cicero wished to declare Antonius a public enemy
at once, but Calenus proposed that before they proceeded to acts of
open hostility against him, they should send an embassy to him to
admonish him to desist from his attempts upon Gaul, and to submit to
the authority of the senate. Piso and others supported this motion,
on the ground that it was cruel and unjust to condemn a man without
giving him a fair chance of submitting, and without hearing what he
had to say. It was in opposition to Calenus's motion that Cicero made
the following speech, substituting for his proposition one to declare
Antonius an enemy, and to offer pardon to those of his army who
returned to their duty by the first of February, to thank Decimus
Brutus for his conduct in Gaul, to decree a statue to Marcus
Lepidus[32] for his services to the republic and his loyalty, to
thank Caius Caesar (Octavius) and to grant him a special commission
as general, to make him a senator and propraetor and to enable him to
stand for any subsequent magistracy as if he had been quaestor, to
thank Lucius Egnatuleius, and to vote thanks and promise rewards to
the Martial and the fourth legion.

I. Nothing, O conscript fathers, has ever seemed to me longer than
these calends of January, and I think that for the last few days you
have all been feeling the same thing. For those who are waging war
against the republic have not waited for this day. But we, while it
would have been most especially proper for us to come to the aid of
the general safety with our counsel, were not summoned to the senate.
However, the speech just addressed to us by the consuls has removed
our complaints as to what is past, for they have spoken in such a
manner that the calends of January seem to have been long wished for
rather than really to have arrived late.

And while the speeches of the consuls have encouraged my mind, and
have given me a hope, not only of preserving our safety, but even of
recovering our former dignity, on the other hand, the opinion of the
man who has been asked for his opinion first would have disturbed me,
if I had not confidence in your virtue and firmness. For this day, O
conscript fathers, has dawned upon you, and this opportunity has been
afforded you of proving to the Roman people how much virtue, how much
firmness and how much dignity exists in the counsels of this order.
Recollect what a day it was thirteen days ago, how great was then your
unanimity, and virtue, and firmness, and what great praise, what great
glory, and what great gratitude you gained from the Roman people.
And on that day, O conscript fathers, you resolved that no other
alternative was in your power, except either an honourable peace, or a
necessary war.

Is Marcus Antonius desirous of peace? Let him lay down his arms, let
him implore our pardon, let him deprecate our vengeance; he will find
no one more reasonable than me, though, while seeking to recommend
himself to impious citizens, he has chosen to be an enemy instead of
a friend to me. There is, in truth, nothing which can be given to him
while waging war, there will perhaps be something which may be granted
to him if he comes before us as a suppliant.

II. But to send ambassadors to a man respecting whom you passed a most
dignified and severe decision only thirteen days ago, is not an act of
lenity, but, if I am to speak my real opinion, of downright madness.
In the first place, you praised those generals who, of their own head,
had undertaken war against him, in the next place, you praised the
veterans who, though they had been settled in those colonies by
Antonius, preferred the liberty of the Roman people to the obligations
which they were under to him. Is it not so? Why was the Martial
legion? why was the fourth legion praised? For if they have deserted
the consul, they ought to be blamed; if they have abandoned an enemy
to the republic, then they are deservedly praised.

But as at that time you had not yet got any consuls, you passed a
decree that a motion concerning the rewards for the soldiers and the
honours to be conferred on the generals should be submitted to you at
the earliest opportunity. Are you then going now to arrange rewards
for those men who have taken arms against Antonius, and to send
ambassadors to Antonius? so as to deserve to be ashamed that the
legions should have come to more honourable resolutions than the
senate if, indeed, the legions have resolved to defend the senate
against Antonius, but the senate decrees to send ambassadors to
Antonius. Is this encouraging the spirit of the soldiers, or damping
their virtue?

This is what we have gained in the last twelve days, that the man
whom no single person except Cotyla was then found to defend, has now
advocates even of consular rank. Would that they had all been asked
their opinion before me, (although I have my suspicions as to what
some of those men who will be asked after me, are intending to say) I
should find it easier to speak against them if any argument appeared
to have been advanced.

For there is an opinion in some quarters that some one intends to
propose to decree Antonius that further Gaul, which Plancus is at
present in possession of. What else is that but supplying an enemy
with all the arms necessary for civil war; first of all with the
sinews of war, money in abundance, of which he is at present
destitute, and secondly, with as much cavalry as he pleases? Cavalry
do I say? He is a likely man to hesitate, I suppose, to bring with him
the barbarian nations,--a man who does not see this is senseless, he
who does see it, and still advocates such a measure, is impious. Will
you furnish a wicked and desperate citizen with an army of Gauls and
Germans, with money, and infantry, and cavalry, and all sorts of
resources? All these excuses are no excuse at all.--"He is a friend of
mine." Let him first be a friend of his country.--"He is a relation of
mine." Can any relationship be nearer than that of one's country, in
which even one's parents are comprised? "He has given me money:"--I
should like to see the man who will dare to say that. But when I have
explained what is the real object aimed at, it will be easy for you to
decide which opinion you ought to agree with and adopt.

III. The matter at issue is, whether power is to be given to Marcus
Antonius of oppressing the republic, of massacring the virtuous
citizens, of plundering the city, of distributing the lands among his
robbers, of overwhelming the Roman people in slavery; or, whether he
is not to be allowed to do all this. Do you doubt what you are to do?
"Oh, but all this does not apply to Antonius." Even Cotyla would not
venture to say that. For what does not apply to him? A man who, while
he says that he is defending the acts of another, perverts all those
laws of his which we might most properly praise. Caesar wished to drain
the marshes: this man has given all Italy to that moderate man Lucius
Antonius to distribute.--What? has the Roman people adopted this
law?--What? could it be passed with a proper regard for the auspices?
But this conscientious augur acts in reference to the auspices
without his colleagues. Although those auspices do not require any
interpretation;--for who is there who is ignorant that it is impious
to submit any motion to the people while it is thundering? The
tribunes of the people carried laws respecting the provinces in
opposition to the acts of Caesar; Caesar had extended the provisions of
his law over two years; Antonius over six years. Has then the Roman
people adopted this law? What? was it ever regularly promulgated?
What? was it not passed before it was even drawn up? Did we not see
the deed done before we even suspected that it was going to be done?
Where is the Caecilian and Didian law? What is become of the law that
such bills should be published on three market days? What is become of
the penalty appointed by the recent Junian and Licinian law? Can these
laws be ratified without the destruction of all other laws? Has any
one had a right of entering the forum? Moreover, what thunder, and
what a storm that was! so that even if the consideration of the
auspices had no weight with Marcus Antonius, it would seem strange
that he could endure and bear such exceeding violence of tempest, and
rain, and whirlwind. When therefore he, as augur, says that he carried
a law while Jupiter was not only thundering, but almost uttering an
express prohibition of it by his clamour from heaven, will he hesitate
to confess that it was carried in violation of the auspices? What?
does the virtuous augur think that it has nothing to do with the
auspices, that he carried the law with the aid of that colleague whose
election he himself vitiated by giving notice of the auspices?

IV. But perhaps we, who are his colleagues, may be the interpreters
of the auspices? Do we also want interpreters of arms? In the first
place, all the approaches to the forum were so fenced round, that even
if no armed men were standing in the way, still it would have been
impossible to enter the forum except by tearing down the barricades.
But the guards were arranged in such a manner, that, as the access of
an enemy to a city is prevented, so you might in this instance see the
burgesses and the tribunes of the people cut off by forts and works
from all entrance to the forum. On which account I give my vote that
those laws which Marcus Antonius is said to have carried were all
carried by violence, and in violation of the auspices; and that the
people is not bound by them. If Marcus Antonius is said to have
carried any law about confirming the acts of Caesar and abolishing the
dictatorship for ever, and of leading colonies into any lands, then I
vote that those laws be passed over again, with a due regard to the
auspices, so that they may bind the people. For although they may be
good measures which he passed irregularly and by violence, still they
are not to be accounted laws, and the whole audacity of this frantic
gladiator must be repudiated by our authority. But that squandering
of the public money cannot possibly be endured by which he got rid of
seven hundred millions of sesterces by forged entries and deeds of
gifts, so that it seems an absolute miracle that so vast a sum of
money belonging to the Roman people can have disappeared in so short
a time. What? are those enormous profits to be endured which the
household of Marcus Antonius has swallowed up? He was continually
selling forged decrees; ordering the names of kingdoms and states, and
grants of exemptions to be engraved on brass, having received bribes
for such orders. And his statement always was, that he was doing these
things in obedience to the memoranda of Caesar, of which he himself was
the author. In the interior of his house there was going on a brisk
market of the whole republic. His wife, more fortunate for herself
than for her husband, was holding an auction of kingdoms and
provinces: exiles were restored without any law, as if by law: and
unless all these acts are rescinded by the authority of the senate,
now that we have again arrived at a hope of recovering the republic,
there will be no likeness of a free city left to us.

Nor is it only by the sale of forged memoranda and autographs that a
countless sum of money was collected together in that house, while
Antonius, whatever he sold, said that he was acting in obedience to
the papers of Caesar; but he even took bribes to make false entries
of the resolutions of the senate; to seal forged contracts; and
resolutions of the senate that had never been passed were entered
on the records of that treasury. Of all this baseness even foreign
nations were witnesses. In the meantime treaties were made; kingdoms
given away; nations and provinces released from the burdens of the
state; and false memorials of all these transactions were fixed up
all over the Capitol, amid the groans of the Roman people. And by all
these proceedings so vast a sum of money was collected in one house,
that if it were all made available, the Roman people would never want
money again.

V. Moreover, he passed a law to regulate judicial proceedings, this
chaste and upright man, this upholder of the tribunals and the law.
And in this he deceived us. He used to say that he appointed men from
the front ranks of the army, common soldiers, men of the Alauda,[33]
as judges. But he has in reality selected gamesters; he has selected
exiles; he has selected Greeks. Oh the fine bench of judges! Oh the
admirable dignity of that council! I do long to plead in behalf of
some defendant before that tribunal--Cyda of Crete; a prodigy even in
that island; the most audacious and abandoned of men. But even suppose
he were not so. Does he understand Latin? Is he qualified by birth and
station to be a judge? Does he--which is most important--does he know
anything about our laws and manners? Is he even acquainted with any of
the citizens? Why, Crete is better known to you than Rome is to Cyda.
In fact, the selection and appointment of the judges has usually been
confined to our own citizens. But who ever knew, or could possibly
have known this Gortynian judge? For Lysiades, the Athenian, we most
of us do know. For he is the son of Phaedrus, an eminent philosopher.
And, besides, he is a witty man, so that he will be able to get on
very well with Marcus Curius, who will be one of his colleagues, and
with whom he is in the habit of playing. I ask if Lysiades, when
summoned as a judge, should not answer to his name, and should have an
excuse alleged for him that he is an Areopagite, and that he is not
bound to act as a judge at both Rome and Athens at the same time, will
the man who presides over the investigation admit the excuse of this
Greekling judge, at one time a Greek, and at another a Roman? Or will
he disregard the most ancient laws of the Athenians?

And what a bench will it be, O ye good gods! A Cretan judge, and he
the most worthless of men. Whom can a defendant employ to propitiate
him? How is he to get at him? He comes of a hard nation. But the
Athenians are merciful. I dare say that Curius, too, is not cruel,
inasmuch as he is a man who is himself at the mercy of fortune every
day. There are besides other chosen judges who will perhaps be
excused. For they have a legitimate excuse, that they have left their
country in banishment, and that they have not been restored since.
And would that madman have chosen these men as judges, would he have
entered their names as such in the treasury, would he have trusted a
great portion of the republic to them, if he had intended to leave the
least semblance of a republic?

VI. And I have been speaking of those judges who are known. Those whom
you are less acquainted with I have been unwilling to name. Know then
that dancers, harp-players, the whole troop, in fact, of Antonius's
revellers, have all been pitchforked into the third decury of judges.
Now you see the object of passing so splendid and admirable a law,
amid excessive rain, storm, wind, tempest, and whirlwind, amid thunder
and lightning; it was that we might have those men for our judges
whom no one would like to have for guests. It is the enormity of his
wickedness, the consciousness of his crimes, the plunder of that money
of which the account was kept in the temple of Ops, which have been
the real inventors of this third decury. And infamous judges were not
sought for, till all hope of safety for the guilty was despaired of,
if they came before respectable ones. But what must have been the
impudence, what must have been the iniquity of a man who dared to
select those men as judges, by the selection of whom a double disgrace
was stamped on the republic: one, because the judges were so infamous;
the other, because by this step it was revealed and published to the
world how many infamous citizens we had in the republic? These then,
and all other similar laws, I should vote ought to be annulled, even
if they had been passed without violence, and with all proper respect
for the auspices. But now why need I vote that they ought to be
annulled, when I do not consider that they were ever legally passed?

Is not this, too, to be marked with the deepest ignominy, and with the
severest animadversion of this order, so as to be recollected by all
posterity, that Marcus Antonius (the first man who has ever done so
since the foundation of the city) has openly taken armed men about
with him in this city? A thing which the kings never did, nor those
men who, since the kings have been banished, have endeavoured to seize
on kingly power. I can recollect Cinna; I have seen Sylla; and lately
Caesar. For these three men are the only ones since the city was
delivered by Lucius Brutus, who have had more power than the entire
republic. I cannot assert that no man in their trains had weapons.
This I do say, that they had not many, and that they concealed them.
But this pest was attended by an army of armed men. Classitius,
Mustela, and Tiro, openly displaying their swords, led troops of
fellows like themselves through the forum. Barbarian archers occupied
their regular place in the army. And when they arrived at the temple
of Concord, the steps were crowded, the litters full of shields were
arranged; not because he wished the shields to be concealed, but that
his friends might not be fatigued by carrying the shields themselves.

VII. And what was most infamous not only to see, but even to hear of,
armed men, robbers, assassins were stationed in the temple of Concord;
the temple was turned into a prison; the doors of the temple were
closed, and the conscript fathers delivered their opinions while
robbers were standing among the benches of the senators. And if I
did not come to a senate-house in this state, he, on the first of
September, said that he would send carpenters and pull down my house.
It was an important affair, I suppose, that was to be discussed. He
made some motion about a supplication. I attended the day after. He
himself did not come. I delivered my opinion about the republic, not
indeed with quite so much freedom as usual, but still with more than
the threats of personal danger to myself made perhaps advisable. But
that violent and furious man (for Lucius Piso had done the same thing
with great credit thirty days before) threatened me with his enmity,
and ordered me to attend the senate on the nineteenth of September. In
the meantime he spent the whole of the intervening seventeen days in
the villa of Scipio, at Tibur, declaiming against me to make himself
thirsty. For this is his usual object in declaiming. When the day
arrived on which he had ordered me to attend, then he came with a
regular army in battle array to the temple of Concord, and out of his
impure mouth vomited forth an oration against me in my absence. On
which day, if my friends had not prevented me from attending the
senate as I was anxious to do, he would have begun a massacre by the
slaughter of me. For that was what he had resolved to do. And when
once he had dyed his sword in blood, nothing would have made him
leave off but pure fatigue and satiety. In truth, his brother, Lucius
Antonius, was present, an Asiatic gladiator, who had fought as a
Mirmillo,[34] at Mylasa; he was thirsting for my blood, and had shed
much of his own in that gladiatorial combat. He was now valuing our
property in his mind, taking notice of our possessions in the city
and in the country; his indigence united with his covetousness was
threatening all our fortunes; he was distributing our lands to
whomsoever and in whatever shares he pleased; no private individual
could get access to him, or find any means to propitiate him, and
induce him to act with justice. Every former proprietor had just so
much property as Antonius left him after the division of his estate.
And although all these proceedings cannot be ratified, if you annul
his laws, still I think that they ought all to be separately taken
note of, article by article; and that we ought formally to decide that
the appointment of septemvirs was null and void; and that nothing is
ratified which is said to have been done by them.

VIII. But who is there who can consider Marcus Antonius a citizen,
rather than a most foul and barbarous enemy, who, while sitting in
front of the temple of Castor, in the hearing of the Roman people,
said that no one should survive except those who were victorious? Do
you suppose, O conscript fathers, that he spoke with more violence
than he would act? And what are we to think of his having ventured to
say that, after he had given up his magistracy, he should still be at
the city with his army? that he should enter the city as often as he
pleased? What else was this but threatening the Roman people with
slavery? And what was the object of his journey to Brundusium? and of
that great haste? What was his hope, except to lead that vast army
to the city, or rather into the city? What a proceeding was that
selection of the centurions! What unbridled fury of an intemperate
mind! For when those gallant legions had raised an outcry against his
promises, he ordered those centurions to come to him to his house,
whom he perceived to be loyally attached to the republic, and then he
had them all murdered before his own eyes and those of his wife, whom
this noble commander had taken with him to the army. What disposition
do you suppose that this man will display towards us whom he hates,
when he was so cruel to those men whom he had never seen? And how
covetous will he be with respect to the money of rich men, when he
thirsted for even the blood of poor men? whose property, such as it
was, he immediately divided among his satellites and boon companions.

And he in a fury was now moving his hostile standards against his
country from Brundusium, when Caius Caesar, by the kind inspiration of
the immortal gods, by the greatness of his own heavenly courage, and
wisdom, and genius, of his own accord, indeed, and prompted by his own
admirable virtue, but still with the approbation of my authority, went
down to the colonies which had been founded by his father; convoked
the veteran soldiery; in a few days raised an army; and checked the
furious advance of this bandit. But after the Martial legion saw this
admirable leader, it had no other thoughts but those of securing our
liberty. And the fourth legion followed its example.

IX. And Antonius, on hearing of this news, after he had summoned the
senate, and provided a man of consular rank to declare his opinion
that Caius Caesar was an enemy of his country, immediately fainted
away. And afterwards, without either performing the usual sacrifices,
or offering the customary vows, he, I will not say went forth, but
took to flight in his robe as a general. But which way did he flee? To
the province of our most resolute and bravest citizens; men who could
never have endured him if he had not come bringing war in his train,
an intemperate, passionate, insolent, proud man, always making
demands, always plundering, always drunk. But he, whose worthlessness
even when quiet was more than any one could endure, has declared war
upon the province of Gaul; he is besieging Mutina, a valiant and
splendid colony of the Roman people; he is blockading Decimus Brutus,
the general, the consul elect, a citizen born not for himself, but for
us and the republic. Was then Hannibal an enemy, and is Antonius a
citizen? What did the one do like an enemy, that the other has not
done, or is not doing, or planning, and thinking of? What was there
in the whole of the journey of the Antonii; except depopulation,
devastation, slaughter, and rapine? Actions which Hannibal never did,
because he was reserving many things for his own use, these men do,
as men who live merely for the present hour; they never have given a
thought not only to the fortunes and welfare of the citizens, but not
even to their own advantage.

Are we then, O ye good gods, to resolve to send ambassadors to this
man? Are those men who propose this acquainted with the constitution
of the republic, with the laws of war, with the precedents of our
ancestors? Do they give a thought to what the majesty of the Roman
people and the severity of the senate requires? Do you resolve to send
ambassadors? If to beg his mercy, he will despise you; if to declare
your commands he will not listen to them; and last of all, however
severe the message may be which we give the ambassadors, the very name
of ambassadors will extinguish this ardour of the Roman people which
we see at present, and break the spirit of the municipal towns and of
Italy. To say nothing of these arguments, though they are weighty, at
all events that sending of an embassy will cause delay and slowness to
the war. Although those who propose it should say, as I hear that some
intend to say,--"Let the ambassadors go, but let war be prepared for
all the same." Still the very name of ambassadors will damp men's
courage, and delay the rapidity of the war.

X. The most important events, O conscript fathers, are often
determined by very trivial moving influences in every circumstance
that can happen in the republic, and also in war, and especially in
civil war, which is usually governed a great deal by men's opinions
and by reports. No one will ask what is the commission with which we
have sent the ambassadors; the mere name of an embassy, and that sent
by us of our own accord, will appear an indication of fear. Let him
depart from Mutina; let him cease to attack Brutus; let him retire
from Gaul. He must not be begged in words to do so; he must be
compelled by arms. For we are not sending to Hannibal to desire him to
retire from before Saguntum; to whom the senate formerly sent Publius
Valerius Flaccus and Quintus Baebius Tampilus; who, if Hannibal did not
comply, were ordered to proceed to Carthage. Whither do we order our
ambassadors to proceed, if Antonius does not comply? Are we sending an
embassy to our own citizen, to beg him not to attack a general and a
colony of the Roman people? Is it so? Is it becoming to us to beg this
by means of ambassadors? What is the difference, in the name of the
immortal gods, whether he attacks this city itself, or whether he
attacks an outpost of this city, a colony of the Roman people,
established for the sake of its being a bulwark and protection to us?
The siege of Saguntum was the cause of the second Punic war, which
Hannibal carried on against our ancestors. It was quite right to send
ambassadors to him. They were sent to a Carthaginian, they were sent
on behalf of those who were the enemies of Hannibal, and our allies.
What is there resembling that case here? We are sending to one of our
own citizens to beg him not to blockade a general of the Roman army,
not to attack our army and our colony,--in short, not to be an enemy
of ours. Come; suppose he obeys, shall we either be inclined, or shall
we be able by any possibility, to treat him as one of our citizens?

XI. On the nineteenth of December, you overwhelmed him with your
decrees; you ordained that this motion should be submitted to you on
the first of January, which you see is submitted now, respecting the
honours and rewards to be conferred on those who have deserved or do
deserve well of the republic. And the chief of those men you have
adjudged to be the man who really has done so, Caius Caesar, who had
diverted the nefarious attacks of Marcus Antonius against this city,
and compelled him to direct them against Gaul; and next to him you
consider the veteran soldiers who first followed Caesar; then those
excellent and heavenly-minded legions the Martial and the fourth,
to whom you have promised honours and rewards, for having not only
abandoned their consul, but for having even declared war against him.
And on the same day, having a decree brought before you and published
on purpose, you praised the conduct of Decimus Brutus, a most
excellent citizen, and sanctioned with your public authority this war
which he had undertaken of his own head.

What else, then, did you do on that day except pronounce Antonius a
public enemy? After these decrees of yours, will it be possible for
him to look upon you with equanimity, or for you to behold him without
the most excessive indignation? He has been excluded and cut off and
wholly separated from the republic, not merely by his own wickedness,
as it seems to me, but by some especial good fortune of the republic.
And if he should comply with the demands of the ambassadors and return
to Rome, do you suppose that abandoned citizens will ever be in need
of a standard around which to rally? But this is not what I am so much
afraid of. There are other things which I am more apprehensive of
and more alarmed at. He never will comply with the demands of the
ambassadors. I know the man's insanity and arrogance; I know the
desperate counsels of his friends, to which he is wholly given up.
Lucius his brother, as being a man who has fought abroad, leads on
his household. Even suppose him to be in his senses himself, which he
never will be; still he will not be allowed by these men to act as if
he were so. In the mean time, time will be wasted. The preparations
for war will cool. How is it that the war has been protracted as long
as this, if it be not by procrastination and delay?

From the very first moment after the departure, or rather after the
hopeless flight of that bandit, that the senate could have met in
freedom, I have always been demanding that we should be called
together. The first day that we were called together, when the consuls
elect were not present, I laid, in my opinion, amid the greatest
unanimity on your part, the foundations of the republic, later,
indeed, than they should have been laid, for I could not do so before,
but still if no time had been lost after that day, we should have no
war at all now. Every evil is easily crushed at its birth, when it has
become of long standing, it usually gets stronger. But then everybody
was waiting for the first of January, perhaps not very wisely.

XII However, let us say no more of what is past. Are we still to allow
any further delay while the ambassadors are on their road to him? and
while they are coming back again? and the time spent in waiting for
them will make men doubt about the war. And while the fact of the war
is in doubt, how can men possibly be zealous about the levies for the
army?

Wherefore, O conscript fathers, I give my vote that there should be no
mention made of ambassadors I think that the business that is to be
done must be done without any delay, and instantly. I say that it is
necessary that we should decree that there is sedition abroad, that we
should suspend the regular courts of justice, order all men to wear
the garb of war, and enlist men in all quarters, suspending all
exemptions from military service in the city and in all Italy, except
in Gaul. And if this be done, the general opinion and report of your
severity will overwhelm the insanity of that wicked gladiator. He
will feel that he has undertaken a war against the republic, he will
experience the sinews and vigour of a unanimous senate For at present
he is constantly saying that it is a mere struggle between parties.
Between what parties? One party is defeated, the other is the heart
of Caius Caesar's party. Unless, indeed, we believe that the party
of Caesar is attacked by Pansa and Hirtius the consuls, and by Caius
Caesar's son. But this war has been kindled, not by a struggle between
parties, but by the nefarious hopes of the most abandoned citizens, by
whom all our estates and properties have been marked down, and already
distributed according as every one has thought them desirable.

I have read the letter of Antonius which he sent to one of the
septemviri, a thoroughpaced scoundrel, a colleague of his own, "Look
out, and see what you take a fancy to, what you do fancy you shall
certainly have". See to what a man we are sending ambassadors, against
what a man we are delaying to make war, a man who does not even let us
draw lots for our fortunes, but hands us over to each man's caprice in
such a way, that he has not left even himself anything untouched, or
which has not been promised to somebody. With this man, O conscript
fathers, we must wage war,--war, I say, and that instantly. We must
reject the slow proceedings of ambassadors.

Therefore, that we may not have a number of decrees to pass every day,
I give my vote that the whole republic should be committed to the
consuls, and that they should have a charge given them to defend the
republic, and to take care "that the republic suffer no injury." And
I give my vote that those men who are in the army of Antonius be not
visited with blame, if they leave him before the first of February.

If you adopt these proposals of mine, O conscript fathers, you will
in a short time recover the liberty of the Roman people and our own
authority. But if you act with more mildness, still you will pass
those resolutions, but perhaps you will pass them too late. As to
the general welfare of the republic, on which you, O consuls, have
consulted us, I think that I have proposed what is sufficient.

XIII. The next question is about honours. And to this point I perceive
that I must speak next. But I will preserve the same order in paying
respect to brave men, that is usually preserved in asking their
opinions.

Let us, therefore, according to the usages of our ancestors, begin
with Brutus, the consul elect, and, to say nothing of his former
conduct,--which has indeed been most admirable, but still such as has
been praised by the individual judgments of men, rather than by public
authority,--what words can we find adequate to his praise at this very
time? For such great virtue requires no reward except this one of
praise and glory; and even if it were not to receive that, still it
would be content with itself, and would rejoice at being laid up in
the recollection of grateful citizens, as if it were placed in the
full light. The praise then of our deliberate opinion, and of our
testimony in his favour, must be given to Brutus. Therefore, O
conscript fathers, I give my vote that a resolution of the senate be
passed in these words:

"As Decimus Brutus, imperator, consul elect is maintaining the
province of Gaul in obedience to the senate and people of Rome, and as
he has enlisted and collected in so short a time a very numerous army,
being aided by the admirable zeal of the municipal towns and colonies
of the province of Gaul, which has deserved and still does deserve
admirably well of the republic, he has acted rightly and virtuously,
and greatly for the advantage of the republic. And that most excellent
service done by Decimus Brutus to the republic, is and always will be
grateful to the senate and people of Rome. Therefore, the senate and
the Roman people is of opinion that the exertions, and prudence,
and virtue of Decimus Brutus, imperator and consul elect, and the
incredible zeal and unanimity of the province of Gaul, have been a
great assistance to the republic, at a most critical time."

What honour, O conscript fathers, can be too great to be due to such a
mighty service as this of Brutus, and to such important aid as he
has afforded the republic? For if Gaul had been open to Marcus
Antonius--if after having overwhelmed the municipal towns and colonies
unprepared to resist him, he had been able to penetrate into that
further Gaul--what great danger would have hung over the republic!
That most insane of men, that man so headlong and furious in all his
courses, would have been likely, I suppose, to hesitate at waging war
against us, not only with his own army, but with all the savage troops
of barbarism, so that even the wall of the Alps would not have enabled
us to check his frenzy. These thanks then will be deservedly paid
to Decimus Brutus, who, before any authority of yours had been
interposed, acting on his own judgment and responsibility, refused to
receive him as consul, but repelled him from Gaul as an enemy, and
preferred to be besieged himself rather than to allow this city to be
so. Let him therefore have, by your decree, an everlasting testimony
to this most important and glorious action, and let Gaul,[35] which
always is and has been a protection to this empire and to the general
liberty, be deservedly and truly praised for not having surrendered
herself and her power to Antonius, but for having opposed him with
them.

XIV. And, furthermore, I give my vote that the most ample honours be
decreed to Marcus Lepidus, as a reward for his eminent services to the
republic. He has at all times wished the Roman people to be free, and
he gave the greatest proof of his inclination and opinion on that day,
when, while Antonius was placing the diadem on Caesar's head, he turned
his face away, and by his groans and sorrow showed plainly what a
hatred of slavery he had, how desirous he was for the Roman people to
be free, and how he had endured those things which he had endured more
because of the necessity of the times, than because they harmonised
with his sentiments. And who of us can forget with what great
moderation he behaved during that crisis of the city which ensued
after the death of Caesar? These are great merits, but I hasten to
speak of greater still. For, (O ye immortal gods!) what could happen
more to be admired by foreign nations or more to be desired by the
Roman people, than, at a time when there was a most important civil
war, the result of which we were all dreading, that it should be
extinguished by prudence rather than that arms and violence should be
able to put everything to the hazard of a battle? And if Caesar had
been guided by the same principles in that odious and miserable war,
we should have--to say nothing of their father--the two sons of Cnaeus
Pompeius, that most illustrious and virtuous man, safe among us, men
whose piety and filial affection certainly ought not to have been
their ruin. Would that Marcus Lepidus had been able to save them all!
He showed that he would have done so, by his conduct in cases where he
had the power, when he restored Sextus Pompeius to the state, a great
ornament to the republic, and a most illustrious monument of his
clemency. Sad was that picture, melancholy was the destiny then of the
Roman people. For after Pompeius the father was dead, he who was
the light of the Roman people, the son too, who was wholly like his
father, was also slain. But all these calamities appear to me to have
been effaced by the kindness of the immortal gods, Sextus Pompeius
being preserved to the republic.

XV. For which cause, reasonable and important as it is and because
Marcus Lepidus, by his humanity and wisdom, has changed a most
dangerous and extensive civil war into peace and concord, I give my
vote, that a resolution of the senate be drawn up in these words:

"Since the affairs of the republic have repeatedly been well and
prosperously conducted by Marcus Lepidus, imperator, and Pontifex
Maximus, and since the Roman people is fully aware that kingly power
is very displeasing to him; and since by his exertions, and virtue,
and prudence, and singular clemency and humanity, a most bitter civil
war has been extinguished; and Sextus Pompeius Magnus, the son of
Cnaeus, having submitted to the authority of this order and laid down
his arms, and, in accordance with the perfect good-will of the senate
and people of Rome, has been restored to the state by Marcus Lepidus,
imperator, and Pontifex Maximus; the senate and people of Rome, in
return for the important and numerous services of Marcus Lepidus
to the republic, declares that it places great hopes of future
tranquillity and peace and concord, in his virtue, authority, and good
fortune; and the senate and people of Rome will ever remember his
services to the republic; and it is decreed by the vote of this order,
That a gilt equestrian statue be erected to him in the Rostra, or in
whatever other place in the forum he pleases."

And this honour, O conscript fathers, appears to me a very great one,
in the first place, because it is just;--for it is not merely given
on account of our hopes of the future, but it is paid, as it were,
in requital of his ample services already done. Nor are we able to
mention any instance of this honour having been conferred on any one
by the senate by their own free and voluntary judgment before.

XVI. I come now to Caius Caesar, O conscript fathers; if he had not
existed, which of us could have been alive now? That most intemperate
of men, Antonius, was flying from Brundusium to the city, burning with
hatred, with a disposition hostile to all good men, with an army. What
was there to oppose to his audacity and wickedness? We had not as yet
any generals, or any forces. There was no public council, no liberty;
our necks were at the mercy of his nefarious cruelty; we were all
preparing to have recourse to flight, though flight itself had no
escape for us. Who was it--what god was it, who at that time gave to
the Roman people this godlike young man, who, while every means
for completing our destruction seemed open to that most pernicious
citizen, rising up on a sudden, beyond every one's hope, completed
an army fit to oppose to the fury of Marcus Antonius before any one
suspected that he was thinking of any such step? Great honours were
paid to Cnaeus Pompeius when he was a young man, and deservedly; for he
came to the assistance of the republic; but he was of a more vigorous
age, and more calculated to meet the eager requirements of soldiers
seeking a general. He had also been already trained in other kinds
of war. For the cause of Sylla was not agreeable to all men. The
multitude of the proscribed, and the enormous calamities that fell on
so many municipal towns, show this plainly. But Caesar, though many
years younger, armed veterans who were now eager to rest; he has
embraced that cause which was most agreeable to the senate, to the
people, to all Italy,--in short, to gods and men. And Pompeius came as
a reinforcement to the extensive command and victorious army of Lucius
Sylla; Caesar had no one to join himself to. He, of his own accord, was
the author and executor of his plan of levying an army, and arraying
a defence for us. Pompeius found the whole Picene district hostile to
the party of his adversaries; but Caesar has levied an army against
Antonius from men who were Antonius's own friends, but still greater
friends to liberty. It was owing to the influence of Pompeius that
Sylla was enabled to act like a king. It is by the protection afforded
us by Caesar that the tyranny of Antonius has been put down.

Let us then confer on Caesar a regular military command, without which
the military affairs cannot be directed, the army cannot be held
together, war cannot be waged. Let him be made proprietor with all the
privileges which have ever been attached to that appointment. That
honour, although it is a great one for a man of his age, still is
not merely of influence as giving dignity, but it confers powers
calculated to meet the present emergency. Therefore, let us seek for
honours for him which we shall not easily find at the present day.

XVII. But I hope that we and the Roman people shall often have an
opportunity of complimenting and honouring this young man. But at the
present moment I give my vote that we should pass a decree in this
form:

"As Caius Caesar, the son of Caius, Pontiff and Propraetor, has at a
most critical period of the republic exhorted the veteran soldiers to
defend the liberty of the Roman people, and has enlisted them in his
army, and as the Martial legion and the fourth legion, with great zeal
for the republic, and with admirable unanimity, under the guidance and
authority of Caius Caesar, have defended and are defending the republic
and the liberty of the Roman people, and as Caius Caesar, propraetor,
has gone with his army as a reinforcement to the province of Gaul, has
made cavalry, and archers, and elephants, obedient to himself and to
the Roman people, and has, at a most critical time for the republic,
come to the aid of the safety and dignity of the Roman people,--on
these accounts, it seems good to the senate that Caius Caesar, the son
of Caius, pontiff and propraetor, shall be a senator, and shall deliver
his opinions from the bench occupied by men of praetorian rank, and
that, on occasion of his offering himself for any magistracy, he shall
be considered of the same legal standing and qualification as if he
had been quaestor the preceding year."

For what reason can there be, O conscript fathers, why we should
not wish him to arrive at the highest honours at as early an age as
possible? For when, by the laws fixing the age at which men might be
appointed to the different magistracies our ancestors fixed a more
mature age for the consulship, they were influenced by fears of the
precipitation of youth, Caius Caesar, at his first entrance into life,
has shown us that, in the case of his eminent and unparalleled virtue,
we have no need to wait for the progress of age. Therefore our
ancestors, those old men, in the most ancient times, had no laws
regulating the age for the different offices, it was ambition which
caused them to be passed many years afterwards, in order that there
might be among men of the same age different steps for arriving at
honours. And it has often happened that a disposition of great natural
virtue has been lost before it had any opportunity of benefiting the
republic.

But among the ancients, the Rulii, the Decii, the Corvim, and many
others, and in more modern times the elder Africanus and Titus
Flaminius were made consuls very young, and performed such exploits as
greatly to extend the empire of the Roman people, and to embellish its
name. What more? Did not the Macedonian Alexander, having begun to
perform mighty deeds from his earliest youth, die when he was only in
his thirty-third year? And that age is ten years less than that fixed
by our laws for a man to be eligible for the consulship. From which it
may be plainly seen that the progress of virtue is often swifter than
that of age.

XVIII. For as to the fear which those men, who are enemies of Caesar,
pretend to entertain, there is not the slightest reason to apprehend
that he will be unable to restrain and govern himself, or that he will
be so elated by the honours which he receives from us as to use his
power with out moderation. It is only natural, O conscript fathers,
that the man who has learnt to appreciate real glory, and who feels
that he is considered by the senate and by the Roman knights and the
whole Roman people a citizen who is dear to, and a blessing to the
republic, should think nothing whatever deserving of being compared to
this glory. Would that it had happened to Caius Caesar--the father,
I mean--when he was a young man, to be beloved by the senate and by
every virtuous citizen, but, having neglected to aim at that, he
wasted all the power of genius which he had in a most brilliant
degree, in a capricious pursuit of popular favour. Therefore, as he
had not sufficient respect for the senate and the virtuous part of the
citizens, he opened for himself that path for the extension of his
power, which the virtue of a free people was unable to bear.

But the principles of his son are widely different; who is not only
beloved by every one, but in the greatest degree by the most virtuous
men. In him is placed all our hope of liberty, from him already has
our safety been received, for him the highest honours are sought out
and prepared. While therefore we are admiring his singular prudence,
can we at the same time fear his folly? For what can be more foolish
than to prefer useless power, such influence as brings envy in
its train, and a rash and slippery ambition of reigning, to real,
dignified, solid glory? Has he seen this truth as a boy, and when he
has advanced in age will he cease to see it? "But he is an enemy to
some most illustrious and excellent citizens." That circumstance ought
not to cause any fear Caesar has sacrificed all those enmities to the
republic; he had made the republic his judge; he has made her the
directress of all his counsels and actions. For he is come to the
service of the republic in order to strengthen her, not to overturn
her. I am well acquainted with all the feelings of the young man:
there is nothing dearer to him than the republic, nothing which he
considers of more weight than your authority; nothing which he desires
more than the approbation of virtuous men; nothing which he accounts
sweeter than genuine glory.

Wherefore you not only ought not to fear anything from him, but you
ought to expect greater and better things still. Nor ought you to
apprehend with respect to a man who has already gone forward to
release Decimus Brutus from a siege, that the recollection of his
domestic injury will dwell in his bosom, and have more weight with
him than the safety of the city. I will venture even to pledge my own
faith, O conscript fathers, to you, and to the Roman people, and to
the republic, which in truth, if no necessity compelled me to do so,
I would not venture to do, and in doing which on slight grounds, I
should be afraid of giving rise to a dangerous opinion of my rashness
in a most important business; but I do promise, and pledge myself, and
undertake, O conscript fathers, that Caius Caesar will always be such
a citizen as he is this day, and as we ought above all things to wish
and desire that he may turn out.

XIX. And as this is the case, I shall consider that I have said enough
at present about Caesar.

Nor do I think that we ought to pass over Lucius Egnatuleius, a most
gallant and wise and firm citizen, and one thoroughly attached to the
republic, in silence; but that we ought to give him our testimony to
his admirable virtue, because it was he who led the fourth legion to
Caesar, to be a protection to the consuls, and senate, and people of
Rome, and the republic. And for these acts I give my vote:

"That it be made lawful for Lucius Egnatuleius to stand for, and be
elected to, and discharge the duties of any magistracy, three years
before the legitimate time."

And by this motion, O conscript fathers, Lucius Egnatuleius does not
get so much actual advantage as honour. For in a case like this it is
quite sufficient to be honourably mentioned.

But concerning the army of Caius Caesar, I give my vote for the passing
of a decree in this form:

"The senate decrees that the veteran soldiers who have defended and
are defending [lacuna] of Caesar, pontiff [lacuna] and the authority of
this order, should, and their children after them, have an exemption
from military service. And that Caius Pansa and Aulus Hirtius the
consuls, one or both of them, as they think fit, shall inquire what
land there is in those colonies in which the veteran soldiers have
been settled, which is occupied in defiance of the provisions of the
Julian law, in order that that may be divided among these veterans.
That they shall institute a separate inquiry about the Campanian
district, and devise a plan for increasing the advantages enjoyed by
these veteran soldiers; and with respect to the Martial legion, and
to the fourth legion, and to those soldiers of the second and
thirty-fifth legions who have come over to Caius Pansa and Aulus
Hirtius the consuls, and have given in their names, because the
authority of the senate and the liberty of the Roman people is and
always has been most dear to them, the senate decrees that they and
their children shall have exemption from military service, except in
the case of any Gallic and Italian sedition; and decrees further, that
those legions shall have their discharge when this war is terminated;
and that whatever sum of money Caius Caesar, pontiff and propraetor, has
promised to the soldiers of those legions individually, shall be paid
to them. And that Caius Pansa and Aulus Hirtius the consuls, one or
both of them, as it seems good to them, shall make an estimate of the
land which can be distributed without injury to private individuals;
and that land shall be given and assigned to the soldiers of the
Martial legion and of the fourth legion, in the largest shares in
which land has ever been given and assigned to soldiers."

I have now spoken, O consuls, on every point concerning which you have
submitted a motion to us; and if the resolutions which I have proposed
be decreed without delay, and seasonably, you will the more easily
prepare those measures which the present time and emergency demand.
But instant action is necessary. And if we had adopted that earlier,
we should, as I have often said, now have no war at all.




THE SIXTH ORATION OF M. T CICERO AGAINST MARCUS ANTONIUS CALLED ALSO
THE SIXTH PHILIPPIC. ADDRESSED TO THE PEOPLE.

THE ARGUMENT


In respect of the honours proposed by Cicero in the last speech the
senate agreed with him, voting to Octavius honours beyond any that
Cicero had proposed. But they were much divided about the question
of sending an embassy to Antonius, and the consuls, seeing that a
majority agreed with Cicero, adjourned the debate till the next day.
The discussion lasted three days, and the senate would at last have
adopted all Cicero's measures if one of the tribunes, Salvius, had not
put his veto on them. So that at last the embassy was ordered to
be sent, and Servius Sulpicius, Lucius Piso, and Lucius Philippus,
appointed as the ambassadors, but they were charged merely to
order Antonius to abandon the siege of Mutina, and to desist from
hostilities against the province of Gaul, and further, to proceed to
Decimus Brutus in Mutina, and to give him and his army the thanks of
the senate and people.

The length of the debates roused the curiosity of the people, who,
being assembled in the forum to learn the result, called on Cicero to
come forth and give them an account of what had been done--on which he
went to the rostra, accompanied by Publius Appuleius the tribune, and
related to them all that had passed in the following speech:

I. I imagine that you have heard, O Romans, what has been done in the
senate, and what has been the opinion delivered by each individual.
For the matter which has been in discussion ever since the first of
January, has been just brought to a conclusion, with less severity
indeed than it ought to have been, but still in a manner not
altogether unbecoming. The war has been subjected to a delay, but
the cause has not been removed. Wherefore, as to the question which
Publius Appuleius--a man united to me by many kind offices and by the
closest intimacy, and firmly attached to your interests--has asked me,
I will answer in such a manner that you may be acquainted with the
transactions at which you were not present.

The cause which prompted our most fearless and excellent consuls to
submit a motion on the first of January, concerning the general state
of the republic, arose from the decree which the senate passed by my
advice on the nineteenth of December. On that day, O Romans, were
the foundations of the republic first laid. For then, after a long
interval, the senate was free in such a manner that you too might
become free. On which day, indeed,--even if it had been to bring to me
the end of my life,--I received a sufficient reward for my exertions,
when you all with one heart and one voice cried out together, that
the republic had been a second time saved by me. Stimulated by so
important and so splendid a decision of yours in my favour, I came
into the senate on the first of January, with the feeling that I was
bound to show my recollection of the character which you had imposed
upon me, and which I had to sustain.

Therefore, when I saw that a nefarious war was waged against the
republic, I thought that no delay ought to be interposed to our
pursuit of Marcus Antonius; and I gave my vote that we ought to pursue
with war that most audacious man, who, having committed many atrocious
crimes before, was at this moment attacking a general of the Roman
people, and besieging your most faithful and gallant colony; and that
a state of civil war ought to be proclaimed; and I said further, that
my opinion was that a suspension of the ordinary forms of justice
should be declared, and that the garb of war should be assumed by
the citizens, in order that all men might apply themselves with more
activity and energy to avenging the injuries of the republic, if they
saw that all the emblems of a regular war had been adopted by the
senate. Therefore, this opinion of mine, O Romans, prevailed so much
for three days, that although no division was come to, still all,
except a very few, appeared inclined to agree with me. But to-day--I
know not owing to what circumstance--the senate was more indulgent.
For the majority decided on our making experiment, by means of
ambassadors, how much influence the authority of the senate and your
unanimity will have upon Antonius.

II. I am well aware, O Romans, that this decision is disapproved of by
you; and reasonably too. For to whom are we sending ambassadors? Is
it not to him who, after having dissipated and squandered the public
money, and imposed laws on the Roman people by violence and in
violation of the auspices,--after having put the assembly of the
people to flight and besieged the senate, sent for the legions from
Brundusium to oppress the republic? who, when deserted by them, has
invaded Gaul with a troop of banditti? who is attacking Brutus? who is
besieging Mutina? How can you offer conditions to, or expect equity
from, or send an embassy to, or, in short, have anything in common
with, this gladiator? although, O Romans, it is not an embassy, but a
denunciation of war if he does not obey. For the decree has been drawn
up as if ambassadors were being sent to Hannibal. For men are sent to
order him not to attack the consul elect, not to besiege Mutina, not
to lay waste the province, not to enlist troops, but to submit himself
to the power of the senate and people of Rome. No doubt he is a
likely man to obey this injunction, and to submit to the power of the
conscript fathers and to yours, who has never even had any mastery
over himself. For what has he ever done that showed any discretion,
being always led away wherever his lust, or his levity, or his frenzy,
or his drunkenness has hurried him? He has always been under the
dominion of two very dissimilar classes of men, pimps and robbers; he
is so fond of domestic adulteries and forensic murders, that he would
rather obey a most covetous woman than the senate and people of Rome.

III. Therefore, I will do now before you what I have just done in the
senate. I call you to witness, I give notice, I predict beforehand,
that Marcus Antonius will do nothing whatever of those things which
the ambassadors are commissioned to command him to do; but that he
will lay waste the lands, and besiege Mutina and enlist soldiers,
wherever he can. For he is a man who has at all times despised the
judgment and authority of the senate, and your inclinations and power.
Will he do what it has been just now decreed that he shall do,--lead
his army back across the Rubicon, which is the frontier of Gaul, and
yet at the same time not come nearer Rome than two hundred miles? will
he obey this notice? will he allow himself to be confined by the river
Rubicon and by the limit of two hundred miles? Antonius is not that
sort of man. For if he had been, he would never have allowed matters
to come to such a pass, as for the senate to give him notice, as
it did to Hannibal at the beginning of the Punic war not to attack
Saguntum. But what ignominy it is to be called away from Mutina, and
at the same time to be forbidden to approach the city as if he were
some fatal conflagration! what an opinion is this for the senate
to have of a man! What? As to the commission which is given to the
ambassadors to visit Decimus Brutus and his soldiers, and to inform
them that their excellent zeal in behalf of, and services done to the
republic, are acceptable to the senate and people of Rome, and that
that conduct shall tend to their great glory and to their great
honour; do you think that Antonius will permit the ambassadors to
enter Mutina? and to depart from thence in safety? He never will allow
it, believe me. I know the violence of the man, I know his impudence,
I know his audacity.

Nor, indeed, ought we to think of him as of a human being, but as of a
most ill-omened beast. And as this is the case, the decree which
the senate has passed is not wholly improper. The embassy has some
severity in it; I only wish it had no delay. For as in the conduct of
almost every affair slowness and procrastination are hateful, so above
all things does this war require promptness of action. We must assist
Decimus Brutus; we must collect all our forces from all quarters;
we cannot lose a single hour in effecting the deliverance of such
a citizen without wickedness. Was it not in his power, if he had
considered Antonius a consul, and Gaul the province of Antonius, to
have given over the legions and the province to Antonius? and to
return home himself? and to celebrate a triumph? and to be the first
man in this body to deliver his opinion, until he entered on his
magistracy? What was the difficulty of doing that? But as he
remembered that he was Brutus, and that he was born for your freedom,
not for his own tranquillity, what else did he do but--as I may almost
say--put his own body in the way to prevent Antonius from entering
Gaul? Ought we then to send ambassadors to this man, or legions?
However, we will say nothing of what is past. Let the ambassadors
hasten, as I see that they are about to do. Do you prepare your
robes of war. For it has been decreed, that, if he does not obey
the authority of the senate, we are all to betake our selves to our
military dress. And we shall have to do so. He will never obey. And we
shall lament that we have lost so many days, when we might have been
doing something.

IV I have no fear, O Romans, that when Antonius hears that I have
asserted, both in the senate and in the assembly of the people, that
he never will submit himself to the power of the senate, he will, for
the sake of disproving my words, and making me to appeal to have had
no foresight, alter his behaviour and obey the senate. He will never
do so. He will not grudge me this part of my reputation, he will
prefer letting me be thought wise by you to being thought modest
himself. Need I say more? Even if he were willing to do so himself,
do you think that his brother Lucius would permit him? It has been
reported that lately at Tibur, when Marcus Antonius appeared to him to
be wavering, he, Lucius, threatened his brother with death. And do
we suppose that the orders of the senate, and the words of the
ambassadors, will be listened to by this Asiatic gladiator? It will be
impossible for him to be separated from a brother, especially from one
of so much authority. For he is another Africanus among them. He is
considered of more influence than Lucius Trebellius, of more than
Titus Plancus [lacuna] a noble young man. As for Plancus, who, having
been condemned by the unanimous vote of every one, amid the
overpowering applause of you yourselves, somehow or other got mixed up
in this crowd, and returned with a countenance so sorrowful, that he
appeared to have been dragged back rather than to have returned, he
despises him to such degree, as if he were interdicted from fire and
water. At times he says that that man who set the senate house on fire
has no right to a place in the senate house. For at this moment he is
exceedingly in love with Trebellius. He hated him some time ago, when
he was opposing an abolition of debts, but now he delights in him,
ever since he has seen that Trebellius himself cannot continue in
safety without an abolition of debts. For I think that you have heard,
O Romans, what indeed you may possibly have seen, that the sureties
and creditors of Lucius Trebellius meet every day. Oh confidence! for
I imagine that Trebellius has taken this surname, what can be greater
confidence than defrauding one's creditors? than flying from one's
house? than, because of one's debts, being forced to go to war? What
has become of the applauses which he received on the occasion of
Caesar's triumph, and often at the games? Where is the aedileship that
was conferred on him by the zealous efforts of all good men? who is
there who does not now think that he acted virtuously by accident?

       *       *       *       *       *

V However, I return to your love and especial delight, Lucius
Antonius, who has admitted you all to swear allegiance to him. Do
you deny it? is there any one of you who does not belong to a tribe?
Certainly not. But thirty five tribes have adopted him for their
patron. Do you again cry out against my statement? Look at that gilt
statue of him on the left what is the inscription upon it? "The thirty
five tribes to their patron." Is then Lucius Antonius the patron of
the Roman people? Plague take him! For I fully assent to your outcry.
I won't speak of this bandit whom no one would choose to have for
a client, but was there ever a man possessed of such influence, or
illustrious for mighty deeds, as to dare to call himself the patron of
the whole Roman people, the conqueror and master of all nations? We
see in the forum a statue of Lucius Antonius, just as we see one of
Quintus Tremulus, who conquered the Hernici, before the temple of
Castor. Oh the incredible impudence of the man! Has he assumed all
this credit to himself, because as a mumillo at Mylasa he slew the
Thracian, his friend? How should we be able to endure him, if he had
fought in this forum before the eyes of you all? But, however, this
is but one statue. He has another erected by the Roman knights who
received horses from the state,[36] and they too inscribe on that,
"To their patron". Who was ever before adopted by that order as its
patron? If it ever adopted any one as such, it ought to have adopted
me. What censor was ever so honoured? what imperator? "But he
distributed land among them". Shame on their sordid natures for
accepting it! shame on his dishonesty for giving it!

Moreover, the military tribunes who were in the army of Caesar have
erected him a statue. What order is that? There have been plenty of
tribunes in our numerous legions in so many years. Among them he has
distributed the lands of Semurium. The Campus Martius was all that was
left, if he had not first fled with his brother. But this allotment
of lands was put an end to a little while ago, O Romans, by the
declaration of his opinion by Lucius Caesar a most illustrious man and
a most admirable senator. For we all agreed with him and annulled the
acts of the septemvirs. So all the kindness of Nucula[37] goes for
nothing, and the patron Antonius is at a discount. For those who had
taken possession will depart with more equanimity. They had not been
at any expense, they had not yet furnished or stocked their domains,
partly because they did not feel sure of their title, and partly
because they had no money.

But as for that splendid statue, concerning which, if the times were
better, I could not speak without laughing, "To Lucius Antonius,
patron of the middle of Janus"[38] Is it so? Is the middle of Janus a
client of Lucius Antonius? Who ever was found in that Janus who would
have lent Lucius Antonius a thousand sesterces?

VI. However, we have been spending too much time in trifles. Let us
return to our subject and to the war. Although it was not wholly
foreign to the subject for some characters to be thoroughly
appreciated by you, in order that you might in silence think over who
they were against whom you were to wage war.

But I exhort you, O Romans, though perhaps other measures might have
been wiser, still now to wait with calmness for the return of the
ambassadors. Promptness of action has been taken from our side, but
still some good has accrued to it. For when the ambassadors have
reported what they certainly will report, that Antonius will not
submit to you nor to the senate, who then will be so worthless a
citizen as to think him deserving of being accounted a citizen? For at
present there are men, few indeed, but still more than there ought to
be, or than the republic deserves that there should be, who speak in
this way,--"Shall we not even wait for the return of the ambassadors?"
Certainly the republic itself will force them to abandon that
expression and that pretence of clemency. On which account, to confess
the truth to you, O Romans, I have less striven to day, and laboured
all the less to day, to induce the senate to agree with me in
decreeing the existence of a seditious war, and ordering the apparel
of war to be assumed. I preferred having my sentiments applauded by
every one in twenty days' time, to having it blamed to day by a few.
Wherefore, O Romans, wait now for the return of the ambassadors, and
devour your annoyance for a few days. And when they do return, if
they bring back peace, believe me that I have been desirous that they
should, if they bring back war, then allow me the praise of foresight.
Ought I not to be provident for the welfare of my fellow-citizens?
Ought I not day and night to think of your freedom and of the safety
of the republic? For what do I not owe to you, O Romans, since you
have preferred for all the honours of the state a man who is his own
father to the most nobly born men in the republic? Am I ungrateful?
Who is less so? I, who, after I had obtained those honours, have
constantly laboured in the forum with the same exertions as I used
while striving for them. Am I inexperienced in state affairs? Who has
had more practice than I, who have now for twenty years been waging
war against impious citizens?

VII Wherefore, O Romans, with all the prudence of which I am master,
and with almost more exertion than I am capable of, will I put forth
my vigilance and watchfulness in your behalf In truth, what citizen
is there, especially in this rank in which you have placed me, so
forgetful of your kindness, so unmindful of his country, so hostile to
his own dignity, as not to be roused and stimulated by your wonderful
unanimity? I, as consul, have held many assemblies of the people,
I have been present at many others, I have never once seen one so
numerous as this one of yours now is. You have all one feeling, you
have all one desire, that of averting the attempts of Marcus Antonius
from the republic, of extinguishing his frenzy and crushing his
audacity. All orders have the same wish. The municipal towns, the
colonies, and all Italy are labouring for the same end. Therefore you
have made the senate, which was already pretty firm of its own accord,
firmer still by your authority. The time has come, O Romans, later
altogether than for the honour of the Roman people it should have
been, but still so that the things are now so ripe that they do not
admit of a moment's delay. There has been a sort of fatality, if I
may say so, which we have borne as it was necessary to bear it. But
hereafter if any disaster happens to us it will be of our own seeking.
It is impossible for the Roman people to be slaves, that people whom
the immortal gods have ordained should rule over all nations. Matters
are now come to a crisis. We are fighting for our freedom. Either you
must conquer, O Romans, which indeed you will do if you continue to
act with such piety and such unanimity, or you must do anything rather
than become slaves. Other nations can endure slavery. Liberty is the
inalienable possession of the Roman people.




THE SEVENTH ORATION OF M. T. CICERO AGAINST MARCUS ANTONIUS CALLED
ALSO THE SEVENTH PHILIPPIC.


THE ARGUMENT


After the senate had decided on sending them, the ambassadors
immediately set out, though Servius Sulpicius was in a very bad state
of health. In the meantime the partisans of Antonius in the city, with
Calenus at their head were endeavouring to gain over the rest of the
citizens, by representing him as eager for an accommodation and they
kept up a correspondence with him, and published such of his letters
as they thought favourable for their views. Matters being in this
state, Cicero, at an ordinary meeting of the senate, made the
following speech to counteract the machinations of this party, and to
warn the citizens generally of the danger of being deluded by them.

I. We are consulted to-day about matters of small importance, but
still perhaps necessary, O conscript fathers. The consul submits a
motion to us about the Appian road, and about the coinage, the tribune
of the people one about the Luperci. And although it seems easy to
settle such matters as those, still my mind cannot fix itself on such
subjects, being anxious about more important matters. For our affairs,
O conscript fathers, are come to a crisis, and are in a state of
almost extreme danger. It is not without reason that I have always
feared and never approved of that sending of ambassadors. And what
their return is to bring us I know not, but who is there who does not
see with how much languor the expectation of it infects our minds? For
those men put no restraint on themselves who grieve that the senate
has revived so as to entertain hopes of its former authority, and
that the Roman people is united to this our order, that all Italy is
animated by one common feeling, that armies are prepared, and generals
ready for the armies, even already they are inventing replies for
Antonius, and defending them. Some pretend that his demand is that all
the armies be disbanded. I suppose then we sent ambassadors to him,
not that he should submit and obey this our body, but that he should
offer us conditions, impose laws upon us, order us to open Italy to
foreign nations, especially while we were to leave him in safety from
whom there is more danger to be feared than from any nation whatever.
Others say that he is willing to give up the nearer Gaul to us, and
that he will be satisfied with the further Gaul. Very kind of him! in
order that from thence he may endeavour to bring not merely legions,
but even nations against this city. Others say that he makes no
demands now but such as are quite moderate. Macedonia he calls
absolutely his own, since it was from thence that his brother Caius
was recalled. But what province is there in which that firebrand may
not kindle a conflagration? Therefore those same men, like provident
citizens and diligent senators, say that I have sounded the charge,
and they undertake the advocacy of peace. Is not this the way in
which they argue? "Antonius ought not to have been irritated, he is
a reckless and a bold man, there are many bad men besides him." (No
doubt, and they may begin and count themselves first). And they warn
us to be on our guard against them. Which conduct then is it which
shows the more prudent caution chastising wicked citizens when one is
able to do so, or fearing them?

II. And these men speak in this way, who on account of their trifling
disposition used to be considered friends of the people. From which
it may be understood that they in their hearts have at all times been
disinclined to a good constitution of the state, and they were not
friends of the people from inclination. For how comes it to pass that
those men who were anxious to gratify the people in evil things, now,
on an occasion which above all others concerns the people's interests,
because the same thing would be also salutary for the republic, now
prefer being wicked to being friends of the people? This noble cause
of which I am the advocate has made me popular, a man who (as you
know) have always opposed the rashness of the people. And those men
are called, or rather they call themselves, consulars; though no man
is worthy of that name except those who can support so high an honour.
Will you favour an enemy? Will you let him send you letters about his
hopes of success? Will you be glad to produce them? to read them? Will
you even give them to wicked citizens to take copies of? Will you thus
raise their courage? Will you thus damp the hopes and valour of the
good? And then will you think yourself a consular, or a senator, or
even a citizen? Caius Pansa, a most fearless and virtuous consul, will
take what I say in good part. For I will speak with a disposition
most friendly to him; but I should not consider him himself a consul,
though a man with whom I am most intimate, unless he was such a consul
as to devote all his vigilance, and cares, and thoughts to the safety
of the republic.

Although long acquaintance, and habit, and a fellowship and
resemblance in the most honourable pursuits, has bound us together
from his first entrance into life; and his incredible diligence,
proved at the time of the most formidable dangers of the civil war,
showed that he was a favourer not only of my safety, but also of my
dignity; still, as I said before, if he were not such a consul as I
have described, I should venture to deny that he was a consul at all.
But now I call him not only a consul, but the most excellent and
virtuous consul within my recollection; not but that there have been
others of equal virtue and equal inclination, but still they have not
had an equal opportunity of displaying that virtue and inclination.
But the opportunity of a time of most formidable change has been
afforded to his magnanimity, and dignity, and wisdom. And that is the
time when the consulship is displayed to the greatest advantage, when
it governs the republic during a time which, if not desirable, is at
all events critical and momentous. And a more critical time than the
present, O conscript fathers, never was.

III. Therefore I, who have been at all times an adviser of peace,
and who, though all good men always considered peace, and especially
internal peace, desirable, have desired it more than all of them;--for
the whole of the career of my industry has been passed in the forum
and in the senate-house, and in warding off dangers from my friends;
it is by this course that I have arrived at the highest honours, at
moderate wealth, and at any dignity which we may be thought to have: I
therefore, a nursling of peace, as I may call myself, I who, whatever
I am, (for I arrogate nothing to myself,) should undoubtedly not have
been such without internal peace: I am speaking in peril: I shudder to
think how you will receive it, O conscript fathers: but still, out of
regard for my unceasing desire to support and increase your dignity, I
beg and entreat you, O conscript fathers, although it may be a bitter
thing to hear, or an incredible thing that it should be said by Marcus
Cicero, still to receive at first, without offence, what I am going
to say, and not to reject it before I have fully explained what it
is;--I, who, I will say so over and over again, have always been a
panegyrist, have always been an adviser of peace, do not wish to have
peace with Marcus Antonius. I approach the rest of my speech with
great hope, O conscript fathers, since I have now passed by that
perilous point amid your silence.

Why then do I not wish for peace? Because it would be shameful;
because it would be dangerous; because it cannot possibly be real. And
while I explain these three points to you, I beg of you, O conscript
fathers, to listen to my words with the same kindness which you
usually show to me.

What is more shameful than inconsistency, fickleness, and levity, both
to individuals, and also to the entire senate? Moreover, what can be
more inconsistent than on a sudden to be willing to be united in peace
with a man whom you have lately adjudged to be an enemy, not by words,
but by actions and by many formal decrees? Unless, indeed, when you
were decreeing honours to Caius Caesar, well-deserved indeed by and
fairly due to him, but still unprecedented and never to be forgotten,
for one single reason,--because he had levied an army against Marcus
Antonius,--you were not judging Marcus Antonius to be an enemy; and
unless Antonius was not pronounced an enemy by you, when the veteran
soldiers were praised by your authority, for having followed Caesar;
and unless you did not declare Antonius an enemy when you promised
exemptions and money and lands to those brave legions, because they
had deserted him who was consul while he was an enemy.

IV. What? when you distinguished with the highest praises Brutus, a
man born under some omen, as it were, of his race and name, for the
deliverance of the republic, and his army, which was waging war
against Antonius on behalf of the liberty of the Roman people, and the
most loyal and admirable province of Gaul, did you not then pronounce
Antonius an enemy? What? when you decreed that the consuls, one or
both of them, should go to the war, what war was there if Antonius was
not an enemy? Why then was it that most gallant man, my own colleague
and intimate friend, Aulus Hirtius the consul, has set out? And in
what delicate health he is; how wasted away! But the weak state of his
body could not repress the vigour of his mind. He thought it fair, I
suppose, to expose to danger in defence of the Roman people that life
which had been preserved to him by their prayers. What? when you
ordered levies of troops to be made throughout all Italy, when you
suspended all exemptions from service, was he not by those steps
declared to be an enemy? You see manufactories of arms in the city;
soldiers, sword in hand, are following the consul; they are in
appearance a guard to the consul, but in fact and reality to us; all
men are giving in their names, not only without any shirking, but
with the greatest eagerness; they are acting in obedience to your
authority. Has not Antonius been declared an enemy by such acts?

"Oh, but we have sent ambassadors to him." Alas, wretched that I am!
why am I compelled to find fault with the senate whom I have always
praised? Why? Do you think, O conscript fathers, that you have induced
the Roman people to approve of the sending ambassadors? Do you not
perceive, do you not hear, that the adoption of my opinion is demanded
by them? that opinion which you, in a full house, agreed to the day
before, though the day after you allowed yourselves to be brought down
to a groundless hope of peace. Moreover, how shameful it is for the
legions to send out ambassadors to the senate, and the senate to
Antonius! Although that is not an embassy; it is a denunciation that
destruction is prepared for him if he do not submit to this order.
What is the difference? At all events, men's opinions are unfavourable
to the measure; for all men see that ambassadors have been sent, but
it is not all who are acquainted with the terms of your decree.

V. You must, therefore, preserve your consistency, your wisdom, your
firmness, your perseverance. You must go back to the old-fashioned
severity, if at least the authority of the senate is anxious to
establish its credit, its honour, its renown, and its dignity, things
which this order has been too long deprived of. But there was some
time ago some excuse for it, as being oppressed; a miserable excuse
indeed, but still a fair one; now there is none. We appeared to have
been delivered from kingly tyranny; and afterwards we were oppressed
much more severely by domestic enemies. We did indeed turn their arms
aside; we must now wrest them from their hands. And if we cannot do
so, (I will say what it becomes one who is both a senator and a Roman
to say,) let us die. For how just will be the shame, how great will be
the disgrace, how great the infamy to the republic, if Marcus Antonius
can deliver his opinion in this assembly from the consular bench. For,
to say nothing of the countless acts of wickedness committed by him
while consul in the city, during which time he has squandered a vast
amount of public money, restored exiles without any law, sold our
revenues to all sorts of people, removed provinces from the empire of
the Roman people, given men kingdoms for bribes, imposed laws on the
city by violence, besieged the senate, and, at other times, excluded
it from the senate-house by force of arms;--to say nothing, I say, of
all this, do you not consider this, that he who has attacked Mutina, a
most powerful colony of the Roman people--who has besieged a general
of the Roman people, who is consul elect--who has laid waste the
lands,--do you not consider, I say, how shameful and iniquitous a
thing it would be for that man to be received into this order, by
which he has been so repeatedly pronounced an enemy for these very
reasons?

I have said enough of the shamefulness of such a proceeding; I will
now speak next, as I proposed, of the danger of it; which, although it
is not so important to avoid as shame, still offends the minds of the
greater part of mankind even more.

VI. Will it then be possible for you to rely on the certainty of any
peace, when you see Antonius, or rather the Antonii, in the city?
Unless, indeed, you despise Lucius: I do not despise even Caius. But,
as I think, Lucius will be the dominant spirit,--for he is the patron
of the five-and-thirty tribes, whose votes he took away by his law, by
which he divided the magistracies in conjunction with Caius Caesar.
He is the patron of the centuries of the Roman knights, which also he
thought fit to deprive of the suffrages: he is the patron of the men
who have been military tribunes; he is the patron of the middle of
Janus. O ye gods! who will be able to support this man's power?
especially when he has brought all his dependants into the lands. Who
ever was the patron of all the tribes? and of the Roman knights? and
of the military tribunes? Do you think that the power of even the
Gracchi was greater than that of this gladiator will be? whom I have
called gladiator, not in the sense in which sometimes Marcus Antonius
too is called gladiator, but as men call him who are speaking plain
Latin. He has fought in Asia as a mirmillo. After having equipped his
own companion and intimate friend in the armour of a Thracian, he slew
the miserable man as he was flying; but he himself received a palpable
wound, as the scar proves.

What will the man who murdered his friend in this way, when he has an
opportunity, do to an enemy? and if he did such a thing as this for
the fun of the thing, what do you think he will do when tempted by the
hope of plunder? Will he not again meet wicked men in the decuries?
will he not again tamper with those men who have received lands? will
he not again seek those who have been banished? will he not, in short,
be Marcus Antonius; to whom, on the occasion of every commotion, there
will be a rush of all profligate citizens? Even if there be no one
else except those who are with him now, and these who in this body
now openly speak in his favour, will they be too small in number?
especially when all the protection which we might have had from good
men is lost, and when those men are prepared to obey his nod? But I
am afraid, if at this time we fail to adopt wise counsels, that that
party will in a short time appear too numerous for us. Nor have I any
dislike to peace; only I do dread war disguised under the name of
peace. Wherefore, if we wish to enjoy peace we must first wage war. If
we shrink from war, peace we shall never have.

VII. But it becomes your prudence, O conscript fathers, to provide as
far forward as possible for posterity. That is the object for which we
were placed in this garrison, and as it were on this watch-tower; that
by our vigilance and foresight we might keep the Roman people free
from fear. It would be a shameful thing, especially in so clear a case
as this, for it to be notorious that wisdom was wanting to the chief
council of the whole world. We have such consuls, there is such
eagerness on the part of the Roman people, we have such an unanimous
feeling of all Italy in our favour, such generals, and such armies,
that the republic cannot possibly suffer any disaster without the
senate being in fault. I, for my part, will not be wanting. I will
warn you, I will forewarn you, I will give you notice, I will call
gods and men to witness what I do really believe. Nor will I display
my good faith alone, which perhaps may seem to be enough, but which in
a chief citizen is not enough; I will exert all my care, and prudence,
and vigilance.

I have spoken about the danger. I will now proceed to prove to you
that it is not possible for peace to be firmly cemented; for of the
propositions which I promised to establish this is the last.

VIII. What peace can there be between Marcus Antonius and (in the
first place) the senate? with what face will he be able to look upon
you, and with what eyes will you, in turn, look upon him? Which of you
does not hate him? which of you does not he hate? Come, are you the
only people who hate him; and whom he hates? What? what do you think
of those men who are besieging Mutina, who are levying troops in Gaul,
who are threatening your fortunes? will they ever be friends to you,
or you to them? Will he embrace the Roman knights? For, suppose their
inclinations respecting, and their opinions of Antonius were very much
concealed, when they stood in crowds on the steps of the temple
of Concord, when they stimulated you to endeavour to recover your
liberty, when they demanded arms, the robe of war, and war, and who,
with the Roman people, invited me to meet in the assembly of the
people, will these men ever become friends to Antonius? will Antonius
ever maintain peace with them? For why should I speak of the whole
Roman people? which, in a full and crowded forum, twice, with one
heart and one voice, summoned me into the assembly, and plainly showed
their excessive eagerness for the recovery of their liberty. So,
desirable as it was before to have the Roman people for our comrade,
we now have it for our leader.

What hope then is there that there ever can be peace between the Roman
people and the men who are besieging Mutina and attacking a general
and army of the Roman people? Will there be peace with the municipal
towns, whose great zeal is shown by the decrees which they pass, by
the soldiers whom they furnish, by the sums which they promise, so
that in each town there is such a spirit as leaves no one room to wish
for a senate of the Roman people? The men of Firmium deserve to be
praised by a resolution of our order, who set the first example of
promising money; we ought to return a complimentary answer to the
Marrucini, who have passed a vote that all who evade military service
are to be branded with infamy. These measures are adopted all over
Italy. There is great peace between Antonius and these men, and
between them and him! What greater discord can there possibly be? And
in discord civil peace cannot by any possibility exist. To say nothing
of the mob, look at Lucius Nasidius, a Roman knight, a man of the very
highest accomplishments and honour, a citizen always eminent, whose
watchfulness and exertions for the protection of my life I felt in my
consulship; who not only exhorted his neighbours to become soldiers,
but also assisted them from his own resources; will it be possible
ever to reconcile Antonius to such a man as this, a man whom we ought
to praise by a formal resolution of the senate? What? will it be
possible to reconcile him to Caius Caesar, who prevented him from
entering the city, or to Decimus Brutus, who has refused him entrance
into Gaul? Moreover, will he reconcile himself to, or look mercifully
on the province of Gaul, by which he has been excluded and rejected?
You will see everything, O conscript fathers, if you do not take care,
full of hatred and full of discord, from which civil wars arise. Do
not then desire that which is impossible: and beware, I entreat you by
the immortal gods, O conscript fathers, that out of hope of present
peace you do not lose perpetual peace.

What now is the object of this oration? For we do not yet know what
the ambassadors have done. But still we ought to be awake, erect,
prepared, armed in our minds, so as not to be deceived by any civil
or supplicatory language, or by any pretence of justice. He must have
complied with all the prohibitions and all the commands which we have
sent him, before he can demand anything. He must have desisted from
attacking Brutus and his army, and from plundering the cities and
lands of the province of Gaul; he must have permitted the ambassadors
to go to Brutus, and led his army back on this side of the Rubicon,
and yet not come within two hundred miles of this city. He must have
submitted himself to the power of the senate and of the Roman people.
If he does this, then we shall have an opportunity of deliberating
without any decision being forced upon us either way. If he does not
obey the senate, then it will not be the senate that declares war
against him, but he who will have declared it against the senate.

But I warn you, O conscript fathers, the liberty of the Roman people,
which is entrusted to you, is at stake. The life and fortune of
every virtuous man is at stake, against which Antonius has long been
directing his insatiable covetousness, united to his savage cruelty.
Your authority is at stake, which you will wholly lose if you do not
maintain it now. Beware how you let that foul and deadly beast escape
now that you have got him confined and chained. You too, Pansa, I
warn, (although you do not need counsel, for you have plenty of wisdom
yourself: but still, even the most skilful pilots receive often
warnings from the passengers in terrible storms,) not to allow this
vast and noble preparation which you have made to fall away to
nothing. You have such an opportunity as no one ever had. It is in
your power so to avail yourself of this wise firmness of the senate,
of this zeal of the equestrian order, of this ardour of the Roman
people, as to release the Roman people from fear and danger for ever.
As to the matters to which your motion before the senate refers, I
agree with Publius Servilius.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE EIGHTH ORATION OF M T CICERO AGAINST MARCUS ANTONIUS CALLED ALSO
THE EIGHTH PHILIPPIC

       *       *       *       *       *

THE ARGUMENT


After the embassy to Antonius had left Rome the consuls zealously
exerted themselves in preparing for war, in case he should reject the
demands of the ambassador. Hirtius, though in bad health, left Rome
first, at the head of an army containing, among others, the Martial
and the fourth legions, intending to join Octavius and hoping with his
assistance to prevent his gaining any advantage over Brutus till Pansa
could join them. And he gained some advantages over Antonius at once.

About the beginning of February the two remaining ambassadors (for
Servius Sulpicius had died just as they arrived at Antonius's camp)
returned, bringing word that Antonius would comply with none of the
commands of the senate, nor allow them to proceed to Decimus Brutus,
and bringing also (contrary to their duty) demands from him, of which
the principal were, that his troops were to be rewarded, all the acts
of himself and Dolabella to be ratified as also all that he had done
respecting Caesar's papers, that no account was to be required of him
of the money; in the temple of Ops and that he should have the further
Gaul with an army of six legions.

Pansa summoned the senate to receive the report of the ambassador,
when Cicero made a severe speech, proposing very vigorous measures
against Antonius, which, however, Galenus and his party were still
numerous enough to mitigate very greatly; and even Pansa voted against
him and in favour of the milder measures though they could not prevail
against Cicero to have a second embassy sent to Antonius, and though
Cicero carried his point of ordering the citizens to assume the
_sagum_, or robe of war which he also (waving his privilege as a
man of consular rank) wore himself. The next day the senate met again,
to draw upon form the decrees on which they had resolved the
day before, when Cicero addressed the following speech to them,
expostulating with them for their wavering the day before.

I. Matters were carried on yesterday, O Caius Pansa, in a more
irregular manner than the beginning of your consulship required. You
did not appear to me to make sufficient resistance to those men, to
whom you are not in the habit of yielding. For while the virtue of the
senate was such as it usually is, and while all men saw that there was
war in reality, and some thought that the name ought to be kept back,
on the division, your inclination inclined to lenity. The course which
we proposed therefore was defeated, at your instigation, on account
of the harshness of the word war. That urged by Lucius Caesar, a
most honourable man, prevailed, which, taking away that one harsh
expression, was gentler in its language than in its real intention.
Although he, indeed, before he delivered his opinion at all, pleaded
his relationship to Antonius in excuse for it. He had done the same in
my consulship, in respect of his sister's husband, as he did now in
respect of his sister's son, so that he was moved by the grief of his
sister, and at the same time he wished to provide for the safety of
the republic.

And yet Caesar himself in some degree recommended you, O conscript
fathers, not to agree with him, when he said that he should have
expressed quite different sentiments, worthy both of himself and of
the republic, if he had not been hampered by his relationship to
Antonius. He, then, is his uncle, are you his uncles too, you who
voted with him?

But on what did the dispute turn? Some men, in delivering their
opinion, did not choose to insert the word "war". They preferred
calling it "tumult," being ignorant not only of the state of affairs,
but also of the meaning of words. For there can be a "war" without a
"tumult," but there cannot be a "tumult" without a "war." For what is
a "tumult," but such a violent disturbance that an unusual alarm is
engendered by it? from which indeed the name "tumult"[39] is derived.
Therefore, our ancestors spoke of the Italian "tumult," which was a
domestic one, of the Gallic "tumult," which was on the frontier of
Italy, but they never spoke of any other. And that a "tumult" is a
more serious thing than a "war" may be seen from this, that during a
war exemptions from military service are valid, but in a tumult they
are not. So that it is the fact, as I have said, that war can exist
without a tumult, but a tumult cannot exist without a war. In truth,
as there is no medium between war and peace, it is quite plain that a
tumult, if it be not a sort of war, must be a sort of peace; and what
more absurd can be said or imagined? However, we have said too much
about a word; let us rather look to the facts, O conscript fathers,
the appreciation of which, I know, is at times injured by too much
attention being paid to words.

II. We are unwilling that this should appear to be a war. What is
the object, then, of our giving authority to the municipal towns
and colonies to exclude Antonius? of our authorizing soldiers to be
enlisted without any force, without the terror of any fine, of their
own inclination and eagerness? of permitting them to promise money for
the assistance of the republic? For if the name of war be taken away,
the zeal of the municipal towns will be taken away too. And the
unanimous feeling of the Roman people which at present pours itself
into our cause, if we cool upon it, must inevitably be damped.

But why need I say more? Decimus Brutus is attacked. Is not that war?
Mutina is besieged. Is not even that war? Gaul is laid waste. What
peace can be more assured than this? Who can think of calling that
war? We have sent forth a consul, a most gallant man, with an army,
who, though he was in a weak state from a long and serious illness,
still thought he ought not to make any excuse when he was summoned to
the protection of the republic. Caius Caesar, indeed, did not wait for
our decrees; especially as that conduct of his was not unsuited to his
age. He undertook war against Antonius of his own accord; for there
was not yet time to pass a decree; and he saw that, if he let slip the
opportunity of waging war, when the republic was crushed it would be
impossible to pass any decrees at all. They and their arms, then, are
now at peace. He is not an enemy whose garrison Hirtius has driven
from Claterna; he is not an enemy who is in arms resisting a consul,
and attacking a consul elect; and those are not the words of an enemy,
nor is that warlike language, which Pansa read just now out of his
colleague's letters: "I drove out the garrison." "I got possession of
Claterna." "The cavalry were routed." "A battle was fought." "A good
many men were slain." What peace can be greater than this? Levies of
troops are ordered throughout all Italy; all exemptions from service
are suspended; the robe of war is to be assumed to-morrow, the consul
has said that he shall come down to the senate house with an armed
guard.

Is not this war? Ay, it is such a war as has never been. For in all
other wars, and most especially in civil wars, it was a difference as
to the political state of the republic which gave rise to the contest.
Sylla contended against Sulpicius about the force of laws which Sylla
said had been passed by violence. Cinna warred against Octavius
because of the votes of the new citizens. Again, Sylla was at variance
with Cinna and Marius, in order to prevent unworthy men from attaining
power, and to avenge the cruel death of most illustrious men. The
causes of all these wars arose from the zeal of different parties, for
what they considered the interest of the republic. Of the last civil
war I cannot bear to speak. I do not understand the cause of it, I
detest the result.

III. This is the fifth civil war, (and all of them have fallen upon
our times,) the first which has not only not brought dissensions
and discord among the citizens, but which has been signalised by
extraordinary unanimity and incredible concord. All of them have the
same wish, all defend the same objects, all are inspired with the same
sentiments. When I say all, I except those whom no one thinks worthy
of being citizens at all. What, then, is the cause of war, and what
is the object aimed at? We are defending the temples of the immortal
gods, we are defending the walls of the city, we are defending the
homes and habitations of the Roman people, the household gods, the
altars, the hearths and the sepulchres of our forefathers, we are
defending our laws, our courts of justice, our freedom, our wives, our
children, and our country. On the other hand, Marcus Antonius labours
and fights in order to throw into confusion and overturn all these
things, and hopes to have reason to think the plunder of the republic
sufficient cause for the war, while he squanders part of our fortunes,
and distributes the rest among his parricidal followers.

While, then, the motives for war are so different, a most miserable
circumstance is what that fellow promises to his band of robbers. In
the first place our houses, for he declares that he will divide the
city among them, and after that he will lead them out at whatever gate
and settle them on whatever lands they please. All the Caphons,[40]
all the Saxas, and the other plagues which attend Antonius, are
marking out for themselves in their own minds most beautiful houses,
and gardens, and villas, at Tusculum and Alba; and those clownish
men--if indeed they are men, and not rather brute beasts--are borne on
in their empty hopes as far as the waters and Puteoli. So Antonius
has something to promise to his followers. What can we do? Have we
anything of the sort? May the gods grant us a better fate! for our
express object is to prevent any one at all from hereafter making
similar promises. I say this against my will, still I must say
it;--the auction sanctioned by Caesar, O conscript fathers, gives
many wicked men both hope and audacity. For they saw some men become
suddenly rich from having been beggars. Therefore, those men who are
hanging over our property, and to whom Antonius promises everything,
are always longing to see an auction. What can we do? What do we
promise our soldiers? Things much better and more honourable. For
promises to be earned by wicked actions are pernicious both to those
who expect them, and to those who promise them. We promise to our
soldiers freedom, rights, laws, justice, the empire of the world,
dignity, peace, tranquillity. The promises then of Antonius are
bloody, polluted, wicked, odious to gods and men, neither lasting nor
salutary; ours, on the other hand, are honourable, upright, glorious,
full of happiness, and full of piety.

IV. Here also Quintus Fufius, a brave and energetic man, and a friend
of mine, reminds me of the advantages of peace. As if, if it were
necessary to praise peace, I could not do it myself quite as well as
he. For is it once only that I have defended peace? Have I not at all
times laboured for tranquillity? which is desirable for all good
men, but especially for me. For what course could my industry pursue
without forensic causes, without laws, without courts of justice? and
these things can have no existence when civil peace is taken away. But
I want to know what you mean, O Calenus? Do you call slavery peace?
Our ancestors used to take up arms not merely to secure their freedom,
but also to acquire empire; you think that we ought to throw away our
arms, in order to become slaves. What juster cause is there for waging
war than the wish to repel slavery? in which, even if one's master be
not tyrannical, yet it is a most miserable thing that he should be
able to be so if he chooses. In truth, other causes are just, this is
a necessary one. Unless, perhaps, you think that this does not apply
to you, because you expect that you will be a partner in the dominion
of Antonius. And there you make a two-fold mistake: first of all, in
preferring your own to the general interest; and in the next place, in
thinking that there is anything either stable or pleasant in kingly
power. Even if it has before now been advantageous to you, it will not
always be so. Moreover, you used to complain of that former master,
who was a man; what do you think you will do when your master is a
beast? And you say that you are a man who have always been desirous
of peace, and have always wished for the preservation of all the
citizens. Very honest language; that is, if you mean all citizens who
are virtuous, and useful, and serviceable to the republic; but if you
wish those who are by nature citizens, but by inclination enemies, to
be saved, what difference is there between you and them? Your father,
indeed, with whom I as a youth was acquainted, when he was an old man,
--a man of rigid virtue and wisdom,--used to give the greatest praise
of all citizens who had ever lived to Publius Nasica, who slew
Tiberius Gracchus. By his valour, and wisdom, and magnanimity he
thought that the republic had been saved. What am I to say? Have
we received any other doctrine from our fathers? Therefore, that
citizen--if you had lived in those times--would not have been approved
of by you, because he did not wish all the citizens to be safe.
"Because Lucius Opimius the consul has made a speech concerning the
republic, the senators have thus decided on that matter, that Opimius
the consul shall defend the republic." The senate adopted these
measures in words, Opimius followed them up by his arms. Should you
then, if you had lived in those times, have thought him a hasty or a
cruel citizen? or should you have thought Quintus Metellus one, whose
four sons were all men of consular rank? or Publius Lentulus the chief
of the senate, and many other admirable men, who, with Lucius Opimius
the consul, took arms, and pursued Gracchus to the Aventine? and in
the battle which ensued, Lentulus received a severe wound, Gracchus
was plain, and so was Marcus Fulvius, a man of consular rank, and his
two youthful sons. Those men, therefore, are to be blamed; for they
did not wish all the citizens to be safe.

V. Let us come to instances nearer our own time. The senate entrusted
the defence of the republic to Caius Marius and Lucius Valerius, the
consuls; Lucius Saturninus, a tribune of the people, and Caius Glaucia
the praetor, were slain. On that day, all the Scauri, and Metelli, and
Claudii, and Catuli, and Scaevolae, and Crassi took arms. Do you think
either those consuls or those other most illustrious men deserving of
blame? I myself wished Catiline to perish. Did you who wish every one
to be safe, wish Catiline to be safe? There is this difference, O
Calenus, between my opinion and yours. I wish no citizen to commit
such crimes as deserve to be punished with death. You think that, even
if he has committed them, still he ought to be saved. If there is
anything in our own body which is injurious to the rest of the body,
we allow that to be burnt and cut out, in order that a limb may be
lost in preference to the whole body. And so in the body of the
republic, whatever is rotten must be cut off in order that the whole
may be saved. Harsh language! This is much more harsh, "Let the
worthless, and wicked and impious be saved, let the innocent, the
honourable, the virtuous, the whole republic be destroyed." In the
case of one individual, O Quintus Fufius, I confess that you saw more
than I did. I thought Publius Clodius a mischievous, wicked, lustful,
impious, audacious, criminal citizen. You, on the other hand, called
him religious, temperate, innocent, modest; a citizen to be preserved
and desired. In this one particular I admit that you had great
discernment, and that I made a great mistake. For as for your saying
that I am in the habit of arguing against you with ill-temper, that
is not the case. I confess that I argue with vehemence, but not with
ill-temper. I am not in the habit of getting angry with my friends
every now and then, not even if they deserve it. Therefore, I can
differ from you without using any insulting language, though not
without feeling the greatest grief of mind. For is the dissension
between you and me a trifling one, or on a trifling subject? Is it
merely a case of my favouring this man, and you that man? Yes; I
indeed favour Decimus Brutus, you favour Marcus Antonius; I wish a
colony of the Roman people to be preserved, you are anxious that it
should be stormed and destroyed.

VI. Can you deny this, when you interpose every sort of delay
calculated to weaken Brutus, and to improve the position of Antonius?
For how long will you keep on saying that you are desirous of peace?
Matters are progressing rapidly; the works have been carried on;
severe battles are taking place. We sent three chief men of the city
to interpose. Antonius has despised, rejected, and repudiated them.
And still you continue a persevering defender of Antonius. And
Calenus, indeed, in order that he may appear a more conscientious
senator, says that he ought not to be a friend to him; since, though
Antonius was under great obligations to him, he still had acted
against him. See how great is his affection for his country. Though he
is angry with the individual, still he defends Antonius for the sake
of his country.

When you are so bitter, O Quintus Fufius, against the people of
Marseilles, I cannot listen to you with calmness. For how long are you
going to attack Marseilles? Does not even a triumph put an end to
the war? in which was carried an image of that city, without whose
assistance our forefathers never triumphed over the Transalpine
nations. Then, indeed, did the Roman people groan. Although they had
their own private griefs because of their own affairs, still there
was no citizen who thought the miseries of this most loyal city
unconnected with himself. Caesar himself, who had been the most
angry of all men with them, still, on account of the unusually high
character and loyalty of that city, was every day relaxing something
of his displeasure. And is there no extent of calamity by which so
faithful a city can satiate you? Again, perhaps, you will say that I
am losing my temper. But I am speaking without passion, as I always
do, though not without great indignation. I think that no man can be
an enemy to that city, who is a friend to this one. What your object
is, O Calenus, I cannot imagine. Formerly we were unable to deter you
from devoting yourself to the gratification of the people; now we are
unable to prevail on you to show any regard for their interests. I
have argued long enough with Fufius, saying everything without hatred,
but nothing without indignation. But I suppose that a man who can bear
the complaint of his son in law with indifference, will bear that of
his friend with great equanimity.

VII. I come now to the rest of the men of consular rank of whom there
is no one, (I say this on my own responsibility,) who is not connected
with me in some way or other by kindnesses conferred or received, some
in a great, some in a moderate degree, but everyone to some extent or
other. What a disgraceful day was yesterday to us! to us consulars, I
mean. Are we to send ambassadors again? What? would he make a truce?
Before the very face and eyes of the ambassadors he battered Mutina
with his engines. He displayed his works and his defences to the
ambassadors. The siege was not allowed one moment's breathing time,
not even while the ambassadors should be present. Send ambassadors to
this man! What for? in order to have great fears for their return?
In truth, though on the previous occasion I had voted against
the ambassadors being decreed, still I consoled myself with this
reflection, that, when they had returned from Antonius despised and
rejected, and had reported to the senate not merely that he had not
withdrawn from Gaul, as we had voted that he should, but that he had
not even retired from before Mutma, and that they had not been allowed
to proceed on to Decimus Brutus, all men would be inflamed with hatred
and stimulated by indignation, so that we should reinforce Decimus
Brutus with arms, and horses, and men. But we have become even more
languid since we have become acquainted with, not only the audacity
and wickedness of Antonius, but also with his indolence and pride.
Would that Lucius Caesar were in health, that Servius Sulpicius were
alive. This cause would be pleaded much better by these men, than it
is now by me single handed. What I am going to say I say with grief,
rather than by way of insult. We have been deserted--we have, I say,
been deserted, O conscript fathers, by our chiefs. But, as I have
often said before, all those who in a time of such danger have
proper and courageous sentiments shall be men of consular rank. The
ambassadors ought to have brought us back courage, they have brought
us back fear. Not, indeed, that they have caused me any fear--let them
have as high an opinion as they please of the man to whom they were
sent; from whom they have even brought back commands to us.

VIII. O ye immortal gods! where are the habits and virtues of our
forefathers? Caius Popillius, in the time of our ancestors, when he
had been sent as ambassador to Antiochus the king, and had given him
notice, in the words of the senate, to depart from Alexandria, which
he was besieging, on the kings seeking to delay giving his answer,
drew a line round him where he was standing with his rod, and stated
that he should report him to the senate if he did not answer him as
to what he intended to do before he moved out of that line which
surrounded him. He did well for he had brought with him the
countenance of the senate and the authority of the Roman people, and
if a man does not obey that, we are not to receive commands from him
in return, but he is to be utterly rejected. Am I to receive commands
from a man who despises the commands of the senate? Or am I to think
that he has anything in common with the senate, who besieges a general
of the Roman people in spite of the prohibition of the senate? But
what commands they are! With what arrogance, with what stupidity,
with what insolence are they conceived! But what made him charge our
ambassadors with them when he was sending Cotyla to us, the ornament
and bulwark of his friends, a man of aedilitian rank? if, indeed, he
really was an aedile at the time when the public slaves flogged him
with thongs at a banquet by command of Antonius.

But what modest commands they are! We must be non-hearted men,
O conscript fathers, to deny anything to this man! "I give up both
provinces," says he, "I disband my army, I am willing to become a
private individual." For these are his very words. He seems to
be coming to himself. "I am willing to forget everything, to be
reconciled to everybody." But what does he add? "If you give booty and
land to my six legions, to my cavalry, and to my praetorian cohort."
He even demands rewards for those men for whom, if he were to demand
pardon, he would be thought the most impudent of men. He adds further,
"Those men to whom the lands have been given which he himself and
Dolabella distributed, are to retain them." This is the Campanian
and Leontine district, both which our ancestors considered a certain
resource in times of scarcity.

IX. He is protecting the interests of his buffoons and gamesters and
pimps. He is protecting Capho's and Sasu's interests too, pugnacious
and muscular centurions, whom he placed among his troops of male and
female buffoons. Besides all this, he demands "that the decrees of
himself and his colleague concerning Caesar's writings and memoranda
are to stand." Why is he so anxious that every one should have what he
has bought, if he who sold it all has the price which he received for
it? "And that his accounts of the money in the temple of Ops are not
to be meddled with." That is to say, that those seven hundred millions
of sesterces are not to be recovered from him. "That the septemviri
are to be exempt from blame or from prosecution for what they have
done." It was Nucula, I imagine, who put him in mind of that, he was
afraid, perhaps, of losing so many clients. He also wishes to make
stipulations in favour of "those men who are with him who may have
done anything against the laws." He is here taking care of Mustela and
Tiro, he is not anxious about himself. For what has he done? has he
ever touched the public money, or murdered a man, or had armed men
about him? But what reason has he for taking so much trouble about
them? For he demands, "that his own judiciary law be not abrogated."
And if he obtains that, what is there that he can fear? can he be
afraid that any one of his friends may be convicted by Cydas, or
Lysiades, or Curius? However, he does not press us with many more
demands. "I give up," says he, "Gallia Togata; I demand Gallia
Comata"[41]--he evidently wishes to be quite at his ease--'with six
legions, and those made up to their full complement out of the army
of Decimus Brutus,--not only out of the troops whom he has enlisted
himself; "and he is to keep possession of it as long as Marcus Brutus
and Carus Cassius, as consuls, or as proconsuls, keep possession of
their provinces." In the comitia held by him, his brother Carus (for
it is his year) has already been repulsed. "And I myself," says he,
"am to retain possession of my province five years." But that is
expressly forbidden by the law of Caesar, and you defend the acts of
Caesar.

X. Were you, O Lucius Piso, and you, O Lucius Philippus, you chiefs
of the city, able, I will not say to endure in your minds but even to
listen with your ears to these commands of his? But, I suspect there
was some alarm at work, nor, while in his power, could you feel as
ambassadors, or as men of consular rank, nor could you maintain our
own dignity, or that of the republic. And nevertheless, somehow or
other, owing to some philosophy, I suppose, you did what I could not
have done,--you returned without any very angry feelings. Marcus
Antonius paid you no respect, though you were most illustrious men,
ambassadors of the Roman people. As for us, what concessions did not
we make to Cotyla the ambassador of Marcus Antonius? though it was
against the law for even the gates of the city to be opened to him,
yet even this temple was opened to him. He was allowed to enter the
senate, here yesterday he was taking down our opinions and every word
we said in his note books, and men who had been preferred to the
highest honours sold themselves to him in utter disregard of their own
dignity.

O ye immortal gods! how great an enterprise is it to uphold the
character of a leader in the republic, for it requires one to be
influenced not merely by the thoughts but also by the eyes of the
citizens. To take to one's house the ambassador of an enemy, to admit
him to one's chamber, even to confer apart with him, is the act of a
man who thinks nothing of his dignity, and too much of his danger. But
what is danger? For if one is engaged in a contest where everything is
at stake, either liberty is assured to one if victorious, or death
if defeated, the former of which alternatives is desirable, and the
latter some time or other inevitable. But a base flight from death
is worse than any imaginable death. For I will never be induced to
believe that there are men who envy the consistency or diligence of
others, and who are indignant at the unceasing desire to assist the
republic being approved by the senate and people of Rome. That is what
we were all bound to do, and that was not only in the time of our
ancestors, but even lately, the highest praise of men of consular
rank, to be vigilant, to be anxious, to be always either thinking, or
doing, or saying something to promote the interests of the republic.

I, O conscript fathers, recollect that Quintus Scaevola the augur, in
the Marsic war, when he was a man of extreme old age, and quite broken
down in constitution, every day, as soon as it was daylight, used to
give every one an opportunity of consulting him, nor, throughout all
that war, did any one ever see him in bed, and, though old and weak,
he was the first man to come into the senate house. I wish, above all
things, that those who ought to do so would imitate his industry,
and, next to that, I wish that they would not envy the exertions of
another.

XI. In truth, O conscript fathers, now we have begun to entertain
hopes of liberty again, after a period of six years, during which we
have been deprived of it, having endured slavery longer than prudent
and industrious prisoners usually do, what watchfulness, what anxiety,
what exertions ought we to shrink from, for the sake of delivering the
Roman people? In truth, O conscript fathers, though men who have had
the honours conferred on them that we have, usually wear their gowns,
while the rest of the city is in the robe of war, still I decided that
at such a momentous crisis, and when the whole republic was in so
disturbed a state, we would not differ in our dress from you and the
rest of the citizens. For we men of consular rank are not in this war
conducting ourselves in such a manner that the Roman people will be
likely to look with equanimity on the ensigns of our honour, when some
of us are so cowardly as to have cast away all recollection of the
kindnesses which they have received from the Roman people, some are so
disaffected to the republic that they openly allege that they favour
this enemy, and easily bear having our ambassadors despised and
insulted by Antonius, while they wish to support the ambassador sent
by Antonius. For they said that he ought not to be prevented
from returning to Antonius, and they proposed an amendment to my
proposition of not receiving him. Well, I will submit to them. Let
Varius return to his general, but on condition that he never returns
to Rome. And as to the others, if they abandon their errors and return
to their duty to the republic, I think they may be pardoned and left
unpunished.

Therefore, I give my vote, "That of those men who are with Marcus
Antonius, those who abandon his army, and come over either to Caius
Pansa or Aulus Hirtius the consuls; or to Decimus Brutus, imperator
and consul elect, or to Caius Caesar, propraetor, before the first of
March next, shall not be liable to prosecution for having been with
Antonius. That, if any one of those men who are now with Antonius
shall do anything which appears entitled to honour or to reward, Caius
Pansa and Aulus Hirtius the consuls, one or both of them, shall, if
they think fit, make a motion to the senate respecting that man's
honour or reward, at the earliest opportunity. That, if, after this
resolution of the senate, any one shall go to Antonius except Lucius
Varius, the senate will consider that that man has acted as an enemy
to the republic."

       *       *       *       *       *




THE NINTH ORATION OF M.T. CICERO AGAINST MARCUS ANTONIUS. CALLED ALSO
THE NINTH PHILIPPIO.


THE ARGUMENT.


Servius Sulpicius, as has been already said, had died on his embassy
to Marcus Antonius, before Mutina; and the day after the delivery
of the preceding speech, Pansa again called the senate together
to deliberate on the honours to be paid to his memory. He himself
proposed a public funeral, a sepulchre, and a statue. Servilius
opposed the statue, as due only to those who had been slain by
violence while in discharge of their duties as ambassadors. Cicero
delivered the following oration in support of Pansa's proposition,
which was carried.[42]

I. I wish, O conscript fathers, that the immortal gods had granted to
us to return thanks to Servius Sulpicius while alive, rather than thus
to devise honours for him now that he is dead. Nor have I any doubt,
but that if that man had been able himself to give us his report of
the proceedings of his embassy, his return would have been acceptable
to you and salutary to the republic. Not that either Lucius Piso or
Lucius Philippus have been deficient in either zeal or care in the
performance of so important a duty and so grave a commission; but, as
Servius Sulpicius was superior in age to them, and in wisdom to every
one, he, being suddenly taken from the business, left the whole
embassy crippled and enfeebled.

But if deserved honours have been paid to any ambassador after death,
there is no one by whom they can be found to have been ever more fully
deserved than by Servius Sulpicius. The rest of those men who have
died while engaged on an embassy, have gone forth, subject indeed to
the usual uncertainties of life, but without any especial danger or
fear of death. Servius Sulpicius set out with some hope indeed of
reaching Antonius, but with none of returning. But though he was so
very ill that if any exertion were added to his bad state of health,
he would have no hope of himself, still he did not refuse to try,
even while at his last gasp, to be of some service to the republic.
Therefore neither the severity of the winter, nor the snow, nor the
length of the journey, nor the badness of the roads, nor his daily
increasing illness, delayed him. And when he had arrived where he
might meet and confer with the man to whom he had been sent, he
departed this life in the midst of his care and consideration as to
how he might best discharge the duty which he had undertaken.

As therefore, O Caius Pansa, you have done well in other respects, so
you have acted admirably in exhorting us this day to pay honour to
Servius Sulpicius, and in yourself making an eloquent oration in his
praise. And after the speech which we have heard from you, I should
have been content to say nothing beyond barely giving my vote, if I
did not think it necessary to reply to Publius Servilius, who has
declared his opinion that this honour of a statue ought to be
granted to no one who has not been actually slain with a sword while
performing the duties of his embassy. But I, O conscript fathers,
consider that this was the feeling of our ancestors, that they
considered that it was the cause of death, and not the manner of it,
which was a proper subject for inquiry. In fact, they thought fit that
a monument should be erected to any man whose death was caused by an
embassy, in order to tempt men in perilous wars to be the more bold
in undertaking the office of an ambassador. What we ought to do,
therefore, is, not to scrutinise the precedents afforded by our
ancestors, but to explain their intentions from which the precedents
themselves arose.

II. Lar Tolumnius, the king of Veii, slew four ambassadors of the
Roman people, at Fidenae, whose statues were standing in the rostra
till within my recollection. The honour was well deserved. For our
ancestors gave those men who had encountered death in the cause of the
republic an imperishable memory in exchange for this transitory life.
We see in the rostra the statue of Cnaeus Octavius, an illustrious and
great man, the first man who brought the consulship into that family,
which afterwards abounded in illustrious men. There was no one then
who envied him, because he was a new man; there was no one who did not
honour his virtue. But yet the embassy of Octavius was one in which
there was no suspicion of danger. For having been sent by the senate
to investigate the dispositions of kings and of free nations, and
especially to forbid the grandson of king Antiochus, the one who had
carried on war against our forefathers, to maintain fleets and to keep
elephants, he was slain at Laodicea, in the gymnasium, by a man of the
name of Leptines. On this a statue was given to him by our ancestors
as a recompense for his life, which might ennoble his progeny for many
years, and which is now the only memorial left of so illustrious a
family. But in his case, and in that of Tullus Cluvius,[43] and Lucius
Roseius, and Spurius Antius, and Caius Fulcinius, who were slain by
the king of Veii, it was not the blood that was shed at their death,
but the death itself which was encountered in the service of the
republic, which was the cause of their being thus honoured.

III. Therefore, O conscript fathers, if it had been chance which had
caused the death of Servius Sulpicius, I should sorrow indeed over
such a loss to the republic, but I should consider him deserving of
the honour, not of a monument, but of a public mourning. But, as it
is, who is there who doubts that it was the embassy itself which
caused his death? For he took death away with him; though, if he
had remained among us, his own care, and the attention of his most
excellent son and his most faithful wife, might have warded it off.
But he, as he saw that, if he did not obey your authority, he should
not be acting like himself; but that if he did obey, then that duty,
undertaken, for the welfare of the republic, would be the end of his
life; preferred dying at a most critical period of the republic, to
appearing to have done less service to the republic than he might have
done.

He had an opportunity of recruiting his strength and taking care of
himself in many cities through which his journey lay. He was met by
the liberal invitation of many entertainers as his dignity deserved,
and the men too who were sent with him exhorted him to take rest, and
to think of his own health. But he, refusing all delay, hastening
on eager to perform your commands, persevered in this his constant
purpose, in spite of the hindrances of his illness And as Antonius was
above all things disturbed by his arrival, because the commands which
were laid upon him by your orders had been drawn up by the authority
and wisdom of Servius Sulpicius, he showed plainly how he hated the
senate by the evident joy which he displaced at the death of the
adviser of the senate.

Leptines then did not kill Octavius, nor did the king of Veii slay
those whom I have just named, more clearly than Antonius killed
Servius Sulpicius. Surely he brought the man death, who was the cause
of his death. Wherefore, I think it of consequence, in order that
posterity may recollect it, that there should be a record of what the
judgment of the senate was concerning this war. For the statue itself
will be a witness that the war was so serious an one, that the death
of an ambassador in it gained the honour of an imperishable memorial.

IV. But if, O conscript fathers, you would only recollect the excuses
alleged by Servius Sulpicius why he should not be appointed to this
embassy, then no doubt will be left on your minds that we ought to
repair by the honour paid to the dead the injury which we did to him
while living. For it is you, O conscript fathers (it is a grave charge
to make, but it must be uttered,) it is you, I say, who have deprived
Servius Sulpicius of life. For when you saw him pleading his illness
as an excuse more by the truth of the fact than by any laboured plea
of words, you were not indeed cruel, (for what can be more impossible
for this order to be guilty of than that,) but as you hoped that
there was nothing that could not be accomplished by his authority and
wisdom, you opposed his excuse with great earnestness, and compelled
the man, who had always thought your decisions of the greatest weight,
to abandon his own opinion. But when there was added the exhortation
of Pansa, the consul, delivered with more weight than the ears of
Servius Sulpicius had learnt to resist, then at last he led me and his
own son aside, and said that he was bound to prefer your authority to
his own life. And we, admiring his virtue, did not dare to oppose
his determination. His son was moved with extraordinary piety and
affection, and my own grief did not fall far short of his agitation,
but each of us was compelled to yield to his greatness of mind, and to
the dignity of his language, when he, indeed, amid the loud praises
and congratulations of you all, promised to do whatever you wished,
and not to avoid the danger which might be inclined by the adoption of
the opinion of which he himself had been the author. And we the next
day escorted him early in the morning as he hastened forth to execute
your commands. And he, in truth, when departing, spoke with me in such
a manner that his language seemed like an omen of his fate.

V. Restore then, O conscript fathers, life to him from whom you have
taken it. For the life of the dead consists in the recollection
cherished of them by the living. Take ye care that he, whom you
without intending it sent to his death, shall from you receive
immortality. And if you by your decree erect a statue to him in the
rostia, no forgetfulness of posterity will ever obscure the memory of
his embassy. For the remainder of the life of Servius Sulpicius will
be recommended to the eternal recollection of all men by many and
splendid memorials. The praise of all mortals will for ever celebrate
his wisdom, his firmness, his loyalty, his admirable vigilance and
prudence in upholding the interests of the public. Nor will that
admirable, and incredible, and almost godlike skill of his in
interpreting the laws and explaining the principles of equity be
buried in silence. If all the men of all ages, who have ever had any
acquaintance with the law in this city, were got together into one
place, they would not deserve to be compared to Servius Sulpicius.
Nor was he more skilful in explaining the law than in laying down the
principles of justice. Those maxims which were derived from laws and
from the common law, he constantly referred to the original principles
of kindness and equity. Nor was he more fond of arranging the conduct
of law-suits than of preventing disputes altogether. Therefore he is
not in want of this memorial which a statue will provide; he has
other and better ones. For this statue will be only a witness of his
honourable death; those actions will be the memorial of his glorious
life. So that this will be rather a monument of the gratitude of the
senate, than of the glory of the man.

The affection of the son, too, will appear to have great influence in
moving us to honour the father; for although, being overwhelmed with
grief, he is not present, still you ought to be animated with the same
feelings as if he were present. But he is in such distress, that no
father ever sorrowed more over the loss of an only son than he grieves
for the death of his father. Indeed, I think that it concerns also the
fame of Servius Sulpicius the son, that he should appear to have paid
all due respect to his father. Although Servius Sulpicius could leave
no nobler monument behind him than his son, the image of his own
manners, and virtues, and wisdom, and piety, and genius; whose grief
can either be alleviated by this honour paid to his father by you, or
by no consolation at all.

VI. But when I recollect the many conversations which in the days of
our intimacy on earth I have had with Servius Sulpicius, it appears
to me, that if there be any feeling in the dead, a brazen statue, and
that too a pedestrian one, will be more acceptable to him than a gilt
equestrian one, such as was first erected to Lucius Sylla. For Servius
was wonderfully attached to the moderation of our forefathers, and was
accustomed to reprove the insolence of this age. As if, therefore, I
were able to consult himself as to what he would wish, so I give my
vote for a pedestrian statue of brass, as if I were speaking by his
authority and inclination; which by the honour of the memorial
will diminish and mitigate the great grief and regret of his
fellow-citizens. And it is certain that this my opinion, O conscript
fathers, will be approved of by the opinion of Publius Servilius, who
has given his vote that a sepulchre be publicly decreed to Servius
Sulpicius, but has voted against the statue. For if the death of
an ambassador happening without bloodshed and violence requires no
honour, why does he vote for the honour of a public funeral, which is
the greatest honour that can be paid to a dead man! If he grants that
to Servius Sulpicius which was not given to Cnaeus Octavius, why does
he think that we ought not to give to the former what was given to the
latter? Our ancestors, indeed, decreed statues to many men; public
sepulchres to few. But statues perish by weather, by violence, by
lapse of time; but the sanctity of the sepulchres is in the soil
itself, which can neither be moved nor destroyed by any violence; and
while other things are extinguished, so sepulchres become holier by
age.

Let, then, that man be distinguished by that honour also, a man to
whom no honour can be given which is not deserved. Let us be grateful
in paying respect in death to him to whom we can now show no other
gratitude. And by that same step let the audacity of Marcus Antonius,
waging a nefarious war, be branded with infamy. For when these honours
have been paid to Servius Sulpicius, the evidence of his embassy
having been insulted and rejected by Antonius will remain for
everlasting.

VII. On which account I give my vote for a decree in this form: 'As
Servius Sulpicius Rufus, the son of Quintus, of the Lemonian tribe,
at a most critical period of the republic, and being ill with a very
serious and dangerous disease, preferred the authority of the senate
and the safety of the republic to his own life, and struggled against
the violence and severity of his illness, in order to arrive at the
camp of Antonius, to which the senate had sent him; and as he when he
had almost arrived at the camp, being overwhelmed by the violence of
the disease, has lost his life in discharging a most important office
of the republic; and as his death has been in strict correspondence to
a life passed with the greatest integrity and honour, during which he,
Servius Sulpicius, has often been of great service to the republic,
both as a private individual and in the discharge of various
magistracies; and as he, being such a man, has encountered death on
behalf of the republic while employed on an embassy;--the senate
decrees that a brazen pedestrian statue of Servius Sulpicius be
erected in the rostra in compliance with the resolution of this order,
and that his children and posterity shall have a place round this
statue of five feet in every direction, from which to behold the
games and gladiatorial combats, because he died in the cause of the
republic; and that this reason be inscribed on the pedestal of the
statue; and that Carus Pansa and Aulus Hirtius the consuls, one or
both of them, if it seem good to them, shall command the quaestors
of the city to let out a contract for making that pedestal and that
statue, and erecting them in the rostra; and that whatever price they
contract for, they shall take care the amount is given and paid to the
contractor, and as in old times the senate has exerted its authority
with respect to the obsequies of, and honours paid to brave men, it
now decrees that he shall be carried to the tomb on the day of his
funeral with the greatest possible solemnity. And as Servius Sulpicius
Rufus, the son of Quintus of the Lemonian tribe, has deserved so well
of the republic as to be entitled to be complimented with all those
distinctions, the senate is of opinion, and thinks it for the
advantage of the republic, that the consule aedile should suspend the
edict which usually prevails with respect to funerals in the case of
the funeral of Servius Sulpicius Rufus, the son of Quintus of the
Lemonian tribe, and that Carus Pansa, the consul, shall assign him a
place for a tomb in the Esquiline plain, or in whatever place shall
seem good to him extending thirty feet in every direction, where
Servius Sulpicius may be buried, and that that shall be his tomb,
and that of his children and posterity, as having been a tomb most
deservedly given to them by the public authority.




THE TENTH ORATION OF M.T. CICERO AGAINST MARCUS ANTONIUS. CALLED ALSO
THE TENTH PHILIPPIC.


THE ARGUMENT


Soon after the delivery of the last speech, despatches were received
from Brutus by the consuls, giving an account of his success against
Carus Antonius in Macedonia, stating that he had secured Macedonia,
Illyricum, and Greece with the armies in those countries, that Carus
Antonius had retired to Apollonia with seven cohorts, that a legion
under Lucius Piso had surrendered to young Cicero, who was commanding
his cavalry, that Dolabella's cavalry had deserted to him, and that
Vatinius had surrendered Dyrrachium and its garrison to him. He
likewise praised Quintus Hortensius, the proconsul of Macedonia, as
having assisted him in gaining over the Grecian provinces and the
armies in those districts.

As soon as Pansa received the despatches, he summoned the senate to
have them read, and in a set speech greatly extolled Brutus, and moved
a vote of thanks to him but Calenus, who followed him, declared his
opinion, that as Brutus had acted without any public commission or
authority he should be required to give up his army to the proper
governors of the provinces, or to whoever the senate should appoint
to receive it. After he had sat down, Cicero rose, and delivered the
following speech.

I. We all, O Pansa, ought both to feel and to show the greatest
gratitude to you, who--though we did not expect that you would hold
any senate to day,--the moment that you received the letters of Marcus
Brutus, that most excellent citizen, did not interpose even the
slightest delay to our enjoying the most excessive delight and mutual
congratulation at the earliest opportunity. And not only ought this
action of yours to be grateful to us all, but also the speech which
you addressed to us after the letters had been read. For you showed
plainly, that that was true which I have always felt to be so, that
no one envied the virtue of another who was confident of his own.
Therefore I, who have been connected with Brutus by many mutual good
offices and by the greatest intimacy, need not say so much concerning
him for the part that I had marked out for myself your speech has
anticipated me in. But, O conscript fathers, the opinion delivered by
the man who was asked for his vote before me, has imposed upon me the
necessity of saying rather more than I otherwise should have said, and
I differ from him so repeatedly at present, that I am afraid (what
certainly ought not to be the case) that our continual disagreement
may appear to diminish our friendship.

What can be the meaning of this argument of yours, O Calenus? what can
be your intention? How is it that you have never once since the first
of January been of the same opinion with him who asks you your opinion
first? How is it that the senate has never yet been so full as to
enable you to find one single person to agree with your sentiments?
Why are you always defending men who in no point resemble you? why,
when both your life and your fortune invite you to tranquillity and
dignity, do you approve of those measures, and defend those measures,
and declare those sentiments, which are adverse both to the general
tranquillity and to your own individual dignity?

II. For to say nothing of former speeches of yours, at all events
I cannot pass over in silence this which excites my most especial
wonder. What war is there between you and the Bruti? Why do you alone
attack those men whom we are all bound almost to worship? Why are you
not indignant at one of them being besieged, and why do you--as far
as your vote goes--strip the other of those troops which by his own
exertions and by his own danger he has got together by himself,
without any one to assist him, for the protection of the republic, not
for himself? What is your meaning in this? What are your intentions?
Is it possible that you should not approve of the Bruti, and should
approve of Antonius? that you should hate those men whom every one
else considers most dear? and that you should love with the greatest
constancy those whom every one else hates most bitterly? You have a
most ample fortune, you are in the highest rank of honour, your son,
as I both hear and hope is born to glory,--a youth whom I favour not
only for the sake of the republic, but for your sake also. I ask,
therefore, would you rather have him like Brutus or like Antonius? and
I will let you choose whichever of the three Antonii you please. God
forbid! you will say. Why, then, do you not favour those men and
praise those men whom you wish your own son to resemble? For by so
doing you will be both consulting the interests of the republic, and
proposing him an example for his imitation.

But in this instance, I hope, O Quintus Fufius, to be allowed to
expostulate with you, as a senator who greatly differs from you,
without any prejudice to our friendship. For you spoke in this matter,
and that too from a written paper, for I should think you had made
a slip from want of some appropriate expression, if I were not
acquainted with your ability in speaking. You said "that the letters
of Brutus appeared properly and regularly expressed." What else is
this than praising Brutus's secretary, not Brutus? You both ought to
have great experience in the affairs of the republic, and you have.
When did you ever see a decree framed in this manner? or in what
resolution of the senate passed on such occasions, (and they are
innumerable,) did you ever hear of its being decreed that the letters
had been well drawn up? And that expression did not--as is often the
case with other men--fall from you by chance, but you brought it with
you written down, deliberated on, and carefully meditated on.

III. If any one could take from you this habit of disparaging good men
on almost every occasion, then what qualities would not be left to
you which every one would desire for himself? Do, then, recollect
yourself, do at last soften and quiet that disposition of yours, do
take the advice of good men, with many of whom you are intimate, do
converse with that wisest of men, your own son in-law, oftener than
with yourself, and then you will obtain the name of a man of the very
highest character. Do you think it a matter of no consequence, (it
is a matter in which I, out of the friendship which I feel you,
constantly grieve in your stead,) that this should be commonly said
out of doors, and should be a common topic of conversation among the
Roman people, that the man who delivered his opinion first did not
find a single person to agree with him? And that I think will be the
case to day.

You propose to take the legions away from Brutus--which legions? Why,
those which he has gained over from the wickedness of Caius Antonius,
and has by his own authority gained over to the republic. Do you wish
then that he should again appear to be the only person stripped of his
authority, and as it were banished by the senate? And you, O conscript
fathers, if you abandon and betray Marcus Brutus, what citizen in the
world will you ever distinguish? Whom will you ever favour? Unless,
indeed, you think that those men who put a diadem on a man's head
deserve to be preserved, and those who have abolished the very name of
kingly power deserve to be abandoned. And of this divine and immortal
glory of Marcus Brutus I will say no more, it is already embalmed in
the grateful recollection of all the citizens, but it has not yet been
sanctioned by any formal act of public authority. Such patience! O ye
good gods! such moderation! such tranquillity and submission under
injury! A man who, while he was praetor of the city, was driven from
the city, was prevented from sitting as judge in legal proceedings,
when it was he who had restored all law to the republic, and, though
he might have been hedged round by the daily concourse of all virtuous
men, who were constantly flocking round him in marvellous numbers, he
preferred to be defended in his absence by the judgment of the good,
to being present and protected by their force,--who was not even
present to celebrate the games to Apollo, which had been prepared in
a manner suitable to his own dignity and to that of the Roman people,
lest he should open any road to the audacity of most wicked men.

IV. Although, what games or what days were ever more joyful than those
on which at every verse that the actor uttered, the Roman people did
honour to the memory of Brutus, with loud shouts of applause? The
person of their liberator was absent, the recollection of their
liberty was present, in which the appearance of Brutus himself seemed
to be visible. But the man himself I beheld on those very days of the
games, in the country-house of a most illustrious young man, Lucullus,
his relation, thinking of nothing but the peace and concord of the
citizens. I saw him again afterwards at Veha, departing from Italy, in
order that there might be no pretext for civil war on his account. Oh
what a sight was that! grievous, not only to men but to the very waves
and shores. That its saviour should be departing from his country,
that its destroyers should be remaining in their country! The fleet
of Cassius followed a few days afterwards, so that I was ashamed O
conscript fathers, to return into the city from which those men were
departing. But the design with which I returned you heard at the
beginning, and since that you have known by experience. Brutus,
therefore, bided his time. For, as long as he saw you endure
everything, he himself behaved with incredible patience, after that
he saw you roused to a desire of liberty, he prepared the means to
protect you in your liberty.

But what a pest, and how great a pest was it which he resisted? For
if Caius Antonius had been able to accomplish what he intended in his
mind, (and he would have been able to do so if the virtue of Marcus
Brutus had not opposed his wickedness,) we should have lost Macedonia,
Illyricum, and Greece. Greece would have been a refuge for Antonius if
defeated, or a support to him in attacking Italy, which at present,
being not only arrayed in arms, but embellished by the military
command and authority and troops of Marcus Brutus stretches out her
right hand to Italy, and promises it her protection. And the man who
proposes to deprive him of his army, is taking away a most illustrious
honour, and a most trustworthy guard from the republic. I wish,
indeed, that Antonius may hear this news as speedily as possible,
so that he may understand that it is not Decimus Brutus whom he is
surrounding with his ramparts, but he himself who is really hemmed in.

V. He possesses three towns only on the whole face of the earth. He
has Gaul most bitterly hostile to him, he has even those men the
people beyond the Po, in whom he placed the greatest reliance,
entirely alienated from him, all Italy is his enemy. Foreign nations,
from the nearest coast of Greece to Egypt, are occupied by the
military command and armies of most virtuous and intrepid citizens.
His only hope was in Caius Antonius; who being in age the middle one
between his two brothers, rivalled both of them in vices. He hastened
away as if he were being driven away by the senate into Macedonia, not
as if he were prohibited from proceeding thither. What a storm, O
ye immortal gods! what a conflagration! what a devastation! what a
pestilence to Greece would that man have been, if incredible and
godlike virtue had not checked the enterprise and audacity of that
frantic man. What promptness was there in Brutus's conduct! what
prudence! what valour! Although the rapidity of the movement of Caius
Antonius also is not despicable; for if some vacant inheritance had
not delayed him on his march, you might have said that he had flown
rather than travelled. When we desire other men to go forth to
undertake any public business, we are scarcely able to get them out
of the city; but we have driven this man out by the mere fact of our
desiring to retain him. But what business had he with Apollonia? what
business had he with Dyrrachium? or with Illyricum? What had he to
do with the army of Publius Vatinius, our general? He, as he said
himself, was the successor of Hortensius. The boundaries of Macedonia
are well defined; the condition of the proconsul is well known; the
amount of his army, if he has any at all, is fixed. But what had
Antonius to do at all with Illyricum and with the legions of Vatinius?

But Brutus had nothing to do with them either. For that, perhaps, is
what some worthless man may say. All the legions, all the forces which
exist anywhere, belong to the Roman people. Nor shall those legions
which have quitted Marcus Antonius be called the legions of Antonius
rather than of the republic; for he loses all power over his army, and
all the privileges of military command, who uses that military command
and that army to attack the republic.

VI. But if the republic itself could give a decision, or if all rights
were established by its decrees, would it adjudge the legions of
the Roman people to Antonius or to Brutus? The one had flown with
precipitation to the plunder and destruction of the allies, in order,
wherever he went, to lay waste, and pillage, and plunder everything,
and to employ the army of the Roman people against the Roman people
itself. The other had laid down this law for himself, that wherever he
came he should appear to come as a sort of light and hope of safety.
Lastly, the one was seeking aids to overturn the republic; the other
to preserve it. Nor, indeed, did we see this more clearly than the
soldiers themselves; from whom so much discernment in judging was not
to have been expected.

He writes, that Antonius is at Apollonia with seven cohorts, and he is
either by this time taken prisoner, (may the gods grant it!) or, at
all events, like a modest man, he does not come near Macedonia, lest
he should seem to act in opposition to the resolution of the senate.
A levy of troops has been held in Macedonia, by the great zeal and
diligence of Quintus Hortensius; whose admirable courage, worthy both
of himself and of his ancestors, you may clearly perceive from the
letters of Brutus. The legion which Lucius Piso, the lieutenant of
Antonius, commanded, has surrendered itself to Cicero, my own son.
Of the cavalry, which was being led into Syria in two divisions, one
division has left the quaestor who was commanding it, in Thessaly, and
has joined Brutus; and Cnaeus Domitius, a young man of the greatest
virtue and wisdom and firmness, has carried off the other from the
Syrian lieutenant in Macedonia. But Publius Vatinius, who has before
this been deservedly praised by us, and who is justly entitled to
further praise at the present time, has opened the gates of Dyrrachium
to Brutus, and has given him up his army.

The Roman people then is now in possession of Macedonia, and
Illyricum, and Greece. The legions there are all devoted to us, the
light-armed troops are ours, the cavalry is ours, and, above all,
Brutus is ours, and always will be ours--a man born for the republic,
both by his own most excellent virtues, and also by some especial
destiny of name and family, both on his father's and on his mother's
side.

VII. Does any one then fear war from this man, who, until we commenced
the war, being compelled to do so, preferred lying unknown in peace to
flourishing in war? Although he, in truth, never did lie unknown, nor
can this expression possibly be applied to such great eminence in
virtue. For he was the object of regret to the state; he was in every
one's mouth, the subject of every one's conversation. But he was so
far removed from an inclination to war, that, though he was burning
with a desire to see Italy free, he preferred being wanting to the
zeal of the citizens, to leading them to put everything to the issue
of war. Therefore, those very men, if there be any such, who find
fault with the slowness of Brutus's movements, nevertheless at the
same time admire his moderation and his patience.

But I see now what it is they mean: nor, in truth, do they use much
disguise. They say that they are afraid how the veterans may endure
the idea of Brutus having an army. As if there were any difference
between the troops of Aulus Hirtius, of Caius Pansa, of Decimus
Brutus, of Caius Caesar, and this army of Marcus Brutus. For if these
four armies which I have mentioned are praised because they have taken
up arms for the sake of the liberty of the Roman people, what reason
is there why this army of Marcus Brutus should not be classed under
the same head? Oh, but the very name of Marcus Brutus is unpopular
among the veterans.--More than that of Decimus Brutus?--I think not;
for although the action is common to both the Bruti, and although
their share in the glory is equal, still those men who were indignant
at that deed were more angry with Decimus Brutus, because they said,
that it was more improper for it to be executed by him. What now are
all those armies labouring at, except to effect the release of Decimus
Brutus from a siege? And who are the commanders of those armies? Those
men, I suppose, who wish the acts of Caius Caesar to be overturned,
and the cause of the veterans to be betrayed.

VIII. If Caesar himself were alive, could he, do you imagine, defend
his own acts more vigorously than that most gallant man Hirtius
defends them? or, is it possible that any one should be found more
friendly to the cause than his son? But the one of these, though not
long recovered from a very long attack of a most severe disease, has
applied all the energy and influence which he had to defending the
liberty of those men by whose prayers he considered that he himself
had been recalled from death; the other, stronger in the strength
of his virtue than in that of his age, has set out with those very
veterans to deliver Decimus Brutus. Therefore, those men who are both
the most certain and at the same time the most energetic defenders of
the acts of Caesar, are waging war for the safety of Decimus Brutus;
and they are followed by the veterans. For they see that they must
fight to the uttermost for the freedom of the Roman people, not for
their own advantages. What reason, then, is there why the army of
Marcus Brutus should be an object of suspicion to those men who with
the whole of their energies desire the preservation of Decimus Brutus?

But, moreover, if there were anything which were to be feared from
Marcus Brutus, would not Pansa perceive it? Or if he did perceive it,
would not he, too, be anxious about it? Who is either more acute in
his conjectures of the future, or more diligent in warding off danger?
But you have already seen his zeal for, and inclination towards Marcus
Brutus. He has already told us in his speech what we ought to decree,
and how we ought to feel with respect to Marcus Brutus. And he was so
far from thinking the army of Marcus Brutus dangerous to the republic,
that he considered it the most important and the most trusty bulwark
of the republic. Either, then, Pansa does not perceive this (no doubt
he is a man of dull intellect), or he disregards it. For he is
clearly not anxious that the acts which Caesar executed should be
ratified,--he, who in compliance with our recommendation is going to
bring forward a bill at the comitia centuriata for sanctioning and
confirming them.

IX. Let those, then, who have no fear, cease to pretend to be alarmed,
and to be exercising their foresight in the cause of the republic.
And let those who really are afraid of everything, cease to be too
fearful, lest the pretence of the one party and the inactivity of the
other be injurious to us. What, in the name of mischief! is the object
of always opposing the name of the veterans to every good cause? For
even if I were attached to their virtue, as indeed I am, still, if
they were arrogant I should not be able to tolerate their airs. While
we are endeavouring to break the bonds of slavery, shall any one
hinder us by saying that the veterans do not approve of it? For they
are not, I suppose, beyond all counting, who are ready to take up arms
in defence of the common freedom! There is no man, except the veteran
soldiers, who is stimulated by the indignation of a freeman to repel
slavery! Can the republic then stand, relying wholly on veterans,
without a great reinforcement of the youth of the state? Whom, indeed,
you ought to be attached to, if they be assistants to you in the
assertion of your freedom, but whom you ought not to follow if they be
the advisers of slavery.

Lastly, (let me at last say one true word, one word worthy of
myself!)--if the inclinations of this order are governed by the nod of
the veterans, and if all our words and actions are to be referred to
their will, death is what we should wish for, which has always, in the
minds of Roman citizens, been preferable to slavery. All slavery is
miserable; but some may have been unavoidable. Do you think, then,
that there is never to be a beginning of our endeavours to recover
our freedom? Or, when we would not bear that fortune which was
unavoidable, and which seemed almost as if appointed by destiny, shalt
we tolerate the voluntary bondage? All Italy is burning with a desire
for freedom. The city cannot endure slavery any longer. We have given
this warlike attire and these arms to the Roman people much later than
they have been demanded of us by them.

X. We have, indeed, undertaken our present course of action with a
great and almost certain hope of liberty. But even if I allow that the
events of war are uncertain, and that the chances of Mars are common
to both sides, still it is worth while to fight for freedom at the
peril of one's life. For life does not consist wholly in breathing,
there is literally no life at all for one who is a slave. All nations
can endure slavery. Our state cannot. Nor is there any other reason
for this, except that those nations shrink from toil and pain, and
are willing to endure anything so long as they may be free from those
evils, but we have been trained and bred up by our forefathers in such
a manner, as to measure all our designs and all our actions by the
standard of dignity and virtue. The recovery of freedom is so splendid
a thing that we must not shun even death when seeking to recover it.
But if immortality were to be the result of our avoidance of present
danger, still slavery would appear still more worthy of being avoided,
in proportion as it is of longer duration. But as all sorts of deaths
surround us on all sides night and day, it does not become a man,
and least of all a Roman, to hesitate to give up to his country that
breath which he owes to nature.

Men flock together from all quarters to extinguish a general
conflagration. The veterans were the first to follow the authority of
Caesar and to repel the attempts of Antonius, afterwards the Martial
legion checked his frenzy, the fourth legion crushed it. Being thus
condemned by his own legions, he burst into Gaul, which he knew to be
adverse and hostile to him both in word and deed. The armies of Aulus
Hirtius and Caius Caesar pursued him, and afterwards the levies of
Pansa roused the city and all Italy. He is the one enemy of all men.
Although he has with him Lucius his brother, a citizen very much
beloved by the Roman people, the regret for whose absence the city is
unable to endure any longer! What can be more foul than that beast?
what more savage? who appears born for the express purpose of
preventing Marcus Antonius from being the basest of all mortals. They
have with them Trebellius, who, now that all debts are cancelled, is
become reconciled to them, and Titus Plancus, and other like them,
who are striving with all their hearts, and whose sole object is, to
appear to have been restored against the will of the republic. Saxa
and Capho, themselves rustic and clownish men, men who never have
seen and who never wish to see this republic firmly established, are
tampering with the ignorant classes; men who are not upholding the
acts of Caesar but those of Antonius, who are led away by the unlimited
occupation of the Campanian district, and who I marvel are not
somewhat ashamed when they see that they have actors and actresses for
their neighbours.

XI. Why then should we be displeased that the army of Marcus Brutus is
thrown into the scale to assist us in overwhelming these pests of
the commonwealth? It is the army, I suppose, of an intemperate and
turbulent man. I am more afraid of his being too patient, although in
all the counsels and actions of that man there never has been anything
either too much or too little. The whole inclinations of Marcus
Brutus, O conscript fathers, the whole of his thoughts, the whole of
his ideas, are directed towards the authority of the senate and the
freedom of the Roman people. These are the objects which he proposes
to himself, these are what he desires to uphold. He has tried what he
could do by patience, as he did nothing he has thought it necessary to
encounter force by force. And, O conscript fathers, you ought at this
time to grant him the same honours which on the nineteenth of December
you conferred by my advice on Decimus Brutus and Caius Caesar, whose
designs and conduct in regard to the republic, while they also
were but private individuals, was approved of and praised by your
authority. And you ought to do the same now with respect to Marcus
Brutus, by whom an unhoped for and sudden reinforcement of legions and
cavalry, and numerous and trusty bands of allies, have been provided
for the republic.

Quintus Hortensius also ought to have a share of your praise, who,
being governor of Macedonia, joined Brutus as a most faithful and
untiring assistant in collecting that army. For I think that a
separate motion ought to be made respecting Marcus Appuleius, to whom
Brutus bears witness in his letters that he has been a prime assistant
to him in his endeavours to get together and equip his army. And since
this is the case,

"As Caius Pansa the consul has addressed to us a speech concerning
the letters which have been received from Quintus Caepio Brutus,[44]
proconsul, and have been read in this assembly, I give my vote in this
matter thus.

"Since, by the exertions and wisdom and industry and valour of Quintus
Caepio Brutus, proconsul, at a most critical period of the republic,
the province of Macedonia, and Illyircum, and all Greece, and the
legions and armies and cavalry, have been preserved in obedience to
the consuls and senate and people of Rome, Quintus Caepio Brutus,
proconsul, has acted well, and in a manner advantageous to the
republic and suitable to his own dignity and to that of his ancestors,
and to the principles according to which alone the affairs of the
republic can be properly managed, and that conduct is and will be
grateful to the senate and people of Rome.

"And moreover, as Quintus Caepio Brutus, proconsul, is occupying and
defending and protecting the province of Macedonia, and Illyricum, and
all Greece, and is preserving them in safety, and as he is in command
of an army which he himself has levied and collected, he is at
liberty, if he has need of any, to exact money for the use of the
military service, which belongs to the public, and can lawfully be
exacted, and to use it, and to borrow money for the exigencies of the
war from whomsoever he thinks fit, and to exact coin, and to endeavour
to approach Italy as near as he can with his forces. And as it has
been understood from the letters of Quintus Caepio Brutus, proconsul,
that the republic has been greatly benefited by the energy and valour
of Quintus Hortensius, proconsul, and that all his counsels have been
in harmony with those of Quintus Caepio Brutus, proconsul, and that
that harmony has been of the greatest service to the republic, Quintus
Hortensius has acted well and becomingly, and in a manner advantageous
to the republic. And the senate decrees that Quintus Hortensius,
proconsul, shall occupy the province of Macedonia with his quaestors,
or proquaestors and lieutenants, until he shall have a successor
regularly appointed by resolution of the senate."




THE ELEVENTH ORATION OF M T CICERO AGAINST MARCUS ANTONIUS. CALLED
ALSO THE ELEVENTH PHILIPPIC

       *       *       *       *       *

THE ARGUMENT


A short time after the delivery of the preceding speech, news came
to Rome of Dolabella (the colleague of Antonius) having been very
successful in Asia. He had left Rome before the expiration of his
consulship to take possession of Syria, which Antonius had contrived
to have allotted him, and he hoped to prevail on the inhabitants of
the province of Asia also to abandon Trebonius, (who had been one of
the slayers of Caesar, and was governor of Asia) and submit to him.
Trebonius was residing at Smyrna, and Dolabella arrived before the
walls of that town with very few troops, requesting a free passage
through Trebonius's province. Trebonius refused to admit him into
the town, but promised that he would permit him to enter Ephesus.
Dolabella, however, effected an entry into Smyrna by a nocturnal
surprise, and seized Trebonius, whom he murdered with great cruelty.

As soon as the news of this event reached Rome, the consul summoned
the senate, which at once declared Dolabella a public enemy, and
confiscated his estate. Calenus was the mover of this decree. But
besides this motion there was another question to be settled namely,
who was to be appointed to conduct the war against Dolabella. Some
proposed to send Publius Servilus; others, that the two consuls should
be sent, and should have the two provinces of Asia and Syria allotted
to them, and this last proposition Pansa himself was favourable
to, and it was supported not only by his friends, but also by the
partisans of Antonius, who thought it would draw off the consuls from
their present business of relieving Decimus Brutus. But Cicero thought
that it would be an insult to Cassius, who was already in those
countries, to supersede him as it were, by sending any one else to
command there, and so he exerted all his influence to procure a decree
entrusting the command to him, though Servilia, the mother-in-law of
Cassius, and other of Cassius's friends, begged him not to disoblige
Pansa. He persevered, however and made the following speech in support
of his opinion.

It appears that Cicero failed in his proposition through the influence
of Pansa, but before any orders came from Rome, Cassius had defeated
Dolabella near Laodicea, and he killed himself to avoid falling into
the hands of his conqueror.

I. AMID the great grief, O conscript fathers, or rather misery which
we have suffered at the cruel and melancholy death of Caius Trebonius,
a most virtuous citizen and a most moderate man, there is still a
circumstance or two in the case which I think will turn out beneficial
to the republic. For we have now thoroughly seen what great barbarity
these men are capable of who have taken up wicked arms against their
country. For these two, Dolabella and Antonius, are the very blackest
and foulest monsters that have ever lived since the birth of man; one
of whom has now done what he wished; and as to the other, it has been
plainly shown what he intended. Lucius Cinna was cruel; Caius Marius
was unrelenting in his anger; Lucius Sylla was fierce; but still the
inhumanity of none of these men ever went beyond death; and that
punishment indeed was thought too cruel to be inflicted on citizens.

Here now you have a pair equal in wickedness; unprecedented, unheard
of, savage, barbarous. Therefore those men whose vehement mutual
hatred and quarrel you recollect a short time ago, have now been
united in singular unanimity and mutual attachment by the singularity
of their wicked natures and most infamous lives. Therefore, that which
Dolabella has now done in a case in which he had the power, Antonius
threatens many with. But the former, as he was a long way from our
counsels and armies, and as he was not yet aware that the senate had
united with the Roman people, relying on the forces of Antonius, has
committed those wicked actions which he thought were already put in
practice at Rome by his accomplice in wickedness. What else then do
you think that this man is contriving or wishing, or what other object
do you think he has in the war? All of us who have either entertained
the thoughts of freemen concerning the republic, or have given
utterance to opinions worthy of ourselves, he decides to be not merely
opposed to him, but actual enemies. And he plans inflicting bitterer
punishments on us than on the enemy; he thinks death a punishment
imposed by nature, but torments and tortures the proper inflictions of
anger. What sort of enemy then must we consider that man who, if he be
victorious, requires one to think death a kindness if he spares one
the tortures with which it is in his power to accompany it?

II. Wherefore, O conscript fathers, although you do not need any one
to exhort you, (for you yourself have of your own accord warmed up
with the desire of recovering your freedom,) still defend, I warn you,
your freedom with so much the more zeal and courage, in proportion
as the punishments of slavery with which you see the conquered are
threatened are more terrible. Antonius has invaded Gaul; Dolabella,
Asia; each a province with which he had no business whatever. Brutus
has opposed himself to the one, and at the peril of his own life has
checked the onset of that frantic man wishing to harass and plunder
everything, has prevented his further progress, and has cut him off
from his return. By allowing himself to be besieged he has hemmed in
Antonius on each side.

The other has forced his way into Asia. With what object? If it was
merely to proceed into Syria, he had a road open to him which was
sure, and was not long. What was the need of sending forward some
Marsian, they call him Octavius, with a legion; a wicked and
necessitous robber; a man to lay waste the lands, to harass the
cities, not from any hope of acquiring any permanent property, which
they who know him say that he is unable to keep (for I have not the
honour of being acquainted with this senator myself,) but just as
present food to satisfy his indigence? Dolabella followed him, without
any one having any suspicion of war. For how could any one think
of such a thing? Very friendly conferences with Trebonius ensued;
embraces, false tokens of the greatest good-will, were there full of
simulated affection; the pledge of the right hand, which used to be a
witness of good faith, was violated by treachery and wickedness;
then came the nocturnal entry into Smyrna, as if into an enemy's
city--Smyrna, which is a city of our most faithful and most ancient
allies; then the surprise of Trebonius, who, if he were surprised by
one who was an open enemy, was very careless; if by one who up to that
moment maintained the appearance of a citizen, was miserable. And by
his example fortune wished us to take a lesson of what the conquered
party had to fear. He handed over a man of consular rank, governing
the province of Asia with consular authority, to an exiled
armourer;[45] he would not slay him the moment that he had taken him,
fearing, I suppose, that his victory might appear too merciful; but
after having attacked that most excellent man with insulting words
from his impious mouth, then he examined him with scourges and
tortures concerning the public money, and that for two days together.
Afterwards he cut off his head, and ordered it to be fixed on a
javelin and carried about, and the rest of his body, having been
dragged through the street and town, he threw into the sea.

We, then, have to war against this enemy by whose most foul cruelty
all the savageness of barbarous nations is surpassed. Why need I speak
of the massacre of Roman citizens? of the plunder of temples? Who is
there who can possibly deplore such circumstances as their atrocity
deserves? And now he is ranging all over Asia, he is triumphing about
as a king, he thinks that we are occupied in another quarter by
another war, as if it were not one and the same war against this
outrageous pair of impious men.

III. You see now an image of the cruelty of Marcus Antonius in
Dolabella, this conduct of his is formed on the model of the other.
It is by him that the lessons of wickedness have been taught to
Dolabella. Do you think that Antonius, if he had the power, would be
more merciful in Italy than Dolabella has proved in Asia? To me,
indeed, this latter appears to have gone as far as the insanity of a
savage man could go; nor do I believe that Antonius either would omit
any description of punishment, if he had only the power to inflict it.

Place then before your eyes, O conscript fathers, that spectacle,
miserable indeed, and tearful, but still indispensable to rouse your
minds properly: the nocturnal attack upon the most beautiful city in
Asia; the irruption of armed men into Trebonius's house, when that
unhappy man saw the swords of the robbers before he heard what was the
matter, the entrance of Dolabella, raging,--his ill omened voice,
and infamous countenance,--the chains, the scourges, the rack, the
armourer who was both torturer and executioner, all which they say
that the unhappy Trebonius endured with great fortitude. A great
praise, and in my opinion indeed the greatest of all, for it is the
part of a wise man to resolve beforehand that whatever can happen to
a brave man is to be endured with patience if it should happen. It is
indeed a proof of altogether greater wisdom to act with such foresight
as to prevent any such thing from happening, but it is a token of no
less courage to bear it bravely if it should befall one.

And Dolabella was indeed so wholly forgetful of the claims of
humanity, (although, indeed, he never had any particular recollection
of it,) as to vent his insatiable cruelty, not only on the living man,
but also on the dead carcass, and, as he could not sufficiently glut
his hatred, to feed his eyes also on the lacerations inflicted, and
the insults offered to his corpse.

IV. O Dolabella, much more wretched than he whom you intended to be
the most wretched of all men! Trebonius endured great agonies, many
men have endured greater still, from severe disease, whom, however,
we are in the habit of calling not miserable, but afflicted. His
sufferings, which lasted two days, were long, but many men have had
sufferings lasting many years, nor are the tortures inflicted by
executioners more terrible than those caused by disease are sometimes.
There are other tortures,--others, I tell you, O you most abandoned
and insane man, which are far more miserable. For in proportion as
the vigour of the mind exceeds that of the body, so also are the
sufferings which rack the mind more terrible than those which are
endured by the body. He, therefore, who commits a wicked action is
more wretched than he who is compelled to endure the wickedness of
another. Trebonius was tortured by Dolabella, and so, indeed, was
Regulus by the Carthaginians. If on that account the Carthaginians
were considered very cruel for such behaviour to an enemy, what must
we think of Dolabella, who treated a citizen in such a manner? Is
there any comparison? or can we doubt which of the two is most
miserable? he whose death the senate and Roman people wish to avenge,
or he who has been adjudged an enemy by the unanimous vote of the
senate? For in every other particular of their lives, who could
possibly, without the greatest insult to Trebonius, compare the life
of Trebonius to that of Dolabella? Who is ignorant of the wisdom, and
genius, and humanity, and innocence of the one, and of his greatness
of mind as displayed in his exertions for the freedom of his country?
The other, from his very childhood, has taken delight in cruelty; and,
moreover, such has been the shameful nature of his lusts, that he has
always delighted in the very fact of doing those things which he could
not even be reproached with by a modest enemy.

And this man, O ye immortal gods, was once my relation! For his vices
were unknown to one who did not inquire into such things nor perhaps
should I now be alienated from him if he had not been discovered to
be an enemy to you, to the walls of his country, to this city, to our
household gods, to the altars and hearths of all of us,--in short, to
human nature and to common humanity. But now, having received this
lesson from him, let us be the more diligent and vigilant in being on
our guard against Antonius.

V. Indeed, Dolabella had not with him any great number of notorious
and conspicuous robbers. But you see there are with Antonius, and in
what numbers. In the first place, there is his brother Lucius--what
a firebrand, O ye immortal gods! what an incarnation of crime and
wickedness! what a gulf, what a whirlpool of a man! What do you think
that man incapable of swallowing up in his mind, or gulping down
in his thoughts! Who do you imagine there is whose blood he is not
thirsting for? who, on whose possessions and fortunes he is not fixing
his most impudent eyes, his hopes, and his whole heart? What shall we
say of Censorinus? who, as far as words go, said indeed that he wished
to be the city praetor, but who, in fact, was unwilling to be so? What
of Bestia, who professes that he is a candidate for the consulship in
the place of Brutus? May Jupiter avert from us this most detestable
omen! But how absurd is it for a man to stand for the consulship who
cannot be elected praetor! unless, indeed, he thinks his conviction may
be taken as an equivalent to the praetorship. Let this second Caesar,
this great Vopiscus[46], a man of consummate genius, of the highest
influence, who seeks the consulship immediately after having been
aedile, be excused from obedience to the laws. Although, indeed, the
laws do not bind him, on account, I suppose, of his exceeding dignity.
But this man has been acquitted five times when I have defended him.
To win a sixth city victory is difficult, even in the case of a
gladiator. However, this is the fault of the judges, not mine. I
defended him with perfect good faith, they were bound to retain a most
illustrious and excellent citizen in the republic, who now, however,
appears to have no other object except to make us understand that
those men whose judicial decisions we annulled, decided rightly and in
a manner advantageous to the republic.

Nor is this the case with respect to this man alone; there are other
men in the same camp honestly condemned and shamefully restored; what
counsel do you imagine can be adopted by those men who are enemies to
all good men, that is not utterly cruel? There is besides a fellow
called Saxa; I don't know who he is, some man whom Caesar imported
from the extremity of Celtiberia and gave us for a tribune of the
people. Before that, he was a measurer of ground for camps; now he
hopes to measure out and value the city. May the evils which this
foreigner predicts to us fall on his own head, and may we escape in
safety! With him is the veteran Capho; nor is there any man whom the
veteran troops hate more cordially; to these men, as if in addition to
the dowry which they had received during our civil disasters, Antonius
had given the Campanian district, that they might have it as a sort
of nurse for their other estates. I only wish they would be contented
with them! We would bear it then, though it would not be what ought to
be borne, but still it would be worth our while to bear anything, as
long as we could escape this most shameful war.

VI. What more? Have you not before your eyes those ornaments of the
camp of Marcus Antonius? In the first place, these two colleagues of
the Antonii and Dolabella, Nucula and Lento the dividers of all Italy
according to that law which the senate pronounced to have been earned
by violence, one of whom has been a writer of farces, and the other an
actor of tragedies. Why should I speak of Domitius the Apulian? whose
property we have lately seen advertised, so great is the carelessness
of his agents. But this man lately was not content with giving poison
to his sister's son, he actually drenched him with it. But it is
impossible for these men to live in any other than a prodigal manner,
who hope for our property while they are squandering their own. I have
seen also an auction of the property of Publius Decius, an illustrious
man, who, following the example of his ancestors, devoted himself for
the debts of another. But at that auction no one was found to be a
purchaser. Ridiculous man to think it possible to escape from debt by
selling other people's property! For why should I speak of Trebellius?
on whom the furies of debts seem to have wrecked their vengeance, for
we have seen one table[47] avenging another. Why should I speak of
Plancus? whom that most illustrious citizen Aquila has driven from
Pollentia,--and that too with a broken leg, and I wish he had met with
that accident earlier, so as not to be liable to return hither.

I had almost passed over the light and glory of that army, Caius
Annius Cimber, the son of Lysidicus, a Lysidicus himself in the Greek
meaning of the word, since he has broken all laws, unless perhaps it
is natural for a Cimbrian to slay a German[48]? When Antonius has such
numbers with him, and those too men of that sort, what crime will he
shrink from, when Dolabella has polluted himself with such atrocious
murders without at all an equal troop of robbers to support him?
Wherefore, as I have often at other times differed against my will
from Quintus Fufius, so on this occasion I gladly agree with his
proposition. And from this you may see that my difference is not with
the man, but with the cause which he sometimes advocates.

Therefore, at present I not only agree with Quintus Fufius, but I even
return thanks to him, for he has given utterance to opinions which are
upright, and dignified, and worthy of the republic. He has pronounced
Dolabella a public enemy, he has declared his opinion that his
property ought to be confiscated by public authority. And though
nothing could be added to this, (for, indeed, what could he propose
more severe or more pitiless?) nevertheless, he said that if any of
those men who were asked their opinion after him proposed any more
severe sentence, he would vote for it. Who can avoid praising such
severity as this?

VII. Now, since Dolabella has been pronounced a public enemy, he must
be pursued by war. For he himself will not remain quiet. He has a
legion with him, he has troops of runaway slaves, he has a wicked band
of impious men, he himself is confident, intemperate, and bent on
falling by the death of a gladiator. Wherefore, since, as Dolabella
was voted an enemy by the decree which was passed yesterday, war must
be waged, we must necessarily appoint a general.

Two opinions have been advanced, neither of which do I approve. The
one, because I always think it dangerous unless it be absolutely
necessary, the other, because I think it wholly unsuited to the
emergency. For an extraordinary commission is a measure suited rather
to the fickle character of the mob, one which does not at all become
our dignity or this assembly. In the war against Antiochus, a great
and important war, when Asia had fallen by lot to Lucius Scipio as his
province, and when he was thought to have hardly spirit and hardly
vigour enough for it, and when the senate was inclined to entrust the
business to his colleague Caius Laelius, the father of this Laelius,
who was surnamed the Wise; Publius Africanus, the elder brother of
Lucius Scipio, rose up, and entreated them not to cast such a slur on
his family, and said that in his brother there was united the greatest
possible valour, with the most consummate prudence, and that he too,
notwithstanding his age, and all the exploits which he had performed,
would attend his brother as his lieutenant. And after he had said
this, nothing was changed in respect to Scipio's province, nor was any
extraordinary command sought for any more in that war than in those
two terrible Punic wars which had preceded it, which were carried
on and conducted to their termination either by the consuls or by
dictators, or than in the war with Pyrrhus, or in that with Philippus,
or afterwards in the Achaean war, or in the third Punic war, for which
last the Roman people took great care to select a suitable general,
Publius Scipio, but at the same time it appointed him to the
consulship in order to conduct it.

VIII. War was to be waged against Aristonicus in the consulship of
Publius Licunius and Lucius Valerius. The people was consulted as to
whom it wished to have the management of that war. Crassus, the consul
and Pontifex Maximus, threatened to impose a fine upon Flaccus his
colleague the priest of Mars, if he deserted the sacrifices. And
though the people remitted the fine, still they ordered the priest to
submit to the commands of the pontiff. But even then the Roman people
did not commit the management of the war to a private individual,
although there was Africanus, who the year before had celebrated a
triumph over the people of Numantia, and who was far superior to all
men in martial renown and military skill; yet he only gained the
votes of two tribunes. And accordingly the Roman people entrusted the
management of the war to Crassus the consul rather than to the private
individual Africanus. As to the commands given to Cnaeus Pompeius, that
most illustrious man, that first of men, they were carried by some
turbulent tribunes of the people. For the war against Sertorius was
only given by the senate to a private individual because the consuls
refused it, when Lucius Philippus said that he sent the general in the
place of the two consuls, not as proconsul.

What then is the object of these comitia? Or what is the meaning of
this canvassing which that most wise and dignified citizen, Lucius
Caesar, has introduced into the senate? He has proposed to vote a
military command to one who is certainly a most illustrious and
unimpeachable man, but still only a private individual. And by doing
so he has imposed a heavy burden upon us. Suppose I agree, shall I by
so doing countenance the introduction of the practice of canvassing
into the senate house? Suppose I vote against it, shall I appear as if
I were in the comitia to have refused an honour to a man who is one of
my greatest friends? But if we are to have the comitia in the senate,
let us ask for votes, let us canvass, let a voting tablet be given us,
just as one is given to the people. Why do you, O Caesar, allow it to
be so managed that either a most illustrious man, if your proposition
be not agreed too, shall appear to have received a repulse, or else
that one of us shall appear to have been passed over, if, while we are
men of equal dignity, we are not considered worthy of equal honour?

But (for this is what I hear is said,) I myself gave by my own vote an
extraordinary commission to Caius Caesar. Ay, indeed, for he had given
me extraordinary protection, when I say me, I mean he had given it
to the senate and to the Roman people. Was I to refuse giving an
extraordinary military command to that man from whom the republic had
received protection which had never even been thought of, but that
still was of so much consequence that without it she could not have
been safe? There were only the alternatives of taking his army from
him, or giving him such a command. For on what principle or by what
means can an army be retained by a man who has not been invested with
any military command? We must not, therefore, think that a thing has
been given to a man which has, in fact, not been taken away from him.
You would, O conscript fathers, have taken a command away from Caius
Caesar, if you had not given him one. The veteran soldiers, who,
following his authority and command and name, had taken up arms in the
cause of the republic, desired to be commanded by him. The Martial
legion and the fourth legion had submitted to the authority of the
senate, and had devoted themselves to uphold the dignity of the
republic, in such a way as to feel that they had a right to demand
Caius Caesar for their commander. It was the necessity of the war that
invested Caius Caesar with military command, the senate only gave him
the ensigns of it. But I beg you to tell me, O Lucius Caesar,--I am
aware that I am arguing with a man of the greatest experience,--when
did the senate ever confer a military command on a private individual
who was in a state of inactivity, and doing nothing?

IX. However, I have been speaking hitherto to avoid the appearance of
gratuitously opposing a man who is a great friend of mine, and who has
showed me great kindness. Although, can one deny a thing to a person
who not only does not ask for it, but who even refuses it? But, O
conscript fathers, that proposition is unsuited to the dignity of the
consuls, unsuited to the critical character of the times, namely, the
proposition that the consuls, for the sake of pursuing Dolabella,
shall have the provinces of Asia and Syria allotted to them. I will
explain why it is inexpedient for the republic, but first of all,
consider what ignominy it fixes on the consuls. When a consul elect
is being besieged, when the safety of the republic depends upon his
liberation, when mischievous and parricidal citizens have revolted
from the republic, and when we are carrying on a war in which we are
fighting for our dignity, for our freedom, and for our lives, and
when, if any one falls into the power of Antonius, tortures and
torments are prepared for him, and when the struggle for all these
objects has been committed and entrusted to our most admirable and
gallant consuls,--shall any mention be made of Asia and Syria so
that we may appear to have given any injurious cause for others to
entertain suspicion of us, or to bring us into unpopularity? They do
indeed propose it, "after having liberated Brutus,"--for those were
the last words of the proposal, say rather, after having deserted,
abandoned, and betrayed him.

But I say that any mention whatever of any provinces has been made at
a most unseasonable time. For although your mind, O Caius Pausa, be
ever so intent, as indeed it is, on effecting the liberation of the
most true and illustrious of all men, still the nature of things would
compel you inevitably sometimes to turn your thoughts to the idea
of pursuing Antonius, and to divert some portion of your care and
attention to Asia and Syria. But if it were possible, I could wish you
to have more minds than one, and yet to direct them all upon Mutina.
But since that is impossible, I do wish you, with that most virtuous
and all accomplished mind which you have got, to think of nothing but
Brutus. And that indeed, is what you are doing; that is what you are
especially striving at, but still no man can I will not say do two
things, especially two most important things, at one time but he
cannot even do entire justice to them both in his thoughts. It is our
duty rather to spur on and inflame that excellent eagerness of yours,
and not to transfer any portion of it to another object of care in a
different direction.

X. Add to these considerations the way men talk, the way in which they
nourish suspicion, the way in which they take dislikes. Imitate
me whom you have always praised; for I rejected a province fully
appointed and provided by the senate, for the purpose of discarding
all other thoughts, and devoting all my efforts to extinguishing the
conflagration that threatened to consume my country. There was no one
except me alone, to whom, indeed, you would, in consideration of our
intimacy, have been sure to communicate anything which concerned your
interests, who would believe that the province had been decreed to you
against your will. I entreat you, check, as is due to your eminent
wisdom, this report, and do not seem to be desirous of that which you
do not in reality care about. And you should take the more care of
this point, because your colleague, a most illustrious man, cannot
fall under the same suspicion. He knows nothing of all that is going
on here, he suspects nothing, he is conducting the war, he is standing
in battle array, he is fighting for his blood and for his life, he
will hear of the province being decreed to him before he could imagine
that there had been time for such a proceeding. I am afraid that our
armies too, which have devoted themselves to the republic, not from
any compulsory levy, but of their own voluntary zeal, will be checked
in their ardour, if they suppose that we are thinking of anything but
instant war.

But if provinces appear to the consuls as things to be desired, as
they often have been desired by many illustrious men, first restore us
Brutus, the light and glory of the state, whom we ought to preserve
like that statue which fell from heaven, and is guarded by the
protection of Vesta, which, as long as it is safe, ensures our safety
also. Then we will raise you, if it be possible, even to heaven on
our shoulders, unquestionably we will select for you the most worthy
provinces. But at present let us apply ourselves to the business
before us. And the question is, whether we will live as freemen, or
die, for death is certainly to be preferred to slavery. What more
need I say? Suppose that proposition causes delay in the pursuit of
Dolabella? For when will the consul arrive? Are we waiting till there
is not even a vestige of the towns and cities of Asia left? "But they
will send some one of their officers"--That will certainly be a step
that I shall quite approve of, I who just now objected to giving any
extraordinary military command to even so illustrious a man if he were
only a private individual. "But they will send a man worthy of such a
charge." Will they send one more worthy than Publius Servilius? But
the city has not such a man. What then he himself thinks ought to be
given to no one, not even by the senate, can I approve of that being
conferred by the decision of one man? We have need, O conscript
fathers, of a man ready and prepared, and of one who has a military
command legally conferred on him, and of one who, besides this, has
authority, and a name, and an army, and a courage which has been
already tried in his exertions for the deliverance of the republic.

XI Who then is that man? Either Marcus Brutus, or Caius Cassius,
or both of them. I would vote in plain words, as there are many
precedents for, one consul or both, if we had not already hampered
Brutus sufficiently in Greece, and if we had not preferred having his
reinforcement approach nearer to Italy rather than move further off
towards Asia, not so much in order to receive succour ourselves from
that army, as to enable that army to receive aid across the water.
Besides, O conscript fathers, even now Caius Antonius is detaining
Marcus Brutus, for he occupies Apollonia, a large and important
city, he occupies, as I believe, Byllis, he occupies Amantia, he is
threatening Epirus, he is pressing on Illyricum, he has with him
several cohorts, and he has cavalry. If Brutus be transferred from
this district to any other war, we shall at all events lose Greece. We
must also provide for the safety of Brundusium and all that coast
of Italy. Although I marvel that Antonius delays so long, for he is
accustomed usually to put on his marching dress and not to endure the
fear of a siege for any length of time. But if Brutus has finished
that business, and perceives that he can better serve the republic by
pursuing Dolabella than by remaining in Greece, he will act of his own
head, as he has hitherto done, nor amid such a general conflagration
will he wait for the orders of the senate when instant help is
required. For both Brutus and Cassius have in many instances been
a senate to themselves. For it is quite inevitable that in such a
confusion and disturbance of all things men should be guided by the
present emergency rather than by precedent. Nor will this be the first
time that either Brutus or Cassius has considered the safety and
deliverance of his country his most holy law and his most excellent
precedent. Therefore, if there were no motion submitted to us about
the pursuit of Dolabella, still I should consider it equivalent to a
decree, when there were men of such a character for virtue, authority,
and the greatest nobleness, possessing armies, one of which is already
known to us, and the other has been abundantly heard of.

XII Brutus then, you may be sure, has not waited for our decrees, as
he was sure of our desires. For he is not gone to his own province of
Crete, he has flown to Macedonia, which belonged to another, he has
accounted everything his own which you have wished to be yours, he has
enlisted new legions, he has received old ones, he has gained over to
his own standard the cavalry of Dolabella, and even before that man
was polluted with such enormous parricide, he, of his own head,
pronounced him his enemy. For if he were not one, by what right could
he himself have tempted the cavalry to abandon the consul? What more
need I say? Did not Caius Cassius, a man endowed with equal greatness
of mind and with equal wisdom, depart from Italy with the deliberate
object of preventing Dolabella from obtaining possession of Syria? By
what law? By what right? By that which Jupiter himself has sanctioned,
that everything which was advantageous to the republic should be
considered legal and just.

For law is nothing but a correct principle drawn from the inspiration
of the gods, commanding what is honest, and forbidding the contrary.
Cassius, therefore, obeyed this law when he went into Syria, a
province which belonged to another, if men were to abide by the
written laws, but which, when these were trampled under foot, was his
by the law of nature. But in order that they may be sanctioned by your
authority also, I now give my vote, that,

"As Publius Dolabella, and those who have been the ministers of and
accomplices and assistants in his cruel and infamous crime, have been
pronounced enemies of the Roman people by the senate, and as the
senate has voted that Publius Dolabella shall be pursued with war, in
order that he who has violated all laws of men and gods by a new
and unheard of and inexpiable wickedness and has committed the most
infamous treason against his country, may suffer the punishment which
is his due, and which he has well deserved at the hands of gods and
men, the senate decrees that Caius Cassius, proconsul, shall have the
government of Syria as one appointed to that province with all due
form, and that he shall receive their armies from Quintus Marcus
Crispus, proconsul, from Lucius Statius Murcus, proconsul, from Aulus
Allienus, lieutenant, and that they shall deliver them up to him, and
that he, with these troops and with any more which he may have got
from other quarters, shall pursue Dolabella with war both by sea and
land; that, for the sake of carrying on war, he shall have authority
and power to buy ships, and sailors, and money, and whatever else may
be necessary or useful for the carrying on of the war, in whatever
places it seems fitting to him to do so, throughout Syria, Asia,
Bithynia, and Pontus; and that, in whatever province he shall arrive
for the purpose of carrying on that war, in that province as soon
as Caius Cassius, proconsul, shall arrive in it, the power of Caius
Cassius, proconsul, shall be superior to that of him who may be the
regular governor of the province at the time. That king Deiotarus the
father, and also king Deiotarus the son, if they assist Caius Cassius,
proconsul, with their armies and treasures, as they have heretofore
often assisted the generals of the Roman people, will do a thing which
will be grateful to the senate and people of Rome; and that also, if
the rest of the kings and tetrarchs and governors in those districts
do the same, the senate and people of Rome will not be forgetful of
their loyalty and kindness; and that Caius Pansa and Aulus Hirtius the
consuls, one or both of them, as it seems good to them, as soon
as they have re-established the republic, shall at the earliest
opportunity submit a motion to this order about the consular and
praetorian provinces; and that, in the meantime, the provinces should
continue to be governed by those officers by whom they are governed at
present, until a successor be appointed to each by a resolution of the
senate."

XIII. By this resolution of the senate you will inflame the existing
ardour of Cassius, and you will give him additional arms; for you
cannot be ignorant of his disposition, or of the resources which he
has at present. His disposition is such as you see; his resources,
which you have heard stated to you, are those of a gallant and
resolute man, who, even while Trebonius was alive, would not permit
the piratical crew of Dolabella to penetrate into Syria. Allienus, my
intimate friend and connexion, who went thither after the death of
Trebonius, will not permit himself to be called the lieutenant of
Dolabella. The army of Quintus Caecilius Bassus, a man indeed without
any regular appointment, but a brave and eminent man, is vigorous and
victorious. The army of Deiotarus the king, both father and son, is
very numerous, and equipped in our fashion. Moreover, in the son
there is the greatest hope, the greatest vigour of genius and a good
disposition, and the most eminent valour. Why need I speak of the
father, whose good-will towards the Roman people is coeval with his
life; who has not only been the ally of our commanders in their wars,
but has also served himself as the general of his own troops. What
great things have Sylla, and Murena, and Servilius, and Lucullus said
of that man; what complimentary, what honourable and dignified mention
have they often made of him in the senate! Why should I speak of
Cnaeus Pompeius, who considered Deiotarus the only friend and real
well-wisher from his heart, the only really loyal man to the Roman
people in the whole world? We were generals, Marcus Bibulus and I, in
neighbouring provinces bordering on his kingdom; and we were assisted
by that same monarch both with cavalry and infantry. Then followed
this most miserable and disastrous civil war; in which I need not say
what Deiotarus ought to have done, or what would have been the most
proper course which he could have adopted, especially as victory
decided for the party opposed to the wishes of Deiotarus. And if in
that war he committed any error, he did so in common with the senate.
If his judgment was the right one, then even though defeated it does
not deserve to be blamed. To these resources other kings and other
levies of troops will be added. Nor will fleets be wanting to us; so
greatly do the Tyrians esteem Cassius, so mighty is his name in Syria
and Phoenicia.

XIV. The republic, O conscript fathers, has a general ready against
Dolabella, in Caius Cassius, and not ready only, but also skilful and
brave. He performed great exploits before the arrival of Bibulus, a
most illustrious man, when he defeated the most eminent generals of
the Parthians and their innumerable armies, and delivered Syria from
their most formidable invasion. I pass over his greatest and most
extraordinary glory; for as the mention of it is not yet acceptable
to every one, we had better preserve it in our recollection than by
bearing testimony to it with our voice.

I have noticed, O conscript fathers, that some people have said before
now, that even Brutus is too much extolled by me, that Cassius is too
much extolled; and that by this proposition of mine absolute power and
quite a principality is conferred upon Cassius. Whom do I extol? Those
who are themselves the glory of the republic. What? have I not at all
times extolled Decimus Brutus whenever I have delivered my opinion at
all? Do you then find fault with me? or should I rather praise the
Antonii, the disgrace and infamy not only of their own families, but of
the Roman name? or should I speak in favour of Censorenus, an enemy in
time of war, an assassin in time of peace? or should I collect all
the other ruined men of that band of robbers? But I am so far from
extolling those enemies of tranquility, of concord, of the laws, of
the courts of justice, and of liberty, that I cannot avoid hating them
as much as I love the republic. "Beware," says one, "how you offend
the veterans." For this is what I am most constantly told. But I
certainly ought to protect the rights of the veterans; of those at
least who are well disposed; but surely I ought not to fear them. And
those veterans who have taken up arms in the cause of the republic,
and have followed Caius Caesar, remembering the kindnesses which they
received from his father, and who at this day are defending the
republic to their own great personal danger,--those I ought not only
to defend, but to seek to procure additional advantages for them. But
those also who remain quiet, such as the sixth and eighth legion, I
consider worthy of great glory and praise. But as for those companions
of Antonius, who after they have devoured the benefits of Caesar,
besiege the consul elect, threaten this city with fire and sword, and
have given themselves up to Saxa and Capho, men born for crime and
plunder, who is there who thinks that those men ought to be defended?
Therefore the veterans are either good men, whom we ought to load with
distinctions, or quiet men, whom we ought to preserve, or impious
ones, against whose frenzy we have declared war and taken up
legitimate arms.

XV. Who then are the veterans whom we are to be fearful of offending?
Those who are desirous to deliver Decimus Brutus from siege? for how
can those men, to whom the safety of Brutus is dear, hate the name of
Cassius? Or those men who abstain from taking arms on either side? I
have no fear of any of those men who delight in tranquility becoming
a mischievous citizen. But as for the third class, whom I call not
veteran soldiers, but infamous enemies, I wish to inflict on them the
most bitter pain. Although, O conscript fathers, how long are we to
deliver our opinions as it may please the veterans? why are we to
yield so much to their haughtiness? why are we to make their arrogance
of such importance as to choose our generals with reference to their
pleasure? But I (for I must speak, O conscript fathers, what I feel,)
think that we ought not so much to regard the veterans, as to look at
what the young soldiers, the flower of Italy--at what the new legions,
most eager to effect the deliverance of their country--at what all
Italy will think of your wisdom. For there is nothing which flourishes
for ever. Age succeeds age. The legions of Caesar have flourished for a
long time; but now those who are flourishing are the legions of Pansa,
and the Legions of Hirtius, and the legions of the son of Caesar, and
the legions of Plancus. They surpass the veterans in number, they have
the advantage of youth, moreover, they surpass them also in authority.
For they are engaged in waging that war which is approved of by all
nations. Therefore, rewards have been promised to these latter. To
the former they have been already paid,--let them enjoy them. But let
these others have those rewards given to them which we have promised
them. For that is what I hope that the immortal gods will consider
just.

And as this is the case, I give my vote for the proposition which I
have made to you, O conscript fathers, being adopted by you.




THE TWELFTH ORATION OF M T CICERO AGAINST MARCUS ANTONIUS. CALLED ALSO
THE TWELFTH PHILIPPIC.


THE ARGUMENT.


Decimus Brutus was in such distress in Mutina, that his friends began
to be alarmed, fearing that, if he fell into the hands of Antonius,
he would be treated as Trebonius had been. And, as the friends of
Antonius gave out that he was now more inclined to come to terms with
the senate, a proposition was made and supported by Pansa to send a
second embassy to him. And even Cicero at first consented to it,
and allowed himself to be nominated with Servilius and three other
senators, all of consular rank, but on more mature reflection he was
convinced that he had been guilty of a blunder, and that the object of
Antonius and his friends was only to gain time for Ventidius to join
him with his three legions. Accordingly, at the next meeting of the
senate, he delivered the following speech, retracting his former
sanction of the proposed embassy. And he spoke so strongly against it,
that the measure was abandoned and Pansa soon afterwards marched with
his army to join Hirtius and Octavius, with the intention of forcing
Antonius to a battle.

I. Although, O conscript fathers it seems very unbecoming for that
man whose counsels you have so often adopted in the most important
affairs, to be deceived and deluded, and to commit mistakes, yet I
console myself, since I made the mistake in company with you, and in
company also with a consul of the greatest wisdom. For when two men of
consular rank had brought us hope of an honorable peace, they appeared
as being friends and extremely intimate with Marcus Antonius, to be
aware of some weak point about him with which we were unacquainted.
His wife and children are in the house of one, the other is known
every day to send letters to, to receive letters from, and openly to
favour Antonius.

These men, then, appeared likely to have some reason for exhorting us
to peace, which they had done for some time. The consul, too, added
the weight of his exhortation, and what a consul! If we look for
prudence, one who was not easily to be deceived; if for virtue and
courage, one who would never admit of peace unless Antonius submitted
and confessed himself to be vanquished, if for greatness of mind, one
who would prefer death to slavery. You, too, O conscript fathers,
appeared to be induced to think not of accepting but of imposing
conditions, not so much because you were forgetful of your most
important and dignified resolutions, as because you had hopes
suggested you of a surrender on the part of Antonius, which his
friends preferred to call peace. My own hopes, and I imagine yours
also, were increased by the circumstance of my hearing that the family
of Antonius was overwhelmed with distress, and that his wife was
incessantly lamenting. And in this assembly, too, I saw that the
partisans, on whose countenance my eyes are always dwelling, looked
more sorrowful than usual. And if that is not so, why on a sudden has
mention been made of peace by Piso and Calenus of all people in the
world, why at this particular moment, why so unexpectedly? Piso
declares that he knows nothing, that he has not heard anything.
Calenus declares that no news has been brought. And they make that
statement now, after they think that we are involved in a pacific
embassy. What need have we, then, of any new determination, if no new
circumstances have arisen to call for one?

II. We have been deceived,--we have, I say, been deceived, O conscript
fathers. It is the cause of Antonius that has been pleaded by his
friends, and not the cause of the public. And I did indeed see that,
though through a sort of mist, the safety of Decimus Brutus had
dazzled my eyesight. But if in war, substitutes were in the habit of
being given, I would gladly allow myself to be hemmed in, so long
as Decimus Brutus might be released. But we were caught by this
expression of Quintus Fufius; "Shall we not listen to Antonius, even
if he retires from Mutina? Shall we not, even if he declares that he
will submit himself to the authority of the senate?" It seemed harsh
to say that. Thus it was that we were broken, we yielded. Does he then
retire from Mutina? "I don't know." Is he obeying the senate? "I think
so" says Calenus, "but so as to preserve his own dignity at the same
time." You then, O conscript fathers, are to make great exertions for
the express purpose of losing your own dignity, which is very great,
and of preserving that of Antonius, which neither has nor can have any
existence, and of enabling him to recover that by your conduct, which
he has lost by his own. "But, however, that matter is not open for
consideration now, an embassy has been appointed." But what is there
which is not open for consideration to a wise man, as long as it
can be remodelled? Any man is liable to a mistake; but no one but a
downright fool will persist in error. For second thoughts, as people
say, are best. The mist which I spoke of just now is dispelled, light
has arisen, the case is plain--we see everything, and that not by our
own acuteness, but we are warned by our friends.

You heard just now what was the statement made by a most admirable
man. I found, said he, his house, his wife, his children, all in great
distress. Good men marvelled at me, my friends blamed me for having
been led by the hope of peace to undertake an embassy. And no wonder,
O Publius Servilius. For by your own most true and most weighty
arguments Antonius was stripped, I do not say of all dignity, but of
even every hope of safety. Who would not wonder if you were to go
as an ambassador to him? I judge by my own case, for with regard to
myself I see how the same design as you conceived is found fault with.
And are we the only people blamed? What? did that most gallant man
speak so long and so precisely a little while ago without any reason?
What was he labouring for, except to remove from himself a groundless
suspicion of treachery? And whence did that suspicion arise? From his
unexpected advocacy of peace, which he adopted all on a sudden, being
taken in by the same error that we were.

But if an error has been committed, O conscript fathers, owing to a
groundless and fallacious hope, let us return into the right road. The
best harbour for a penitent is a change of intention.

III. For what, in the name of the immortal gods! what good can our
embassy do to the republic? What good, do I say? What will you say if
it will even do us harm? _Will_ do us harm? What if it already _has_
done us harm? Do you suppose that that most energetic and fearless
desire shown by the Roman people for recovery of their liberty has
been damped and weakened by hearing of this embassy for peace? What
do you think the municipal towns feel? and the colonies? What do you
think will be the feelings of all Italy? Do you suppose that it will
continue to glow with the same zeal with which it burnt before to
extinguish this common conflagration? Do we not suppose that those
men will repent of having professed and displayed so much hatred to
Antonius, who promised us money and arms, who devoted themselves
wholly, body, heart, and soul, to the safety of the republic? How will
Capua, which at the present time feels like a second Rome, approve of
this design of yours? That city pronounced them impious citizens, cast
them out, and kept them out. Antonius was barely saved from the hands
of that city, which made a most gallant attempt to crush him. Need I
say more? Are we not by these proceedings cutting the sinews of our
own legions, for what man can engage with ardour in a war, when the
hope of peace is suggested to him? Even that godlike and divine
Martial legion will grow languid at and be cowed by the receipt of
this news, and will lose that most noble title of Martial, their
swords will fall to the ground, their weapons will drop from their
hands. For, following the senate, it will not consider itself bound to
feel more bitter hatred against Antonius than the senate.

I am ashamed for this legion, I am ashamed for the fourth legion,
which, approving of our authority with equal virtue, abandoned
Antonius, not looking upon him as their consul and general, but as an
enemy and attacker of their country. I am ashamed for that admirable
army which is made up of two armies, which has now been reviewed, and
which has started for Mutina, and which, if it hears a word of peace,
that is to say, of our fear, even if it does not return, will at all
events halt. For who, when the senate recals him and sounds a retreat,
will be eager to engage in battle?[49]

IV. For what can be more unreasonable than for us to pass resolutions
about peace without the knowledge of those men who wage the war? And
not only without their knowledge, but even against their will? Do you
think that Aulus Hirtius, that most illustrious consul, and that
Carus Caesar, a man born by the especial kindness of the gods for this
especial crisis, whose letters, announcing their hope of victory, I
hold in my hand, are desirous of peace? leader; and still we cannot
bear the countenances or support the language of those men who are
left behind in the city out of their number. What do you think will
be the result when such numbers force their way into the city at one
time? when we have laid aside our arms and they have not laid aside
theirs? Must we not be defeated for everlasting, in consequence of our
own counsels?

Place before your eyes Marcus Antonius, as a man of consular rank, add
to him Lucius, hoping to obtain the consulship, join to them all the
rest, and those too not confined to our order, who are fixing then
thoughts on honours and commands. Do not despise the Tiros, and the
Numisii, or the Mustellae, or the Seii. A peace made with those men
will not be peace, but a covenant of slavery. That was in admirable
expression of Lucius Piso, a most honourable man, and one which has
been deservedly praised by you O Pansa, not only in this order, but
also in the assembly of the people. He said, that he would depart from
Italy, and leave his household gods and his native home, if (but might
the gods avert such a disaster!) Antonius overwhelmed the republic.

VII. I ask, therefore, of you, O Lucius Piso, whether you would not
think the republic overwhelmed if so many men of such impiety, of such
audacity, and such guilt, were admitted into it? Can you think that
men whom we could hardly bear when they were not yet polluted with
such parricidal treasons; will be able to be borne by the city now
that they are immersed in every sort of wickedness? Believe me, we
must either adopt your plan, and retire, depart, embrace a life of
indigence and wandering, or else we must offer our throats to those
robbers, and perish in our country. What has become, O Carus Pansa, of
those noble exhortations of yours, by which the senate was roused, and
the Roman people stimulated, not only hearing but also learning from
you that there is nothing more disgraceful to a Roman than slavery?
Was it for this that we assumed the garb of war, and took arms and
roused up all the youth all over Italy, in order that while we had a
most flourishing and numerous army, we might send ambassadors to treat
for peace? If that peace is to be received by others, why do we not
wait to be entreated for it? If our ambassadors are to beg it, what is
it that we are afraid of? Shall I make one of this embassy, or shall I
be mixed up with this design, in which, even if I should dissent from
the rest of my colleagues, the Roman people will not know it? The
result will be that if anything be granted or conceded, it will be my
danger if Antonius commits any offences, since the power to commit
them will seem to have been put in his hands by me.

But even if it had been proper to entertain any idea of peace with the
piratical crew of Marcus Antonius, still I was the last person who
ought to have been selected to negotiate such a peace. I never voted
for sending ambassadors. Before the return of the last ambassadors I
ventured to say, that peace itself, even if they did bring it, ought
to be repudiated, since war would be concealed under the name of
peace; I was the chief adviser of the adoption of the garb of war, I
have invariably called that man a public enemy, when others have been
calling him only an adversary, I have always pronounced this to be a
war, while others have styled it only a tumult Nor have I done this
in the senate alone; I have always acted in the same way before the
people. Nor have I spoken against himself only, but also against the
accomplices in and agents of his crimes, whether present here, or
there with him. In short, I have at all times inveighed against the
whole family and party of Antonius. Therefore, as those impious
citizens began to congratulate one another the moment the hope of
peace was presented to them, as if they had gained the victory, so
also they abused me as unjust, they made complaints against me, they
distrusted Servilius also, they recollected that Antonius had been
damaged by his avowed opinions and propositions, they recollected that
Lucius Caesar, though a brave and consistent senator, is still his
uncle, that Calenus is his agent, that Piso is his intimate friend,
they think that you yourself, O Pansa, though a most vigorous and
fearless consul, are now become more mercifully inclined. Not that it
really is so, or that it possibly can be so. But the fact of a mention
of peace having been made by you, has given rise to a suspicion in the
hearts of many, that you have changed your mind a little. The friends
of Antonius are annoyed at my being included among these persons,
and we must no doubt yield to them, since we have once begun to be
liberal.

VIII. Let the ambassadors go, with all our good wishes, but let those
men go at whom Antonius may take no offence. But if you are not
anxious about what he may think, at all events. O conscript fathers,
you ought to have some regard for me. At least spare my eyes, and make
some allowance for a just indignation. For with what countenance shall
I be able to behold, (I do not say, the enemy of my country, for my
hatred of him on that score I feel in common with you all,) but how
shall I bear to look upon that man who is my own most bitter personal
enemy, as his most furious harangues against me plainly declare him?
Do you think that I am so completely made of iron as to be able
unmoved to meet him, or look at him? who lately, when in an assembly
of the people he was making presents to those men who appeared to him
the most audacious of his band of parricidal traitors, said that
he gave my property to Petissius of Urbinum, a man who, after the
shipwreck of a very splendid patrimony, was dashed against these rocks
of Antonius. Shall I be able to bear the sight of Lucius Antonius? a
man from whose cruelty I could not have escaped if I had not defended
myself behind the walls and gates and by the zeal of my own municipal
town. And this same Asiatic gladiator, this plunderer of Italy, this
colleague of Lenti and Nucula, when he was giving some pieces of
gold to Aquila the centurion, said that he was giving him some of my
property. For, if he had said he was giving him some of his own, he
thought that the eagle itself would not have believed it. My eyes
cannot--my eyes, I say, will not bear the sight of Saxa, or Capho, or
the two praetors, or the tribune of the people, or the two tribunes
elect, or Bestia, or Trebellius, or Titus Plancus. I cannot look with
equanimity on so many, and those such foul, such wicked enemies;
nor is that feeling caused by any fastidiousness of mine, but by my
affection for the republic. But I will subdue my feelings, and keep my
own inclinations under restraint. If I cannot eradicate my most just
indignation, I will conceal it. What? Do you not think, O Conscript
fathers, that I should have some regard for my own life? But that
indeed has never been an object of much concern to me, especially
since Dolabella has acted in such a way that death is a desirable
thing, provided it come without torments and tortures. But in your
eyes and in those of the Roman people my life ought not to appear of
no consequence. For I am a man,--unless indeed I am deceived in my
estimate of myself,--who by my vigilance, and anxiety, by the opinions
which I have delivered, and by the dangers too of which I have
encountered great numbers, by reason of the most bitter hatred which
all impious men bear me, have at least, (not to seem to say anything
too boastful,) conducted myself so as to be no injury to the republic.
And as this is the case, do you think that I ought to have no
consideration for my own danger?

IX. Even here, when I was in the city and at home, nevertheless many
attempts were made against me, in a place where I have not only the
fidelity of my friends but the eyes also of the entire city to guard
me. What do you think will be the case when I have gone on a journey,
and that too a long one? Do you think that I shall have no occasion
to fear plots then? There are three roads to Mutina, a place which my
mind longs to see, in order that I may behold as speedily as possible
that pledge of freedom of the Roman people Decimus Brutus, in whose
embrace I would willingly yield up my parting breath, when all my
actions for the last many months, and all my opinions and propositions
have resulted in the end which I proposed to myself. There are, as I
have said, three roads, the Flaminian road, along the Adriatic, the
Aurelian road, along the Mediterranean coast, the Midland road, which
is called the Cassian.

Now, take notice, I beg of you, whether my suspicion of danger to
myself is at variance with a reasonable conjecture. The Cassian road
goes through Etruria. Do we not know then, O Pansa, over what places
the authority of Lenti Caesennius, as a septemvir, prevails at
present? He certainly is not on our side either in mind or body. But
if he is at home, or not far from home, he is certainly in Etruria,
that is, in my road. Who, then, will undertake to me that Lenti will
be content with exacting one life alone? Tell me besides, O Pansa,
where Ventidius is,--a man to whom I have always been friendly before
he became so openly an enemy to the republic and to all good men. I
may avoid the Cassian road, and take the Flaminian. What if, as it is
said, Ventidius has arrived at Ancona? Shall I be able in that case
to reach Ariminum in safety? The Aurelian road remains and here too
I shall find a, protector, for on that road are the possessions of
Publius Clodius. His whole household will come out to meet me, and
will invite me to partake of their hospitality, on account of my
notorious intimacy with their master?

X. Shall I then trust myself to those roads--I who lately, on the day
of the feast of Terminus, did not dare even to go into the suburbs and
return by the same road on the same day? I can scarcely defend myself
within the walls of my own house without the protection of my friends;
therefore I remain in the city; and if I am allowed to do so I will
remain. This is my proper place, this is my beat, this is my post as
a sentinel, this is my station as a defender of the city. Let others
occupy camps and kingdoms, and engage in the conduct of the war; let
them show the active hatred of the enemy; we, as we say, and as we
have always hitherto done, will, in common with you, defend the
city and the affairs of the city. Nor do I shrink from this office;
although I see the Roman people shrink from it for me. No one is less
timid than I am; no one more cautious. The facts speak for themselves.
This is the twentieth year that I have been a mark for the attempts of
all wicked men; therefore, they have paid to the republic (not to
say to me) the penalty of their wickedness. As yet the republic has
preserved me in safety for itself. I am almost afraid to say what I am
going to say; for I know that any accident may happen to a man; but
still, when I was once hemmed in by the united force of many most
influential men, I yielded voluntarily, and fell in such a manner as
to be able to rise again in the most honourable manner.

Can I, then, appear as cautious and as prudent as I ought to be if I
commit myself to a journey so full of enemies and dangers to me? Those
men who are concerned in the government of the republic ought at their
death to leave behind them glory, and not reproaches for their fault,
or grounds for blaming their folly. What good man is there who does
not mourn for the death of Trebonius? Who is there who does not grieve
for the loss of such a citizen and such a man? But there are men who
say, (hastily indeed, but still they do say so,) that he deserves to
be grieved for less because he did not take precautions against a
desperately wicked man. In truth, a man who professes to be himself a
defender of many men, wise men say, ought in the first place to show
himself able to protect his own life. I say, that when one is fenced
round by the laws and by the fear of justice, a man is not bound to be
afraid of everything, or to take precautions against all imaginable
designs; for who would dare to attack a man in daylight, on a military
road, or a man who was well attended, or an illustrious man? But these
considerations have no bearing on the present time, nor in my case;
for not only would a man who offered violence to me have no fear of
punishment, but he would even hope to obtain glory and rewards from
those bands of robbers.

XI. These dangers I can guard against in the city; it is easy for me
to look around and see where I am going out from, whither I am going,
what there is on my right hand, and on my left. Shall I be able to do
the same on the roads of the Apennines? in which, even if there should
be no ambush, as there easily may be, still my mind will be kept in
such a state of anxiety as not to be able to attend to the duties of
an embassy. But suppose I have escaped all plots against me, and have
passed over the Apennines; still I have to encounter a meeting and
conference with Antonius. What place am I to select? If it is outside
the camp, the rest may look to themselves,--I think that death would
come upon me instantly. I know the frenzy of the man; I know his
unbridled violence. The ferocity of his manners and the savageness of
his nature is not usually softened even by wine. Then, inflamed by
anger and insanity, with his brother Lucius, that foulest of beasts,
at his side, he will never keep his sacrilegious and impious hands
from me. I can recollect conferences with most bitter enemies, and
with citizens in a state of the most bitter disagreement.

Cnaeus Pompeius, the son of Sextus, being consul, in my presence, when
I was serving my first campaign in his army, had a conference with
Publius Vettius Scato, the general of the Marsians, between the camps.
And I recollect that Sextus Pompeius, the brother of the consul, a
very learned and wise man, came thither from Rome to the conference.
And when Scato had saluted him, "What," said he, "am I to call
you?"--"Call me," said he, "one who is by inclination a friend, by
necessity an enemy." That conference was conducted with fairness;
there was no fear, no suspicion; even their mutual hatred was not
great; for the allies were not seeking to take our city from us, but
to be themselves admitted to share the privileges of it. Sylla and
Scipio, one attended by the flower of the nobility, the other by the
allies, had a conference between Cales and Teanum, respecting the
authority of the senate, the suffrages of the people, and the
privileges of citizenship; and agreed upon conditions and
stipulations. Good faith was not strictly observed at that conference;
but still there was no violence used, and no danger incurred.

XII. But can we be equally safe among Antonius's piratical crew? We
cannot; or, even if the rest can, I do not believe that I can. What
will be the case if we are not to confer out of the camp? What camp
is to be chosen for the conference? He will never come into our
camp:--much less will we go to his. It follows then, that all demands
must be received and sent to and fro by means of letters. We then
shall be in our respective camps. On all his demands I shall have but
one opinion; and when I have stated it here, in your hearing, you may
think that I have gone, and that I have come back again.--I shall have
finished my embassy. As far as my sentiments can prevail I shall refer
every demand which Antonius makes to the senate. For, indeed, we have
no power to do otherwise; nor have we received any commission from
this assembly, such as, when a war is terminated, is usually, in
accordance with the precedents of your ancestors, entrusted to the
ambassadors. Nor, in fact, have we received any particular commission
from the senate at all.

And, as I shall pursue this line of conduct in the council, where
some, as I imagine, will oppose it, have I not reason to fear that the
ignorant mob may think that peace is delayed by my means? Suppose now
that the new legions do not disapprove of my resolution. For I am
quite sure that the Martial legion and the fourth legion will not
approve of anything which is contrary to dignity and honour. What
then? have we no regard for the opinion of the veterans? For even
they themselves do not wish to be feared by us.--Still, how will
they receive my severity? For they have heard many false statements
concerning me; wicked men have circulated among them many calumnies
against me. Their advantage indeed, as you all are most perfect
witnesses of, I have always promoted by my opinion, by my authority,
and by my language. But they believe wicked men, they believe
seditious men, they believe their own party. They are, indeed, brave
men; but by reason of their exploits which they have performed in the
cause of the freedom of the Roman people and of the safety of the
republic they are too ferocious and too much inclined to bring all
our counsels under the sway of their own violence. Their deliberate
reflection I am not afraid of, but I confess I dread their
impetuosity.

If I escape all these great dangers too, do you think my return will
be completely safe? For when I have, according to my usual custom,
defended your authority, and have proved my good faith towards the
republic, and my firmness; then I shall have to fear, not those men
alone who hate me, but those also who envy me. Let my life then be
preserved for the republic, let it be kept for the service of my
country as long as my dignity or nature will permit; and let death
either be the necessity of fate, or, if it must be encountered
earlier, let it be encountered with glory.

This being the case, although the republic has no need (to say the
least of it) of this embassy, still if it be possible for me to go on
it in safety, I am willing to go. Altogether, O conscript fathers,
I shall regulate the whole of my conduct in this affair, not by any
consideration of my own danger, but by the advantage of the republic.
And, as I have plenty of time, I think that it behoves me to
deliberate upon that over and over again, and to adopt that line of
conduct which I shall judge to be most beneficial to the republic.




THE THIRTEENTH ORATION OF M.T. CICERO AGAINST MARCUS ANTONIUS. CALLED
ALSO THE THIRTEENTH PHILIPPIC.


THE ARGUMENT.


Antonius wrote a long letter to Hirtius and to Octavius, to persuade
them that they were acting against their true interests and dignity
in combining with the slayers of Julius Caesar against him. But they,
instead of answering this letter, sent it to Cicero at Rome. At the
same time Lepidus wrote a public letter to the senate to exhort them
to measures of peace; and to a reconciliation with Antonius; and took
no notice of the public honours which had been decreed to him in
compliance with Cicero's motion. The senate was much displeased at
this. They agreed, however, to a proposal of Servilius--to thank
Lepidus for his love of peace, but to desire him to leave that to
them; as there could be no peace till Antonius had laid down his arms.
But Antonius's friends were encouraged by Lepidus's letter to renew
their suggestions of a treaty; which caused Cicero to deliver the
following speech to the senate for the purpose of counteracting the
influence of their arguments.

I. From the first beginning, O conscript fathers, of this war which we
have undertaken against those impious and wicked citizens, I have been
afraid lest the insidious proposals of peace might damp our zeal for
the recovery of our liberty. But the name of peace is sweet; and the
thing itself not only pleasant but salutary. For a man seems to have
no affection either for the private hearths of the citizens, nor for
the public laws, nor for the rights of freedom, who is delighted with
discord and the slaughter of his fellow-citizens, and with civil war;
and such a man I think ought to be erased from the catalogue of men,
and exterminated from all human society. Therefore, if Sylla, or
Marius, or both of them, or Octavius, or Cinna, or Sylla for the
second time, or the other Marius and Carbo, or if any one else has
ever wished for civil war, I think that man a citizen born for the
detestation of the republic. For why should I speak of the last man
who stirred up such a war; a man whose acts, indeed, we defend, while
we admit that the author of them was deservedly slain? Nothing, then,
is more infamous than such a citizen or such a man; if indeed he
deserves to be considered either a citizen or a man, who is desirous
of civil war.

But the first thing that we have to consider, O conscript fathers,
is whether peace can exist with all men, or whether there be any war
incapable of reconciliation, in which any agreement of peace is only
a covenant of slavery. Whether Sylla was making peace with Scipio,
or whether he was only pretending to do so, there was no reason to
despair, if an agreement had been come to, that the city might have
been in a tolerable state. If Cinna had been willing to agree with
Octavius, the safety of the citizens might still have had an existence
in the republic. In the last war, if Pompeius had relaxed somewhat
of his dignified firmness, and Caesar a good deal of his ambition, we
might have had both a lasting peace, and some considerable remainder
of the republic.

II. But what is the state of things now? Is it possible for there
to be peace with Antonius? with Censorinus, and Ventidius, and
Trebellius, and Bestia, and Nucula, and Munatius, and Lento, and Saxa?
I have just mentioned a few names as a specimen; you yourselves see
the countless numbers and savage nature of the rest of the host. Add,
besides the wrecks of Caesar's party, the Barbae Cassii, the Barbatii,
the Pollios; add the companions and fellow-gamblers of Antonius,
Eutrapelus, and Mela, and Coelius, and Pontius, and Crassicius, and
Tiro, and Mustela, and Petissius; I say nothing of the main body, I
am only naming the leaders. To these are added the legionaries of the
Alauda and the rest of the veterans, the seminary of the judges of the
third decury; who, having exhausted their own estates, and squandered
all the fruits of Caesar's kindness, have now set their hearts on our
fortunes. Oh that trustworthy right hand of Antonius, with which he
has murdered many citizens! Oh that regularly ratified and solemn
treaty which we made with the Antonii! Surely if Marcus shall attempt
to violate it, the conscientious piety of Lucius will call him back
from such wickedness. If there is any room allowed these men in this
city, there will be no room for the city itself. Place before your
eyes, O conscript fathers, the countenances of those men, and
especially the countenances of the Antonii. Mark their gait, their
look, their face, their arrogance; mark those friends of theirs who
walk by their side, who follow them, who precede them. What breath
reeking of wine, what insolence, what threatening language do you not
think there will be there? Unless, indeed, the mere fact of peace is
to soften them, and unless you expect that, especially when they come
into this assembly, they will salute every one of us kindly, and
address us courteously.

III. Do you not recollect, in the name of the immortal gods! what
resolutions you have given utterance to against those men? You have
repealed the acts of Marcus Antonius; you have taken down his laws;
you have voted that they were carried by violence, and with a
disregard of the auspices; you have called out the levies throughout
all Italy; you have pronounced that colleague and ally of all
wickedness a public enemy. What peace can there be with this man? Even
if he were a foreign enemy, still, after such actions as have taken
place, it would be scarcely possible, by any means whatever, to have
peace. Though seas and mountains, and vast regions lay between you,
still you would hate such a man without seeing him. But these men will
stick to your eyes, and when they can, to your very throats; for what
fences will be strong enough for us to restrain savage beasts?--Oh,
but the result of war is uncertain. It is at all events in the power
of brave men, such as you ought to be, to display your valour, (for
certainly brave men can do that,) and not to fear the caprice of
fortune.

But since it is not only courage but wisdom also which is expected
from this order, (although these qualities appear scarcely possible to
be separated, still let us separate them here,) courage bids us fight,
inflames our just hatred, urges us to the conflict, summons us to
danger. What says wisdom? She uses more cautious counsels, she
is provident for the future, she is in every respect more on the
defensive. What then does she think? for we must obey her, and we are
bound to consider that the best thing which is arranged in the most
prudent manner. If she enjoins me to think nothing of more consequence
than my life, not to fight at the risk of my life, but to avoid all
danger, I will then ask her whether I am also to become a slave when
I have obeyed all these injunctions? If she says, yes, I for one will
not listen to that Wisdom, however learned she may be, but if the
answer is, Preserve your life and your safety, Preserve your fortune,
"Preserve your estate, still, however, considering all these things of
less value than liberty, therefore enjoy these things if you can do
so consistently with the freedom of the republic, and do not abandon
liberty for them, but sacrifice them for liberty, as proofs of the
injury you have sustained,"--then I shall think that I really am
listening to the voice of Wisdom, and I will obey her as a god.
Therefore, if when we have received those men we can still be free,
let us subdue our hatred to them, and endure peace, but if there can
be no tranquillity while those men are in safety, then let us rejoice
that an opportunity of fighting them is put in our power. For so,
either (these men being conquered) we shall enjoy the republic
victorious, or, if we be defeated (but may Jupiter avert that
disaster), we shall live, if not with an actual breath, at all events
in the renown of our valour.

IV. But Marcus Lepidus, having been a second time styled Imperator,
Pontifex Maximus, a man who deserved excellently well of the republic
in the last civil war, exhorts us to peace. No one, O conscript
fathers, has greater weight with me than Marcus Lepidus, both on
account of his personal virtues and by reason of the dignity of his
family. There are also private reasons which influence me, such as
great services he has done me, and some kindnesses which I have done
him. But the greatest of his services I consider to be his being of
such a disposition as he is towards the republic, which has at all
times been dearer to me than my life. For when by his influence he
inclined Magnus Pompeius, a most admirable young man, the son of
one of the greatest of men, to peace, and without arms released the
republic from imminent danger of civil war, by so doing he laid me
under as great obligations as it was in the power of any man to do.
Therefore I proposed to decree to him the most ample honours that were
in my power, in which you agreed with me, nor have I ceased both to
think and speak in the highest terms of him. The republic has Marcus
Lepidus bound to it by many pledges. He is a man of the highest rank,
of the greatest honours, he has the most honourable priesthood, and
has received numberless distinctions in the city. There are monuments
of himself, and of his brother, and of his ancestors; he has a most
excellent wife, children such as any man might desire, an ample family
estate, untainted with the blood of his fellow-citizens. No citizen
has been injured by him; many have been delivered from misery by his
kindness and pity. Such a man and such a citizen may indeed err in
his opinion, but it is quite impossible for him in inclination to be
unfriendly to the republic.

Marcus Lepidus is desirous of peace. He does well especially if he can
make such a peace as he made lately, owing to which the republic will
behold the son of Cnaeus Pompeius, and will receive him in her bosom
and embrace; and will think, that not he alone, but that she also is
restored to herself with him. This was the reason why you decreed to
him a statue in the rostra with an honourable inscription, and why
you voted him a triumph in his absence. For although he had performed
great exploits in war, and such as well deserved a triumph, still for
that he might not have had that given to him which was not given to
Lucius aemilius, nor to aemilianus Scipio, nor to the former Africanus,
nor to Marius, nor to Pompeius, who had the conduct of greater wars
than he had, but because he had put an end to a civil war in perfect
silence, the first moment that it was in his power, on that account
you conferred on him the greatest honours.

V. Do you think, then, O Marcus Lepidus, that the Antonii will be to
the republic such citizens as she will find Pompeius? In the one there
is modesty, gravity, moderation, integrity; in them (and when I speak
of them, I do not mean to omit one of that band of pirates), there is
lust, and wickedness, and savage audacity capable of every crime. I
entreat of you, O conscript fathers, which of you fails to see this
which Fortune herself, who is called blind, sees? For, saving the acts
of Caesar, which we maintain for the sake of harmony, his own house
will be open to Pompeius, and he will redeem it for the same sum for
which Antonius bought it. Yes, I say the son of Cnaeus Pompeius will
buy back his house. O melancholy circumstance! But these things have
been already lamented long and bitterly enough. You have voted a sum
of money to Cnaeus Pompeius, equal to that which his conquering
enemy had appropriated to himself of his father's property in the
distribution of his booty. But I claim permission to manage this
distribution myself, as due to my connexion and intimacy with his
father. He will buy back the villas, the houses, and some of the
estates in the city which Antonius is in possession of. For as for the
silver plate, the garments, the furniture, and the wine which that
glutton has made away with, those things he will lose without
forfeiting his equanimity. The Alban and Firmian villas he will
recover from Dolabella; the Tusculan villa he will also recover from
Antonius. And these Ansers who are joining in the attack on Mutina and
in the blockade of Decimus Brutus will be driven from his Falernian
villa. There are many others, perhaps, who will be made to disgorge
their plunder, but their names escape my memory. I say, too, that
those men who are not in the number of our enemies, will be made to
restore the possessions of Pompeius to his son for the price at which
they bought them. It was the act of a sufficiently rash man, not to
say an audacious one, to touch a single particle of that property;
but who will have the face to endeavour to retain it, when its most
illustrious owner is restored to his country? Will not that man
restore his plunder, who enfolding the patrimony of his master in
his embrace, clinging to the treasure like a dragon, the slave of
Pompeius, the freedman of Caesar, has seized upon his estates in
the Lucanian district? And as for those seven hundred millions of
sesterces which you, O conscript fathers, promised to the young man,
they will be recovered in such a manner that the son of Cnaeus Pompeius
will appear to have been established by you in his patrimony. This
is what the senate must do; the Roman people will do the rest
with respect to that family which was at one time one of the most
honourable it ever saw. In the first place, it will invest him with
his father's honour as an augur, for which rank I will nominate him
and promote his election, in order that I may restore to the son what
I received from the father. Which of these men will the Roman people
most willingly sanction as the augur of the all-powerful and
all-great Jupiter, whose interpreters and messengers we have been
appointed,--Pompeius or Antonius? It seems indeed, to me, that Fortune
has managed this by the divine aid of the immortal gods, that, leaving
the acts of Caesar firmly ratified, the son of Cnaeus Pompeius might
still be able to recover the dignities and fortunes of his father.

VI. And I think, O conscript fathers, that we ought not to pass over
that fact either in silence,--that those illustrious men who are
acting as ambassadors, Lucius Paullus, Quintus Thermus, and Caius
Fannius, whose inclinations towards the republic you are thoroughly
acquainted with, and also with the constancy and firmness of that
favourable inclination, report that they turned aside to Marseilles
for the purpose of conferring with Pompeius, and that they found him
in a disposition very much inclined to go with his troops to Mutina,
if he had not been afraid of offending the minds of the veterans. But
he is a true son of that father who did quite as many things wisely
as he did bravely. Therefore you perceive that his courage was quite
ready, and that prudence was not wanting to him.

And this, too, is what Marcus Lepidus ought to take care of,--not
to appear to act in any respect with more arrogance than suits his
character. For if he alarms us with his army, he is forgetting that
that army belongs to the senate, and to the Roman people, and to the
whole republic, not to himself. "But he has the power to use it as
if it were his own." What then? Does it become virtuous men to do
everything which it is in their power to do? Suppose it be a base
thing? Suppose it be a mischievous thing? Suppose it be absolutely
unlawful to do it?

But what can be more base, or more shameful, or more utterly
unbecoming, than to lead an army against the senate, against one's
fellow-citizens, against one's country? Or what can deserve greater
blame than doing that which is unlawful? But it is not lawful for any
one to lead an army against his country? if indeed we say that that is
lawful which is permitted by the laws or by the usages and established
principles of our ancestors. For it does not follow that whatever
a man has power to do is lawful for him to do; nor, if he be not
hindered, is he on that account permitted to do so. For to you, O
Lepidus, as to your ancestors, your country has given an army to be
employed in her cause. With this army you are to repel the enemy, you
are to extend the boundaries of the empire, you are to obey the senate
and people of Rome, if by any chance they direct you to some other
object.

VII. If these are your thoughts, then are you really Marcus Lepidus
the Pontifex Maximus, the great-grandson of Marcus Lepidus, Pontifex
Maximus. If you judge that everything is lawful for men to do that
they have the power to do, then beware lest you seem to prefer acting
on precedents set by those who have no connexion with you, and these,
too, modern precedents, to being guided by the ancient examples in
your own family. But if you interpose your authority without having
recourse to arms, in that case indeed I praise you more; but beware
lest this thing itself be quite unnecessary. For although there is all
the authority in you that there ought to be in a man of the highest
rank, still the senate itself does not despise itself; nor was it ever
more wise, more firm, more courageous. We are all hurried on with the
most eager zeal to recover our freedom. Such a general ardour on the
part of the senate and people of Rome cannot be extinguished by the
authority of any one: we hate a man who would extinguish it; we are
angry with him, and resist him; our arms cannot be wrested from our
hands; we are deaf to all signals for retreat, to all recal from the
combat. We hope for the happiest success; we will prefer enduring the
bitterest disaster to being slaves. Caesar has collected an invincible
army. Two perfectly brave consuls are present with their forces. The
various and considerable reinforcements of Lucius Plancus, consul
elect, are not wanting. The contest is for the safety of Decimus
Brutus. One furious gladiator, with a band of most infamous robbers,
is waging war against his country, against our household gods, against
our altars and our hearths, against four consuls. Shall we yield to
him? Shall we listen to the conditions which he proposes? Shall we
believe it possible for peace to be made with him?

VIII. But there is danger of our being overwhelmed. I have no fear
that the man who cannot enjoy his own most abundant fortunes, unless
all the good men are saved, will betray his own safety. It is nature
which first makes good citizens, and then fortune assists them. For it
is for the advantage of all good men that the republic should be safe;
but that advantage appears more clearly in the case of those who are
fortunate. Who is more fortunate than Lentulus, as I said before, and
who is more sensible? The Roman people saw his sorrow and his tears at
the Lupercal festival. They saw how miserable, how overwhelmed he was
when Antonius placed a diadem on Caesar's head and preferred being his
slave to being his colleague. And even if he had been able to abstain
from his other crimes and wickednesses, still on account of that one
single action I should think him worthy of all punishment. For even if
he himself was calculated to be a slave, why should he impose a master
on us? And if his childhood had borne the lusts of those men who were
tyrants over him, was he on that account to prepare a master and a
tyrant to lord it over our children? Therefore since that man was
slain, he himself has behaved to all others in the same manner as he
wished him to behave to us.

For in what country of barbarians was there ever so foul and cruel a
tyrant as Antonius, escorted by the arms of barbarians, has proved in
this city? When Caesar was exercising the supreme power, we used to
come into the senate, if not with freedom, at all events with safety.
But under this arch-pirate, (for why should I say tyrant?) these
benches were occupied by Itureans. On a sudden he hastened to
Brundusium, in order to come against this city from thence with
a regular army. He deluged Suessa, a most beautiful town, now of
municipal citizens, formerly of most honourable colonists, with the
blood of the bravest soldiers. At Brundusium he massacred the chosen
centurions of the Martial legion in the lap of his wife, who was not
only most avaricious but also most cruel. After that with what fury,
with what eagerness did he hurry on to the city, that is to say, to
the slaughter of every virtuous man! But at that time the immortal
gods brought to us a protector whom we had never seen nor expected.

IX. For the incredible and godlike virtue of Caesar checked the cruel
and frantic onslaught of that robber, whom then that madman believed
that he was injuring with his edicts, ignorant that all the charges
which he was falsely alleging against that most righteous young man,
were all very appropriate to the recollections of his own childhood.
He entered the city, with what an escort, or rather with what a troop!
when on the right hand and on the left, amid the groans of the Roman
people, he was threatening the owners of property, taking notes of the
houses, and openly promising to divide the city among his followers.
He returned to his soldiers; then came that mischievous assembly at
Tibur. From thence he hurried to the city; the senate was convened at
the Capitol. A decree with the authority of the consuls was prepared
for proscribing the young man; when all on a sudden (for he was aware
that the Martial legion had encamped at Alba) news is brought him of
the proceedings of the fourth legion.

Alarmed at that, he abandoned his intention of submitting a motion to
the senate respecting Caesar. He departed not by the regular roads, but
by the by-lanes, in the robe of a general; and on that very self-same
day he trumped up a countless number of resolutions of the senate; all
of which he published even before they were drawn up. From thence it
was not a journey, but a race and flight into Gaul. He thought that
Caesar was pursuing him with the fourth legion, with the martial
legion, with the veterans, whose very name he could not endure for
fright. Then, as he was making his way into Gaul, Decimus Brutus
opposed him; who preferred being himself surrounded by the waves of
the whole war, to allowing him either to retreat or advance; and who
put Mutina on him as a sort of bridle to his exultation. And when he
had blockaded that city with his works and fortifications, and when
the dignity of a most flourishing colony, and the majesty of a consul
elect, were both insufficient to deter him from his parricidal
treason, then, (I call you, and the Roman people, and all the gods who
preside over this city, to witness,) against my will, and in spite of
my resistance and remonstrance, three ambassadors of consular rank
were sent to that robber, to that leader of gladiators, Marcus
Antonius.

Who ever was such a barbarian? Who was ever so savage? so brutal? He
would not listen to them; he gave them no answer; and he not only
despised and showed that he considered of no importance those men who
were with him, but still more us, by whom these men had been sent. And
afterwards what wickedness, or what crime was there which that traitor
abstained from? He blockaded your colonists, and the army of the Roman
people, and your general, and your consul elect. He lays waste the
lands of a nation of most excellent citizens. Like a most inhuman
enemy he threatens all virtuous men with crosses and tortures.

X. Now what peace, O Marcus Lepidus, can exist with this man? when it
does not seem that there is even any punishment which the Roman people
can think adequate to his crimes?

But if any one has hitherto been able to doubt the fact, that there
can be nothing whatever in common between this order and the Roman
people and that most detestable beast, let him at least cease to
entertain such a doubt, when he becomes acquainted with this letter
which I have just received, it having been sent to me by Hirtius the
consul. While I read it, and while I briefly discuss each paragraph, I
beg, O conscript fathers, that you will listen to me most attentively,
as you have hitherto done.

"Antonius to Hirtius and Caesar."

He does not call himself imperator, nor Hirtius consul, nor Caesar
pro-praetor. This is cunningly done enough. He preferred laying aside
a title to which he had no right himself, to giving them their proper
style.

"When I heard of the death of Caius Trebonius, I was not more rejoiced
than grieved."

Take notice why he says he rejoiced, why he says that he was grieved;
and then you will be more easily able to decide the question of peace.

"It was a matter of proper rejoicing that a wicked man had paid the
penalty due to the bones and ashes of a most illustrious man, and that
the divine power of the gods had shown itself before the end of the
current year, by showing the chastisement of that parricide already
inflicted in some cases, and impending in others."

O you Spartacus! for what name is more fit for you? you whose
abominable wickedness is such as to make even Catiline seem tolerable.
Have you dared to write that it is a matter of rejoicing that
Trebonius has suffered punishment? that Trebonius was wicked? What was
his crime, except that on the ides of March he withdrew you from the
destruction which you had deserved? Come; you rejoice at this; let us
see what it is that excites your indignation.

"That Dolabella should at this time have been pronounced a public
enemy because he has slain an assassin; and that the son of a buffoon
should appear dearer to the Roman people than Caius Caesar, the father
of his country, are circumstances to be lamented."

Why should you be sad because Dolabella has been pronounced a public
enemy? Why? Are you not aware that you yourself--by the fact of an
enlistment having taken place all over Italy, and of the consuls being
sent forth to war, and of Caesar having received great honours, and
of the garb of war having been assumed--have also been pronounced an
enemy? And what reason is there, O you wicked man, for lamenting that
Dolabella has been declared an enemy by the senate? a body which you
indeed think of no consequence at all; but you make it your main
object in waging war utterly to destroy the senate, and to make all
the rest of those who are either virtuous or wealthy follow the fate
of the highest order of all. But he calls him the son of a buffoon. As
if that noble Roman knight the father of Trebonius were unknown to us.
And does he venture to look down on any one because of the meanness of
his birth, when he has himself children by Fadia?

XL "But it is the bitterest thing of all that you, O Aulus Hirtius,
who have been distinguished by Caesar's kindness, and who have been
left by him in a condition which you yourself marvel at. [lacuna]"

I cannot indeed deny that Aulus Hirtius was distinguished by Caesar,
but such distinctions are only of value when conferred on virtue and
industry. But you, who cannot deny that you also were distinguished
by Caesar, what would you have been if he had not showered so many
kindnesses on you? Where would your own good qualities have borne you?
Where would your birth have conducted you? You would have spent the
whole period of your manhood in brothels, and cookshops, and in
gambling and drinking, as you used to do when you were always burying
your brains and your beard in the laps of actresses.

"And you too, O boy--"

He calls him a boy whom he has not only experienced and shall again
experience to be a man, but one of the bravest of men. It is indeed
the name appropriate to his age; but he is the last man in the world
who ought to use it, when it is his own madness that has opened to
this boy the path to glory.

"You who owe everything to his name--"

He does indeed owe everything, and nobly is he paying it. For if he
was the father of his country, as you call him, (I will see hereafter
what my opinion of that matter is,) why is not this youth still more
truly our father, to whom it certainly is owing that we are now
enjoying life, saved out of your most guilty hands!

"Are taking pains to have Dolabella legally condemned."

A base action, truly! by which the authority of this most honourable
order is defended against the insanity of a most inhuman gladiator.

"And to effect the release of this poisoner from blockade."

Do you dare to call that man a poisoner who has found a remedy against
your own poisoning tricks? and whom you are besieging in such a
manner, O you new Hannibal, (or if there was ever any abler general
than he,) as to blockade yourself, and to be unable to extricate
yourself from your present position, should you be ever so desirous to
do so? Suppose you retreat; they will all pursue you from all sides.
Suppose you stay where you are; you will be caught. You are very
right, certainly, to call him a poisoner, by whom you see that your
present disastrous condition has been brought about.

"In order that Cassius and Brutus may become as powerful as possible."

Would you suppose that he is speaking of Censorinus, or of Ventidius,
or of the Antonii themselves. But why should they be unwilling that
those men should become powerful, who are not only most excellent and
nobly born men, but who are also united with them in the defence of
the republic?

"In fact, you look upon the existing circumstances as you did on the
former ones."

What can he mean?

"You used to call the camp of Pompeius the senate."

XII. Should we rather call your camp the senate? In which you are the
only man of consular rank, you whose whole consulship is effaced from
every monument and register; and two praetors, who are afraid that
they will lose something by us,--a groundless fear. For we are
maintaining all the grants made by Caesar; and men of praetorian rank,
Philadelphus Annius, and that innocent Gallius; and men of aedilitian
rank, he on whom I have spent so much of my lungs and voice,
Bestia, and that patron of good faith and cheater of his creditors,
Trebellius, and that bankrupt and ruined man Quintus Caelius, and that
support of the friends of Antonius Cotyla Varius, whom Antonius for
his amusement caused at a banquet to be flogged with thongs by the
public slaves. Men of septemviral rank, Lento and Nucula, and then
that delight and darling of the Roman people, Lucius Antonius. And for
tribunes, first of all two tribunes elect, Tullus Hostilius, who was
so full of his privileges as to write up his name on the gate of Rome;
and who, when he found himself unable to betray his general, deserted
him. The other tribune elect is a man of the name of Viseius; I know
nothing about him; but I hear that he is (as they say) a bold robber;
who, however, they say was once a bathing man at Pisaurum, and a
very good hand at mixing the water. Then there are others too, of
tribunitian rank: in the first place, Titus Plancus; a man who, if
he had had any affection for the senate, would never have burnt the
senate-house. Having been condemned for which wickedness, he returned
to that city by force of arms from which he was driven by the power of
the law. But, however, this is a case common to him and to many others
who are very unlike him. But this is quite true which men are in the
habit of saying of this Plancus in a proverbial way, that it is quite
impossible for him to die unless his legs are broken.[50] They are
broken, and still he lives. But this, like many others, is a service
that has been done us by Aquila.

XIII. There is also in that camp Decius, descended, as I believe, from
the great Decius Mus; accordingly he gained[51] the gifts of Caesar.
And so after a long interval the recollection of the Decii is renewed
by this illustrious man. And how can I pass over Saxa Decidius, a
fellow imported from the most distant nations, in order that we might
see that man tribune of the people whom we had never beheld as a
citizen? There is also one of the Sasernae; but all of them have such
a resemblance to one another, that I may make a mistake as to their
first names. Nor must I omit Exitius, the brother of Philadelphus the
quaestor; lest, if I were to be silent about that most illustrious
young man, I should seem to be envying Antonius. There is also a
gentleman of the name of Asinius, a voluntary senator, having been
elected by himself. He saw the senate-house open after the death of
Caesar, he changed his shoes, and in a moment became a conscript
father. Sextus Albedius I do not know, but still I have not fallen in
with any one so fond of evil-speaking, as to deny that he is worthy of
a place in the senate of Antonius.

I dare say that I have passed over some names; but still I could not
refrain from mentioning those who did occur to me. Relying then on
this senate, he looks down on the senate which supported Pompeius, in
which ten of us were men of consular rank; and if they were all alive
now this war would never have arisen at all. Audacity would have
succumbed to authority. But what great protection there would have
been in the rest may be understood from this, that I, when left alone
of all that band, with your assistance crushed and broke the audacity
of that triumphant robber.

XIV. But if Fortune had not taken from us not only Servius Sulpicius,
and before him, his colleague Marcus Marcellus,--what citizens! What
men! If the republic had been able to retain the two consuls, men most
devoted to their country, who were driven together out of Italy; and
Lucius Afranius, that consummate general; and Publius Lentulus, a
citizen who displayed his extraordinary virtue on other occasions, and
especially in the securing my safe return; and Bibulus, whose constant
and firm attachment to the republic has at all times been deservedly
praised; and Lucius Domitius, that most excellent citizen; and Appius
Claudius, a man equally distinguished for nobleness of birth and for
attachment to the state; and Publius Scipio, a most illustrious man,
closely resembling his ancestors. Certainly with these men of consular
rank,[52] the senate which supported Pompeius was not to be despised.

Which, then, was more just, which was more advantageous for the
republic, that Cnaeus Pompeius, or that Antonius the brother who
bought all Pompeius's property, should live? And then what men of
praetorian rank were there with us! the chief of whom was Marcus Cato,
being indeed the chief man of any nation in the world for virtue. Why
need I speak of the other most illustrious men? you know them all. I
am more afraid lest you should think me tedious for enumerating so
many, than ungrateful for passing over any one. And what men of
aedilitian rank! and of tribunitian rank! and of quaestorian rank!
Why need I make a long story of it, so great was the dignity of the
senators of our party, so great too were their numbers, that those men
have need of some very valid excuse who did not join that camp. Now
listen to the rest of the letter.

XV. "You have the defeated Cicero for your general."

I am the more glad to hear that word "general," because he certainly
uses it against his will, for as for his saying "defeated," I do not
mind that, for it is my fate that I can neither be victorious nor
defeated without the republic being so at the same time.

"You are fortifying Macedonia with armies".

Yes, indeed, and we have wrested one from your brother, who does not
in the least degenerate from you.

"You have entrusted Africa to Varus, who has been twice taken
prisoner".

Here he thinks that he is making out a case against his own brother
Lucius.

"You have sent Capius into Syria".

Do you not see then, O Antonius, that the whole world is open to our
party, but that you have no spot out of your own fortifications, where
you can set your foot?

"You have allowed Casca to discharge the office of tribune".

What then? Were we to remove a man, as if he had been Marullus,[53]
or Caesetius, to whom we own it, that this and many other things like
this can never happen for the future?

"You have taken away from the Luperci the revenues which Julius Caesar
assigned to them."

Does he dare to make mention of the Luperci? Does he not shudder at
the recollection of that day on which, smelling of wine, reeking with
perfumes, and naked, he dared to exhort the indignant Roman people to
embrace slavery?

"You, by a resolution of the senate, have removed the colonies of the
veterans which had been legally settled".

Have we removed them, or have we rather ratified a law which was
passed in the comitia centunata? See, rather, whether it is not you
who have ruined these veterans (those at least who are ruined,) and
settled them in a place from which they themselves now feel that they
shall never be able to make their escape.

"You are promising to restore to the people of Marseilles what has
been taken from them by the laws of war."

I am not going to discuss the laws of war. It is a discussion far more
easy to begin than necessary. But take notice of this, O conscript
fathers, what a born enemy to the republic Antonius is, who is so
violent in his hatred of that city which he knows to have been at all
times most firmly attached to this republic.

XVI. "[Do you not know] that no one of the party of Pompeius, who is
still alive, can, by the Hirtian law, possess any rank?"

What, I should like to know, is the object of now making mention of
the Hirtian law?--a law of which I believe the framer himself repents
no less than those against whom it was passed. According to my
opinion, it is utterly wrong to call it a law at all; and, even if it
be a law, we ought not to think it a law of Hirtius.

"You have furnished Brutus with money belonging to Apuleius."

Well? Suppose the republic had furnished that excellent man with all
its treasures and resources, what good man would have disapproved of
it? For without money he could not have supported an army, nor without
an army could he have taken your brother prisoner.

"You have praised the execution of Paetus and Menedemus, men who had
been presented with the freedom of the city, and who were united by
ties of hospitality to Caesar."

We do not praise what we have never even heard of; we were very
likely, in such a state of confusion, and such a critical period of
the republic, to busy our minds about two worthless Greeklings!

"You took no notice of Theopompus having been stripped, and driven out
by Trebonius, and compelled to flee to Alexandria."

The senate has indeed been very guilty! We have taken no notice of
that great man Theopompus! Why, who on earth knows or cares where he
is, or what he is doing; or, indeed, whether he is alive or dead? "You
endure the sight of Sergius Galba in your camp, armed with the same
dagger with which he slew Caesar."

I shall make you no reply at all about Galba; a most gallant and
courageous citizen. He will meet you face to face; and he being
present, and that dagger which you reproach him with, shall give you
your answer.

"You have enlisted my soldiers, and many veterans, under the pretence
of intending the destruction of those men who slew Caesar; and then,
when they expected no such step, you have led them on to attack their
quaestor, their general, and their former comrades!"

No doubt we deceived them; we humbugged them completely! no doubt the
Martial legion, the fourth legion, and the veterans had no idea what
was going on! They were not following the authority of the senate,
or the liberty of the Roman people.--They were anxious to avenge the
death of Caesar, which they all regarded as an act of destiny! No
doubt you were the person whom they were anxious to see safe, and
happy, and flourishing!

XVII. Oh miserable man, not only in fact, but also in the circumstance
of not perceiving yourself how miserable you are! But listen to the
most serious charge of all.

"In fact, what have you not sanctioned,--what have you not done? what
would be done if he were to come to life again, by?--"

By whom? For I suppose he means to bring forward some instance of a
very wicked man.

"Cnaeus Pompeius himself?"

Oh how base must we be, if indeed we have been imitating Cnaeus
Pompeius!

"Or his son, if he could be at home?"

He soon will be at home, believe me; for in a very few days he will
enter on his home, and on his father's villas.

"Lastly, you declare that peace cannot be made unless I either allow
Brutus to quit Mutina, or supply him with corn."

It is others who say that: I say, that even if you were to do so,
there never could be peace between this city and you.

"What? is this the opinion of those veteran soldiers, to whom as yet
either course is open?"

I do not see that there is any course so open to them, as now to begin
and attack that general whom they previously were so zealous and
unanimous in defending.[54]

"Since you yourselves have sold yourselves for flatteries and poisoned
gifts".

Are those men depraved and corrupted, who have been persuaded to
pursue a most detestable enemy with most righteous war?

"But you say, you are bringing assistance to troops who are hemmed in.
I have no objection to their being saved, and departing wherever you
wish, if they only allow that man to be put to death who has deserved
it."

How very kind of him! The soldiers availing themselves of the
liberality of Antonius have deserted their general, and have fled in
alarm to his enemy, and if it had not been for them, Dolabella, in
offering the sacrifice which he did to the shade of his general, would
not have been beforehand with Antonius in propitiating the spirit of
his colleague by a similar offering.

"You write me word that there has been mention of peace made in
the senate, and that five ambassadors of consular rank have been
appointed. It is hard to believe that those men, who drove me in haste
from the city, when I offered the fairest conditions, and when I was
even thinking of relaxing somewhat of them, should now think of acting
with moderation or humanity. And it is hardly probable, that those
men who have pronounced Dolabella a public enemy for a most righteous
action, should bring themselves to spare us who are influenced by the
same sentiments as he".

Does it appear a trifling matter, that he confesses himself a partner
with Dolabella in all his atrocities? Do you not see that all these
crimes flow from one source? He himself confesses, shrewdly and
correctly enough, that those who have pronounced Dolabella a public
enemy for a most righteous action (for so it appears to Antonius),
cannot possibly spare him who agrees with Dolabella in opinion.

XVIII. What can you do with a man who puts on paper and records the
fact, that his agreement with Dolabella is so complete, that he would
kill Trebonius, and, if he could, Brutus and Cassius too, with every
circumstance of torture; and inflict the same punishment on us also?
Certainly, a man who makes so pious and fair a treaty is a citizen to
be taken care of! He, also, complains that the conditions which he
offered, those reasonable and modest conditions, were rejected;
namely, that he was to have the further Gaul,--the province the
most suitable of all for renewing and carrying on the war; that the
legionaries of the Alauda should be judges in the third decury; that
is to say, that there shall be an asylum for all crimes, to the
indelible disgrace of the republic; that his own acts should be
ratified, his,--when not one trace of his consulship has been allowed
to remain! He showed his regard also for the interests of Lucius
Antonius, who had been a most equitable surveyor of private and public
domains, with Nucula and Lento for his colleagues.

"Consider then, both of you, whether it is more becoming and more
advantageous for your party, for you to seek to avenge the death of
Trebonius, or that of Caesar; and whether it is more reasonable
for you and me to meet in battle, in order that the cause of the
Pompeians, which has so frequently had its throat cut, may the more
easily revive; or to agree together, so as not to be a laughing-stock
to our enemies."

If its throat had been cut, it never could revive. "Which," says he,
"is more becoming." In this war he talks of what is becoming! "And
more advantageous for your party."--"Parties," you senseless man, is
a suitable expression for the forum, or the senate house. You have
declared a wicked war against your country; you are attacking Mutina;
you are besieging the consul elect; two consuls are carrying on war
against you; and with them, Caesar, the propraetor; all Italy is armed
against you; and then do you call yours "a party," instead of a revolt
from the republic? "To seek to avenge the death of Trebonius, or that
of Caesar." We have avenged Trebonius sufficiently by pronouncing
Dolabella a public enemy. The death of Caesar is best defended by
oblivion and silence. But take notice what his object is.--When
he thinks that the death of Caesar ought to be revenged, he is
threatening with death, not those only who perpetrated that action,
but those also who were not indignant at it.

XIX. "Men who will count the destruction of either you or me gain
to them. A spectacle which as yet Fortune herself has taken care to
avoid, unwilling to see two armies which belong to one body fighting,
with Cicero acting as master of the show; a fellow who is so far happy
that he has cajoled you both with the same compliments as those with
which he boasted that he had deceived Caesar."

He proceeds in his abuse of me, as if he had been very fortunate in
all his former reproaches of me; but I will brand him with the
most thoroughly deserved marks of infamy, and pillory him for the
everlasting recollection of posterity. I a "master of the show of
gladiators!" indeed he is not wholly wrong, for I do wish to see the
worst party slain, and the best victorious. He writes that "whichever
of them are destroyed we shall count as so much gain." Admirable gain,
when, if you, O Antonius, are victorious, (may the gods avert such a
disaster!) the death of those men who depart from life untortured will
be accounted happy! He says that Hirtius and Caesar "have been cajoled
by me by the same compliments." I should like to know what compliment
has been as yet paid to Hirtius by me; for still more and greater
ones than have been paid him already are due to Caesar. But do you,
O Antonius, dare to say that Caesar, the father, was deceived by me?
You, it was you, I say, who really slew him at the Lupercal games.
Why, O most ungrateful of men, have you abandoned your office of
priest to him? But remark now the admirable wisdom and consistency of
this great and illustrious man.

"I am quite resolved to brook no insult either to myself or to my
friends; nor to desert that party which Pompeius hated, nor to allow
the veterans to be removed from their abodes; nor to allow individuals
to be dragged out to torture, nor to violate the faith which I pledged
to Dolabella."

I say nothing of the rest of this sentence, "the faith pledged to
Dolabella," to that most holy man, this pious gentleman will by no
means violate. What faith? Was it a pledge to murder every virtuous
citizen, to partition the city and Italy, to distribute the provinces
among, and to hand them over to be plundered by, their followers?
For what else was there which could have been ratified by treaty
and mutual pledges between Antonius and Dolabella, those foul and
parricidal traitors?

"Nor to violate my treaty of alliance with Lepidus, the most
conscientious of men."

You have any alliance with Lepidus or with any (I will not say
virtuous citizen, as he is, but with any) man in his senses! Your
object is to make Lepidus appear either an impious man, or a madman.
But you are doing no good, (although it is a hard matter to speak
positively of another,) especially with a man like Lepidus, whom I
will never fear, but I shall hope good things of him unless I am
prevented from doing so. Lepidus wished to recal you from your frenzy,
not to be the assistant of your insanity. But you seek your friends
not only among conscientious men, but among _most_ conscientious men.
And you actually, so godlike is your piety, invent a new word to
express it which has no existence in the Latin language.

"Nor to betray Plancus, the partner of my counsels."

Plancus, the partner of your counsels? He, whose ever memorable and
divine virtue brings a light to the republic: (unless, mayhap, you
think that it is as a reinforcement to you that he has come with those
most gallant legions, and with a numerous Gallic force of both cavalry
and infantry); and who, if before his arrival you have not by your
punishment made atonement to the republic for your wickedness, will be
chief leader in this war. For although the first succours that arrive
are more useful to the republic, yet the last are the more acceptable.

XX. However, at last he recollects himself and begins to philosophize.

"If the immortal gods assist me, as I trust that they will, going on
my way with proper feelings, I shall live happily; but if another fate
awaits me, I have already a foretaste of joy in the certainty of your
punishment. For if the Pompeians when defeated are so insolent, you
will be sure to experience what they will be when victorious."

You are very welcome to your foretaste of joy. For you are at war not
only with the Pompeians, but with the entire republic. Every one, gods
and men, the highest rank, the middle class, the lowest dregs of the
people, citizens and foreigners, men and women, free men and slaves,
all hate you. We saw this the other day on some false news that came;
but we shall soon see it from the way in which true news is received.
And if you ponder these things with yourself a little, you will die
with more equanimity, and greater comfort.

"Lastly, this is the sum of my opinion and determination; I will bear
with the insults offered me by my friends, if they themselves are
willing to forget that they have offered them; or if they are prepared
to unite with me in avenging Caesar's death."

Now that they know this resolution of Antonius, do you think that
Aulus Hirtius and Caius Pansa, the consuls, can hesitate to pass over
to Antonius? to besiege Brutus? to be eager to attack Mutina? Why do I
say Hirtius and Pansa? Will Caesar, that young man of singular piety,
be able to restrain himself from seeking to avenge the injuries of his
father in the blood of Decimus Brutus? Therefore, as soon as they had
read this letter, the course which they adopted was to approach nearer
to the fortifications. And on this account we ought to consider Caesar
a still more admirable young man; and that a still greater kindness of
the immortal gods which gave him to the republic, as he has never been
misled by the specious use of his father's name; nor by any false
idea of piety and affection. He sees clearly that the greatest piety
consists in the salvation of one's country. But if it were a contest
between parties, the name of which is utterly extinct, then would
Antonius and Ventidius be the proper persons to uphold the party of
Caesar, rather than in the first place, Caesar, a young man full of
the greatest piety and the most affectionate recollection of his
parent? and next to him Pansa and Hirtius, who held, (if I may use
such an expression,) the two horns of Caesar, at the time when that
deserved to be called a party. But what parties are these, when the
one proposes to itself to uphold the authority of the senate, the
liberty of the Roman people, and the safety of the republic, while
the other fixes its eyes on the slaughter of all good men, and on the
partition of the city and of Italy.

XXI. Let us come at last to the end.

"I do not believe that ambassadors are coming--".

He knows me well.

"To a place where war exists."

Especially with the example of Dolabella before our eyes. Ambassadors,
I should think, will have privileges more respected than two consuls
against whom he is bearing arms; or than Caesar, whose father's priest
he is; or than the consul elect, whom he is attacking; or than Mutina,
which he is besieging; or than his country, which he is threatening
with fire and sword.

"When they do come I shall see what they demand."

Plagues and tortures seize you! Will any one come to you, unless he
be a man like Ventidius? We sent men of the very highest character to
extinguish the rising conflagration; you rejected them. Shall we now
send men when the fire has become so large and has risen to such a
height, and when you have left yourself no possible room, not only for
peace, but not even for a surrender?

I have read you this letter, O conscript fathers, not because I
thought it worth reading, but in order to let you see all his
parricidal treasons revealed by his own confessions. Would Marcus
Lepidus, that man so richly endowed with all the gifts of virtue and
fortune, if he saw this letter, either wish for peace with this man,
or even think it possible that peace should be made? "Sooner shall
fire and water mingle" as some poet or other says; sooner shall
anything in the world happen than either the republic become
reconciled to the Antonii, or the Antonii to the republic. Those men
are monsters, prodigies, portentous pests of the republic. It would
be better for this city to be uplifted from its foundations and
transported, if such a thing were possible, into other regions, where
it should never hear of the actions or the name of the Antonii, than
for it to see those men, driven out by the valour of Caesar, and
hemmed in by the courage of Brutus, inside these walls. The most
desirable thing is victory; the next best thing is to think no
disaster too great to bear in defence of the dignity and freedom of
one's country. The remaining alternative, I will not call it the
third, but the lowest of all, is to undergo the greatest disgrace from
a desire of life.

Since, then, this is the case, as to the letters and messages of
Marcus Lepidus, that most illustrious man, I agree with Servilius. And
I further give my vote, that Magnus Pompeius, the Son of Cnaeus, has
acted as might have been expected from the affection and zeal of his
father and forefathers towards the republic, and from his own previous
virtue and industry and loyal principles in promising to the senate
and people of Rome his own assistance, and that of those men whom he
had with him; and that that conduct of his is grateful and acceptable
to the senate and people of Rome, and that it shall tend to his own
honour and dignity. This may either be added to the resolution of the
senate which is before us, or it may be separated from it and drawn up
by itself, so as to let Pompeius be seen to be extolled in a distinct
resolution of the senate.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE FOURTEENTH (AND LAST) ORATION OF M.T. CICERO AGAINST MARCUS
ANTONIUS. CALLED ALSO THE FOURTEENTH PHILIPPIC.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE ARGUMENT.


After the last speech was delivered, Brutus gained great advantages in
Macedonia over Caius Antonius, and took him prisoner. He treated him
with great lenity, so much so as to displease Cicero, who remonstrated
with him strongly on his design of setting him at liberty. He was also
under some apprehension as to the steadiness of Plancus's loyalty to
the senate; but on his writing to that body to assure them of his
obedience, Cicero procured a vote of some extraordinary honours to
him.

Cassius also about the same time was very successful in Syria, of
which he wrote Cicero a full account. Meantime reports were being
spread in the city by the partizans of Antonius, of his success before
Mutina; and even of his having gained over the consuls. Cicero too was
personally much annoyed at a report which they spread of his having
formed the design of making himself master of the city and assuming
the title of Dictator; but when Apuleius, one of his friends, and a
tribune of the people, proceeded to make a speech to the people in
Cicero's justification, the people all cried out that he had never
done anything which was not for the advantage of the republic. About
the same time news arrived of a victory gained over Antonius at
Mutina.

Pansa was now on the point of joining Hirtius with four new legions,
and Antonius endeavoured to surprise him on the road before he could
effect that junction. A severe battle ensued, in which Hirtius came to
Pansa's aid, and Antonius was defeated with great loss. On the receipt
of the news the populace assembled about Cicero's house, and carried
him in triumph to the Capitol. The next day Marcus Cornutus, the
praetor, summoned the senate to deliberate on the letters received
from the consuls and Octavius, giving an account of the victory.
Servilius declared his opinion that the citizens should relinquish the
_sagum_, or robe of war; and that a supplication should be decreed in
honour of the consuls and Octavius. Cicero rose next and delivered the
following speech, objecting to the relinquishment of the robe of war,
and blaming Servilius for not calling Antonius an enemy.

The measures which he himself proposed were carried.


I. IF, O conscript fathers, while I learnt from the letters which have
been read that the army of our most wicked enemies had been defeated
and routed, I had also learnt what we all wish for above all things,
and which we do suppose has resulted from that victory which has
been achieved,--namely, that Decimus Brutus had already quitted
Mutina,--then I should without any hesitation give my vote for our
returning to our usual dress out of joy at the safety of that citizen
on account of whose danger it was that we adopted the robe of war.
But before any news of that event which the city looks for with the
greatest eagerness arrives, we have sufficient reason indeed for joy
at this most important and most illustrious battle; but reserve, I beg
you, your return to your usual dress for the time of complete victory.
But the completion of this war is the safety of Decimus Brutus.

But what is the meaning of this proposal that our dress shall be
changed just for to-day, and that to-morrow we should again come forth
in the garb of war? Rather when we have once returned to that dress
which we wish and desire to assume, let us strive to retain it for
ever; for this is not only discreditable, but it is displeasing also
to the immortal gods, to leave their altars, which we have approached
in the attire of peace, for the purpose of assuming the garb of war.
And I notice, O conscript fathers, that there are some who favour this
proposal: whose intention and design is, as they see that that will be
a most glorious day for Decimus Brutus on which we return to our usual
dress out of joy for his safety, to deprive him of this great reward,
so that it may not be handed down to the recollection of posterity
that the Roman people had recourse to the garb of war on account of
the danger of one single citizen, and then returned to then gowns of
peace on account of his safety. Take away this reason, and you will
find no other for so absurd a proposal. But do you, O conscript
fathers, preserve your authority, adhere to your own opinions,
preserve in your recollection, what you have often declared, that the
whole result of this entire war depends on the life of one most brave
and excellent man.

II. For the purpose of effecting the liberation of Decimus Brutus, the
chief men of the state were sent as ambassadors, to give notice to
that enemy and parricidal traitor to retire from Mutina; for the sake
of preserving that same Decimus Brutus, Aulus Hirtius, the consul,
went by lot to conduct the war, a man the weakness of whose bodily
health was made up for by the strength of his courage, and encouraged
by the hope of victory. Caesar, too, after he, with an army levied by
his own resources and on his own authority, had delivered the republic
from the first dangers that assailed it, in order to prevent any
subsequent wicked attempts from being originated, departed to assist
in the deliverance of the same Brutus, and subdued some family
vexation which he may have felt by his attachment to his country. What
other object had Caius Pansa in holding the levies which he did, and
in collecting money, and in carrying the most severe resolutions of
the senate against Antonius, and in exhorting us, and in inviting the
Roman people to embrace the cause of liberty, except to ensure the
deliverance of Decimus Brutus? For the Roman people in crowds demanded
at his hands the safety of Decimus Brutus with such unanimous
outcries, that he was compelled to prefer it not only to any
consideration of his own personal advantage, but even to his own
necessities. And that end we now, O conscript fathers, are entitled to
hope is either at the point of being achieved, or is actually gained,
but it is right for the reward of our hopes to be reserved for the
issue and event of the business, lest we should appear either to have
anticipated the kindness of the gods by our over precipitation, or to
have despised the bounty of fortune through our own folly.

But since the manner of your behaviour shows plainly enough what you
think of this matter, I will come to the letters which have arrived
from the consuls and the propraetor, after I have said a few words
relating to the letters themselves.

III. The swords, O conscript fathers, of our legions and armies have
been stained with, or rather, I should say, dipped deep in blood in
two battles which have taken place under the consuls, and a third,
which has been fought under the command of Caesar. If it was the
blood of enemies, then great is the piety of the soldiers; but it is
nefarious wickedness if it was the blood of citizens. How long, then,
is that man, who has surpassed all enemies in wickedness, to be spared
the name of enemy? unless you wish to see the very swords of our
soldiers trembling in their hands while they doubt whether they are
piercing a citizen or an enemy. You vote a supplication; you do not
call Antonius an enemy. Very pleasing indeed to the immortal gods will
our thanksgivings be, very pleasing too the victims, after a multitude
of our citizens has been slain! "For the victory," says the proposer
of the supplication, "over wicked and audacious men." For that is what
this most illustrious man calls them; expressions of blame suited to
lawsuits carried on in the city, not denunciations of searing infamy
such as deserved by internecine war. I suppose they are forging wills,
or trespassing on their neighbours, or cheating some young men; for it
is men implicated in these and similar practices that we are in the
habit of terming wicked and audacious. One man, the foulest of all
banditti, is waging an irreconcileable war against four consuls. He
is at the same time carrying on war against the senate and people of
Rome. He is (although he is himself hastening to destruction, through
the disasters which he has met with) threatening all of us with
destruction, and devastation, and torments, and tortures. He declares
that that inhuman and savage act of Dolabella's, which no nation of
barbarians would have owned, was done by his advice; and what he
himself would do in this city, if this very Jupiter, who now looks
down upon us assembled in his temple, had not repelled him from this
temple and from these walls, he showed, in the miseries of those
inhabitants of Parma, whom, virtuous and honourable men as they were,
and most intimately connected with the authority of this order, and
with the dignity of the Roman people, that villain and monster, Lucius
Antonius, that object of the extraordinary detestation of all men,
and (if the gods hate those whom they ought) of all the gods also,
murdered with every circumstance of cruelty. My mind shudders at the
recollection, O conscript fathers, and shrinks from relating the
cruelties which Lucius Antonius perpetrated on the children and
wives of the citizens of Parma. For whatever infamy the Antonii have
willingly undergone in their own persons to their own infamy, they
triumph in the fact of having inflicted on others by violence. But it
is a miserable violence which they offered to them; most unholy lust,
such as the whole life of the Antonii is polluted with.

IV. Is there then any one who is afraid to call those men enemies,
whose wickedness he admits to have surpassed even the inhumanity of
the Carthaginians? For in what city, when taken by storm, did Hannibal
even behave with such ferocity as Antonius did in Parma, which he
filched by surprise? Unless, mayhap, Antonius is not to be considered
the enemy of this colony, and of the others towards which he is
animated with the same feelings. But if he is beyond all question the
enemy of the colonies and municipal towns, then what do you consider
him with respect to this city which he is so eager for, to satiate the
indigence of his band of robbers? which that skilful and experienced
surveyor of his, Saxa, has already marked out with his rule.
Recollect, I entreat you, in the name of the immortal gods, O
conscript fathers, what we have been fearing for the last two days,
in consequence of infamous rumours carefully disseminated by enemies
within the walls. Who has been able to look upon his children or upon
his wife without weeping? who has been able to bear the sight of his
home, of his house, and his household gods? Already all of us were
expecting a most ignominious death, or meditating a miserable flight.
And shall we hesitate to call the men at whose hands we feared
all these things enemies? If any one should propose a more severe
designation I will willingly agree to it; I am hardly content with
this ordinary one, and will certainly not employ a more moderate one.

Therefore, as we are bound to vote, and as Servilius has already
proposed a most just supplication for those letters which have been
read to you; I will propose altogether to increase the number of the
days which it is to last, especially as it is to be decreed in honour
of three generals conjointly. But first of all I will insist on
styling those men imperator by whose valour, and wisdom, and good
fortune we have been released from the most imminent danger of slavery
and death. Indeed, who is there within the last twenty years who
has had a supplication decreed to him without being himself styled
imperator, though he may have performed the most insignificant
exploits, or even almost none at all. Wherefore, the senator who spoke
before me ought either not to have moved for a supplication at all, or
he ought to have paid the usual and established compliment to those
men to whom even new and extraordinary honours are justly due.

V. Shall the senate, according to this custom which has now obtained,
style a man imperator if he has slain a thousand or two of Spaniards,
or Gauls, or Thracians; and now that so many legions have been routed,
now that such a multitude of enemies has been slain,--aye, enemies,
I say, although our enemies within the city do not fancy this
expression,--shall we pay to our most illustrious generals the honour
of a supplication, and refuse them the name of imperator? For with
what great honour, and joy, and exultation ought the deliverers of
this city themselves to enter into this temple, when yesterday, on
account of the exploits which they have performed, the Roman people
carried me in an ovation, almost in a triumph from my house to the
Capitol, and back again from the Capitol to my own house? That is
indeed in my opinion a just and genuine triumph, when men who have
deserved well of the republic receive public testimony to their merits
from the unanimous consent of the senate. For if, at a time of general
rejoicing on the part of the Roman people, they addressed their
congratulations to one individual, that is a great proof of their
opinion of him; if they gave him thanks, that is a greater still; if
they did both, then nothing more honourable to him can be possibly
imagined.

Are you saying all this of yourself? some one will ask. It is indeed
against my will that I do so; but my indignation at injustice makes me
boastful, contrary to my usual habit. Is it not sufficient that thanks
should not be given to men who have well earned them, by men who are
ignorant of the very nature of virtue? And shall accusations and odium
be attempted to be excited against those men who devote all their
thoughts to ensuring the safety of the republic? For you well know
that there has been a common report for the last few days, that the
day before the wine feast,[55] that is to say, on this very day, I was
intending to come forth with the fasces as dictator. One would think
that this story was invented against some gladiator, or robber, or
Catiline, and not against a man who had prevented any such step from
ever being taken in the republic. Was I, who defeated and overthrew
and crushed Catiline, when he was attempting such wickedness, a likely
man myself all on a sudden to turn out Catiline? Under what auspices
could I, an augur, take those fasces? How long should I have been
likely to keep them? to whom was I to deliver them as my successor?
The idea of any one having been so wicked as to invent such a tale!
or so mad as to believe it! In what could such a suspicion, or rather
such gossip, have originated?

VI. When, as you know, during the last three or four days a report of
bad news from Mutina has been creeping abroad, the disloyal part of
the citizens, inflated with exultation and insolence, began to collect
in one place, at that senate-house which has been more fatal to their
party than to the republic. There, while they were forming a plan to
massacre us, and were distributing the different duties among one
another, and settling who was to seize on the Capitol, who on the
rostra, who on the gates of the city, they thought that all
the citizens would flock to me. And in order to bring me into
unpopularity, and even into danger of my life, they spread abroad this
report about the fasces. They themselves had some idea of bringing the
fasces to my house; and then, on pretence of that having been done by
my wish, they had prepared a band of hired ruffians to make an attack
on me as on a tyrant, and a massacre of all of you was intended to
follow. The fact is already notorious, O conscript fathers, but the
origin of all this wickedness will be revealed in its fitting time.

Therefore Publius Apuleius, a tribune of the people, who ever since my
consulship has been the witness and partaker of, and my assistant
in all my designs and all my dangers could not endure the grief of
witnessing my indignation. He convened a numerous assembly, as the
whole Roman people were animated with one feeling on the subject. And
when in the harangue which he then made, he, as was natural from our
great intimacy and friendship, was going to exculpate me from all
suspicion in the matter of the fasces, the whole assembly cried out
with one voice, that I had never had any intentions with regard to
the republic which were not excellent. After this assembly was over,
within two or three hours, these most welcome messengers and letters
arrived; so that the same day not only delivered me from a most unjust
odium, but increased my credit by that most extraordinary act with
which the Roman people distinguished me.

I have made this digression, O conscript fathers, not so much for the
sake of speaking of myself, (for I should be in a sorry plight if I
were not sufficiently acquitted in your eyes without the necessity of
making a formal defence,) as with the view of warning some men of too
grovelling and narrow minds, to adopt the line of conduct which I
myself have always pursued, and to think the virtue of excellent
citizens worthy of imitation, not of envy. There is a great field in
the republic, as Crassus used very wisely to say; the road to glory is
open to many.

VII. Would that those great men were still alive, who, after my
consulship, when I myself was willing to yield to them, were
themselves desirous to see me in the post of leader. But at the
present moment, when there is such a dearth of wise and fearless men
of consular rank, how great do you not suppose must be my grief
and indignation, when I see some men absolutely disaffected to the
republic, others wholly indifferent to everything, others incapable of
persevering with any firmness in the cause which they have espoused;
and regulating their opinions not always by the advantage of the
republic, but sometimes by hope, and sometimes by fear. But if any
one is anxious and inclined to struggle for the leadership--though
struggle there ought to be none--he acts very foolishly, if he
proposes to combat virtue with vices. For as speed is only outstripped
by speed, so among brave men virtue is only surpassed by virtue.
Will you, if I am full of excellent sentiments with respect to the
republic, adopt the worst possible sentiments yourself for the purpose
of excelling me? Or if you see a race taking place for the acquisition
of honours, will you summon all the wicked men you can find to your
banner? I should be sorry for you to do so; first of all, for the sake
of the republic, and secondly, for that of your own dignity. But if
the leadership of the state were at stake, which I have never coveted,
what could be more desirable for me than such conduct on your part?
For it is impossible that I should be defeated by wicked sentiments
and measures,--by good ones perhaps I might be, and I willingly would
be.

Some people are vexed that the Roman people should see, and take
notice of, and form their opinion on these matters. Was it possible
for men not to form their opinion of each individual as he deserved?
For as the Roman people forms a most correct judgment of the entire
senate, thinking that at no period in the history of the republic was
this order ever more firm or more courageous; so also they all inquire
diligently concerning every individual among us; and especially in the
case of those among us who deliver our sentiments at length in this
place, they are anxious to know what those sentiments are; and in that
way they judge of each one of us, as they think that he deserves. They
recollect that on the nineteenth of December I was the main cause of
recovering our freedom; that from the first of January to this hour I
have never ceased watching over the republic; that day and night my
house and my ears have been open to the instruction and admonition of
every one; that it has been by my letters, and my messengers, and
my exhortations, that all men in every part of the empire have been
roused to the protection of our country; that it is owing to the open
declaration of my opinion ever since the first of January, that no
ambassadors have been ever sent to Antonius; that I have always called
him a public enemy, and this a war; so that I, who on every occasion
have been the adviser of genuine peace have been a determined enemy to
this pretence of fatal peace.

Have not I also at all times pronounced Ventidius an enemy, when
others wished to call him a tribune of the people? If the consuls had
chosen to divide the senate on my opinion, their arms would long since
have been wrested from the hands of all those robbers by the positive
authority of the senate.

VIII. But what could not be done then, O conscript fathers, at present
not only can be, but even must be done. I mean, those men who are in
reality enemies must be branded in plain language, must be declared
enemies by our formal resolution. Formerly, when I used the words War
or Enemy, men more than once objected to record my proposition among
the other propositions. But that cannot be done on the present
occasion. For in consequence of the letters of Caius Pansa and Aulus
Hirtius, the consuls, and of Caius Caesar, propraetor, we have all
voted that honours be paid to the immortal gods. The very man who
lately proposed and carried a vote for a supplication, without
intending it pronounced those men enemies; for a supplication has
never been decreed for success in civil war. Decreed, do I say? It has
never even been asked for in the letters of the conqueror. Sylla as
consul carried on a civil war; he led his legions into the city and
expelled whomsoever he chose; he slew those whom he had in his power:
there was no mention made of any supplication. The violent war with
Octavius followed. Cinna the conqueror had no supplication voted
to him. Sylla as imperator revenged the victory of Cinna, still no
supplication was decreed by the senate. I ask you yourself, O Publius
Servilius, did your colleague send you any letters concerning that
most lamentable battle of Pharsalia? Did he wish you to make any
motion about a supplication? Certainly not. But he did afterwards when
he took Alexandria; when he defeated Pharnaces; but for the battle of
Pharsalia he did not even celebrate a triumph. For that battle had
destroyed those citizens whose, I will not say lives, but even
whose victory might have been quite compatible with the safety and
prosperity of the state. And the same thing had happened in the
previous civil wars. For though a supplication was decreed in my
honour when I was consul, though no arms had been had recourse to at
all, still that was voted by a new and wholly unprecedented kind of
decree, not for the slaughter of enemies, but for the preservation of
the citizens. Wherefore, a supplication on account of the affairs of
the republic having been successfully conducted must, O conscript
fathers, be refused by you even though your generals demand it; a
stigma which has never been affixed on any one except Gabinius; or
else, by the mere fact of decreeing a supplication, it is quite
inevitable that you must pronounce those men, for whose defeat you do
decree it, enemies of the state.

IX. What then Servilius did in effect, I do in express terms, when I
style those men imperators. By using this name, I pronounce those who
have been already defeated, and those who still remain, enemies
in calling their conquerors imperators. For what title can I more
suitably bestow on Pansa? Though he has, indeed, the title of the
highest honour in the republic. What, too, shall I call Hirtius? He,
indeed, is consul; but this latter title is indicative of the kindness
of the Roman people; the other of valour and victory. What? Shall I
hesitate to call Caesar imperator, a man born for the republic by the
express kindness of the gods? He who was the first man who turned
aside the savage and disgraceful cruelty of Antonius, not only from
our throats, but from our limbs and bowels? What numerous and what
important virtues, O ye immortal gods, were displayed on that single
day. For Pansa was the leader of all in engaging in battle and in
combating with Antonius; O general worthy of the martial legion,
legion worthy of its general! Indeed, if he had been able to restrain
its irresistible impetuosity, the whole war would have been terminated
by that one battle. But as the legion, eager for liberty, had rushed
with too much precipitation against the enemy's line of battle, and
as Pansa himself was fighting in the front ranks, he received two
dangerous wounds, and was borne out of the battle, to preserve his
life for the republic. But I pronounce him not only imperator, but
a most illustrious imperator; who, as he had pledged himself to
discharge his duty to the republic either by death or by victory, has
fulfilled one half of his promise; may the immortal gods prevent the
fulfilment of the other half!

X. Why need I speak of Hirtius? who, the moment he heard of what was
going on, with incredible promptness and courage led forth two legions
out of the camp; that noble fourth legion, which, having deserted
Antonius, formerly united itself to the martial legion; and the
seventh, which, consisting wholly of veterans, gave proof in that
battle that the name of the senate and people of Rome was dear to
those soldiers who preserved the recollection of the kindness of
Caesar. With these twenty cohorts, with no cavalry, while Hirtius
himself was bearing the eagle of the fourth legion,--and we never
heard of a more noble office being assumed by any general,--he
fought with the three legions of Antonius and with his cavalry, and
overthrew, and routed, and put to the sword those impious men who
were the real enemies to this temple of the all-good and all-powerful
Jupiter, and to the rest of the temples of the immortal gods, and the
houses of the city, and the freedom of the Roman people, and our lives
and actual existence; so that that chief and leader of robbers fled
away with a very few followers, concealed by the darkness of night,
and frightened out of all his senses.

Oh what a most blessed day was that, which, while the carcases of
those parricidal traitors were strewed about everywhere, beheld
Antonius flying with a few followers, before he reached his place of
concealment.

But will any one hesitate to call Caesar imperator? Most certainly his
age will not deter any one from agreeing to this proposition, since he
has gone beyond his age in virtue. And to me, indeed, the services of
Caius Caesar have always appeared the more thankworthy, in proportion
as they were less to have been expected from a man of his age. For
when we conferred military command on him, we were in fact encouraging
the hope with which his name inspired us; and now that he has
fulfilled those hopes, he has sanctioned the authority of our decree
by his exploits. This young man of great mind, as Hirtius most truly
calls him in his letters, with a few cohorts defended the camp of
many legions, and fought a successful battle. And in this manner the
republic has on one day been preserved in many places by the valour,
and wisdom, and good fortune of three imperators of the Roman people.

XI. I therefore propose supplications of fifty days in the joint
names of the three. The reasons I will embrace in the words of the
resolution, using the most honourable language that I can devise.

But it becomes our good faith and our piety to show plainly to our
most gallant soldiers how mindful of their services and how grateful
for them we are; and accordingly I give my vote that our promises, and
those pledges too which we promised to bestow on the legions when the
war was finished, be repeated in the resolution which we are going to
pass this day. For it is quite fair that the honour of the soldiers,
especially of such soldiers as those, should be united with that of
their commanders. And I wish, O conscript fathers, that it was lawful
for us to dispense rewards to all the citizens; although we will give
those which we have promised with the most careful usury. But that
remains, as I well hope, to the conquerors, to whom the faith of the
senate is pledged; and, as they have adhered to it at a most critical
period of the republic, we are bound to take care that they never have
cause to repent of their conduct. But it is easy for us to deal fairly
by those men whose very services, though mute, appear to demand our
liberality. This is a much more praiseworthy and more important duty,
to pay a proper tribute of grateful recollection to the valour of
those men who have shed their blood in the cause of their country. And
I wish more suggestions could occur to me in the way of doing honour
to those men. The two ideas which principally do occur to me, I will
at all events not pass over; the one of which has reference to the
everlasting glory of those bravest of men; the other may tend to
mitigate the sorrow and mourning of their relations.

XII. I therefore give my vote, O conscript fathers, that the most
honourable monument possible be erected to the soldiers of the martial
legion, and to those soldiers also who died fighting by their side.
Great and incredible are the services done by this legion to the
republic. This was the first legion to tear itself from the piratical
band of Antonius; this was the legion which encamped at Alba; this was
the legion that went over to Caesar; and it was in imitation of the
conduct of this legion that the fourth legion has earned almost equal
glory for its virtue. The fourth is victorious without having lost a
man; some of the martial legion fell in the very moment of victory. Oh
happy death, which, due to nature, has been paid in the cause of one's
country! But I consider you men born for your country; you whose very
name is derived from Mars, so that the same god who begot this city
for the advantage of the nations, appears to have begotten you for
the advantage of this city. Death in flight is infamous; in victory
glorious. In truth, Mars himself seems to select all the bravest men
from the battle array. Those impious men whom you slew, shall even in
the shades below pay the penalty of their parricidal treason. But you,
who have poured forth your latest breath in victory, have earned an
abode and place among the pious. A brief life has been allotted to us
by nature; but the memory of a well-spent life is imperishable. And if
that memory were no longer than this life, who would be so senseless
as to strive to attain even the highest praise and glory by the most
enormous labours and dangers?

You then have fared most admirably, being the bravest of soldiers
while you lived, and now the most holy of warriors, because it will
be impossible for your virtue to be buried, either through the
forgetfulness of the men of the present age, or the silence of
posterity, since the senate and Roman people will have raised to you
an imperishable monument, I may almost say with their own hands. Many
armies at various times have been great and illustrious in the Punic,
and Gallic, and Italian wars; but to none of them have honours been
paid of the description which are now conferred on you. And I wish
that we could pay you even greater honours, since we have received
from you the greatest possible services. You it was who turned aside
the furious Antonius from this city; you it was who repelled him when
endeavouring to return. There shall therefore be a vast monument
erected with the most sumptuous work, and an inscription engraved upon
it, as the everlasting witness of your god-like virtue. And never
shall the most grateful language of all who either see or hear of your
monument cease to be heard. And in this manner you, in exchange for
your mortal condition of life, have attained immortality.

XIII. But since, O conscript fathers, the gift of glory is conferred
on these most excellent and gallant citizens by the honour of a
monument, let us comfort their relations, to whom this indeed is
the best consolation. The greatest comfort for their parents is the
reflection that they have produced sons who have been such bulwarks of
the republic; for their children, that they will have such examples of
virtue in their family; for their wives, that the husbands whom they
have lost are men whom it is a credit to praise, and to have a right
to mourn for; and for their brothers, that they may trust that, as
they resemble them in their persons, so they do also in their virtues.

Would that we were able by the expression of our sentiments and by our
votes to wipe away the tears of all these persons; or that any such
oration as this could be publicly addressed to them, to cause them to
lay aside their grief and mourning, and to rejoice rather, that, while
many various kinds of death impend over men, the most honourable kind
of all has fallen to the lot of their friends; and that they are not
unburied, nor deserted; though even that fate, when incurred for one's
country, is not accounted miserable; nor burnt with equable obsequies
in scattered graves, but entombed in honourable sepulchres, and
honoured with public offerings; and with a building which will be an
altar of their valour to ensure the recollection of eternal ages.

Wherefore it will be the greatest possible comfort to their relations,
that by the same monument are clearly displayed the valour of their
kinsmen, and also their piety, and the good faith of the senate, and
the memory of this most inhuman war, in which, if the valour of the
soldiers had been less conspicuous, the very name of the Roman people
would have perished by the parricidal treason of Marcus Antonius.
And I think also, O conscript fathers, that those rewards which we
promised to bestow on the soldiers when we had recovered the republic,
we should give with abundant usury to those who are alive and
victorious when the time comes; and that in the case of the men to
whom those rewards were promised, but who have died in the defence of
their country, I think those same rewards should be given to their
parents or children, or wives or brothers.

XIV. But that I may reduce my sentiments into a formal motion, I give
my vote that:

"As Caius Pansa, consul, imperator, set the example of fighting with
the enemy in a battle in which the martial legion defended the freedom
of the Roman people with admirable and incredible valour, and the
legions of the recruits behaved equally well; and as Caius Pansa,
consul, imperator, while engaged in the middle of the ranks of the
enemy received wounds; and as Aulus Hirtius, consul, imperator, the
moment that he heard of the battle, and knew what was going on, with a
most gallant and loyal soul, led his army out of his camp and attacked
Marcus Antonius and his army, and put his troops to the sword, with so
little injury to his own army that he did not lose one single man; and
as Caius Caesar, propraetor, imperator, with great prudence and energy
defended the camp successfully, and routed and put to the sword the
forces of the enemy which had come near the camp:

"On these accounts the senate thinks and declares that the Roman
people has been released from the most disgraceful and cruel slavery
by the valour, and military skill, and prudence, and firmness, and
perseverance, and greatness of mind and good fortune of these their
generals. And decrees that, as they have preserved the republic, the
city, the temples of the immortal gods, the property and fortunes and
families of all the citizens, by their own exertions in battle, and at
the risk of their own lives; on account of these virtuous and gallant
and successful achievements, Caius Pansa and Aulus Hirtius, the
consuls, imperators, one or both of them, or, in their absence, Marcus
Cornutus, the city praetor, shall appoint a supplication at all the
altars for fifty days. And as the valour of the legions has shown
itself worthy of their most illustrious generals, the senate will with
great eagerness, now that the republic is recovered, bestow on our
legions and armies all the rewards which it formerly promised them.
And as the martial legion was the first to engage with the enemy, and
fought in such a manner against superior numbers as to slay many and
take some prisoners; and as they shed their blood for their country
without any shrinking; and as the soldiers of the other legions
encountered death with similar valour in defence of the safety and
freedom of the Roman people;--the senate does decree that Caius Pansa
and Aulus Hirtius, the consuls, imperators, one or both of them if it
seems good to them, shall see to the issuing of a contract for, and to
the erecting, the most honourable possible monument to those men who
shed their blood for the lives and liberties and fortunes of the Roman
people, and for the city and temples of the immortal gods; that for
that purpose they shall order the city quaestors to furnish and
pay money, in order that it may be a witness for the everlasting
recollection of posterity of the wickedness of our most cruel enemies,
and the god-like valour of our soldiers. And that the rewards which
the senate previously appointed for the soldiers, be paid to the
parents or children, or wives or brothers of those men who in this
war have fallen in defence of their country; and that all honours
be bestowed on them which should have been bestowed on the soldiers
themselves if those men had lived who gained the victory by their
death."




THE TWO BOOKS WHICH REMAIN OF THE TREATISE BY M.T. CICERO ON
RHETORICAL INVENTION.

       *       *       *       *       *

BOOK I.

       *       *       *       *       *


These essays on rhetoric were composed by Cicero when he was about one
and twenty years of age, and he mentions them afterwards in his more
elaborate treatise _De Oratore_, (Lib. i. c. 2,) as unworthy of his
more mature age, and more extended experiences. Quintilian also (III.
c. 63,) mentions them as works which Cicero condemned by subsequent
writings. This treatise originally consisted of four books, of which
only two have come down to us.

I. I HAVE often and deeply resolved this question in my mind, whether
fluency of language has been beneficial or injurious to men and to
cities, with reference to the cultivation of the highest order of
eloquence. For when I consider the disasters of our own republic, and
when I call to mind also the ancient calamities of the most important
states, I see that it is by no means the most insignificant portion
of their distresses which has originated from the conduct of the most
eloquent men. But, at the same time, when I set myself to trace back,
by the aid of written memorials and documents, affairs which, by
reason of their antiquity, are removed back out of the reach of any
personal recollection, I perceive also that many cities have been
established, many wars extinguished, many most enduring alliances and
most holy friendships have been cemented by deliberate wisdom much
assisted and facilitated by eloquence. And as I have been, as I say,
considering all this for some time, reason itself especially induces
me to think that wisdom without eloquence is but of little advantage
to states, but that eloquence without wisdom is often most
mischievous, and is never advantageous to them.

If then any one, neglecting all the most virtuous and honourable
considerations of wisdom and duty, devotes his whole attention to the
practice of speaking, that man is training himself to become useless
to himself, and a citizen mischievous to his country; but a man who
arms himself with eloquence in such a manner as not to oppose the
advantage of his country, but to be able to contend in behalf of them,
he appears to me to be one who both as a man and a citizen will be of
the greatest service to his own and the general interests, and most
devoted to his country.

And if we are inclined to consider the origin of this thing which is
called eloquence, whether it be a study, or an art, or some peculiar
sort of training or some faculty given us by nature, we shall find
that it has arisen from most honourable causes, and that it proceeds
on the most excellent principles.

II. For there was a time when men wandered at random over the fields,
after the fashion of beasts, and supported life on the food of beasts;
nor did they do anything by means of the reasoning powers of the mind;
but almost everything by bodily strength. No attention was as yet paid
to any considerations of the religious reverence due to the gods, or
of the duties which are owed to mankind: no one had ever seen any
legitimate marriages, no one had beheld any children whose parentage
was indubitable; nor had any one any idea what great advantage
there might be in a system of equal law. And so, owing to error and
ignorance, cupidity, that blind and rash sovereign of the mind, abused
its bodily strength, that most pernicious of servants, for the purpose
of gratifying itself. At this time then a man,[56] a great and a wise
man truly was he, perceived what materials there were, and what great
fitness there was in the minds of men for the most important affairs,
if any one could only draw it out, and improve it by education. He,
laying down a regular system, collected men, who were previously
dispersed over the fields and hidden in habitations in the woods into
one place, and united them, and leading them on to every useful and
honourable pursuit, though, at first, from not being used to it they
raised an outcry against it; he gradually, as they became more eager
to listen to him on account of his wisdom and eloquence, made them
gentle and civilized from having been savage and brutal. And it
certainly seems to me that no wisdom which was silent and destitute of
skill in speaking could have had such power as to turn men on a sudden
from their previous customs, and to lead them to the adoption of
a different system of life. And, moreover, after cities had been
established how could men possibly have been induced to learn to
cultivate integrity, and to maintain justice, and to be accustomed
willingly to obey others, and to think it right not only to encounter
toil for the sake of the general advantage, but even to run the risk
of losing their lives, if men had not been able to persuade them by
eloquence of the truth of those principles which they had discovered
by philosophy? Undoubtedly no one, if it had not been that he was
influenced by dignified and sweet eloquence, would ever have chosen
to condescend to appeal to law without violence, when he was the most
powerful party of the two as far as strength went; so as to allow
himself now to be put on a level with those men among whom he might
have been preeminent, and of his own free will to abandon a custom
most pleasant to him, and one which by reason of its antiquity had
almost the force of nature.

And this is how eloquence appears to have originated at first, and to
have advanced to greater perfection; and also, afterwards, to have
become concerned in the most important transactions of peace and war,
to the greatest advantage of mankind? But after that a certain sort of
complaisance, a false copyist of virtue, without any consideration
for real duty, arrived at some fluency of language, then wickedness,
relying on ability, began to overturn cities, and to undermine the
principles of human life.

III. And, since we have mentioned the origin, of the good done by
eloquence, let us explain also the beginning of this evil.

It appears exceedingly probable to me that was a time when men who
were destitute of eloquence and wisdom, were not accustomed to meddle
with affairs of state, and when also great and eloquent men were not
used to concern themselves about private causes; but, while the most
important transactions were managed by the most eminent and able men,
I think that there were others also, and those not very incompetent,
who attended to the trifling disputes of private individuals; and as
in these disputes it often happened that men had recourse to lies, and
tried by such means to oppose the truth, constant practice in speaking
encouraged audacity, so that it became unavoidable that those other
more eminent men should, on account of the injuries sustained by the
citizens, resist the audacious and come to the assistance of their own
individual friends.

Therefore, as that man had often appeared equal in speaking, and
sometimes even superior, who having neglected the study of wisdom, had
laboured to acquire nothing except eloquence, it happened that in the
judgment of the multitude he appeared a man worthy to conduct even the
affairs of the state. And hence it arose, and it is no wonder that
it did, when rash and audacious men had seized on the helm of the
republic, that great and terrible disasters occurred. Owing to which
circumstances, eloquence fell under so much odium and unpopularity
that the ablest men, (like men who seek a harbour to escape from some
violent tempest) devoted themselves to any quiet pursuit, as a refuge
from a life of sedition and tumult. So that other virtuous and
honourable pursuits appear to me to have become popular subsequently,
from having been cultivated in tranquillity by excellent men; but
that this pursuit having been abandoned by most of them, grew out of
fashion and obsolete at the very time when it should have been more
eagerly retained and more anxiously encouraged and strengthened.

For the more scandalously the temerity and audacity of foolish and
worthless men was violating a most honourable and virtuous system,
to the excessive injury of the republic, the more studiously did
it become others to resist them, and to consult the welfare of the
republic.

IV. And this principle which I have just laid down did not escape the
notice of Cato, nor of Laelus, nor of their pupil, as I may fairly
call him, Africanus, nor of the Gracchi the grandson of Africanus; men
in whom there was consummate virtue and authority increased by their
consummate virtue and eloquence, which might serve as an ornament to
these qualities, and as a protection to the republic. Wherefore, in
my opinion at least, men ought not the less to devote themselves to
eloquence, although some men both in private and public affairs misuse
it in a perverse manner; but I think rather that they should apply
themselves to it with the more eagerness, in order to prevent wicked
men from getting the greatest power to the exceeding injury of the
good, and the common calamity of all men; especially as this is the
only thing which is of the greatest influence on all affairs both
public and private; and as it is by this same quality that life is
rendered safe, and honourable, and illustrious, and pleasant. For it
is from this source that the most numerous advantages accrue to the
republic, if only it be accompanied by wisdom, that governor of all
human affairs. From this source it is that praise and honour and
dignity flow towards all those who have acquired it; from this source
it is that the most certain and the safest defence is provided for
their friends. And, indeed, it appears to me, that it is on this
particular that men, who in many points are weaker and lower than the
beasts, are especially superior to them, namely, in being able to
speak.

Wherefore, that man appears to me to have acquired an excellent
endowment, who is superior to other men in that very thing in which
men are superior to beasts. And if this art is acquired not by nature
only, not by mere practice, but also by a sort of regular system of
education, it appears to me not foreign to our purpose to consider
what those men say who have left us some precepts on the subject of
the attainment of it.

But, before we begin to speak of oratorical precepts, I think we must
say something of the nature of the art itself; of its duty, of
its end, of its materials, and of its divisions. For when we have
ascertained those points, then each man's mind will, with the more
ease and readiness, be able to comprehend the system itself, and the
path which leads to excellence in it.

V. There is a certain political science which is made up of many and
important particulars. A very great and extensive portion of it is
artificial eloquence, which men call rhetoric. For we do not agree
with those men who think that the knowledge of political science is
in no need of and has no connexion with eloquence; and we most widely
disagree with those, on the other hand, who think that all political
ability Is comprehended under the skill and power of a rhetorician. On
which account we will place this oratorical ability in such a class as
to assert that it is a part of political science. But the duty of this
faculty appears to be to speak in a manner suitable to persuading men;
the end of it is to persuade by language. And there is difference
between the duty of this faculty and its end; that with respect to the
duty we consider what ought to be done; with respect to the end we
consider what is suitable to the duty. Just as we say, that it is the
duty of a physician to prescribe for a patient in a way calculated to
cure him; and that his end is to cure him by his prescriptions. And
so we shall understand what we are to call the duty of an orator, and
also what we are to call his end; since we shall call that his duty
which he ought to do, and we shall term that his end for the sake of
which he is bound to do his duty.

We shall call that the material of the art, on which the whole art,
and all that ability which is derived from art, turns. Just as if we
were to call diseases and wounds the material of medicine, because
it is about them that all medical science is concerned. And in like
manner, we call those subjects with which oratorical science and
ability is conversant the materials of the art of rhetoric. And these
subjects some have considered more numerous, and others less so. For
Gorgias the Leontine, who is almost the oldest of all rhetoricians,
considered that an orator was able to speak in the most excellent
manner of all men on every subject. And when he says this he seems to
be supplying an infinite and boundless stock of materials to this art.
But Aristotle, who of all men has supplied the greatest number of aids
and ornaments to this art, thought that the duty of the rhetorician
was conversant with three kinds of subjects; with the demonstrative,
and the deliberative, and the judicial.

The demonstrative is that which concerns itself with the praise or
blame of some particular individual; the deliberative is that which,
having its place in discussion and in political debate, comprises a
deliberate statement of one's opinion; the judicial is that which,
having its place in judicial proceedings, comprehends the topics of
accusation and defence; or of demand and refusal. And, as our own
opinion at least inclines, the art and ability of the orator must be
understood to be conversant with these tripartite materials. VI For
Hermagoras, indeed, appears neither to attend to what he is saying,
nor to understand what he is promising, for he divides the materials
of an orator into the cause, and the examination. The cause he defines
to be a thing which has in itself a controversy of language united
with the interposition of certain characters. And that part, we too
say, is assigned to the orator, for we give him those three parts
which we have already mentioned,--the judicial, the deliberative, and
the demonstrative. But the examination he defines to be that
thing which has in itself a controversy of language, without the
interposition of any particular characters, in this way--"Whether
there is anything good besides honesty?"--"Whether the senses may be
trusted?"--"What is the shape of the world?"--"What is the size of
the sun?" But I imagine that all men can easily see that all such
questions are far removed from the business of an orator, for it
appears the excess of insanity to attribute those subjects, in
which we know that the most sublime genius of philosophers has been
exhausted with infinite labour, as if they were inconsiderable
matters, to a rhetorician or an orator.

But if Hermagoras himself had had any great acquaintance with these
subjects, acquired with long study and training, then it would be
supposed that he, from relying on his own knowledge, had laid down
some false principles respecting the duty of an orator, and had
explained not what his art could effect, but what he himself could do.
But as it is, the character of the man is such, that any one would
be much more inclined to deny him any knowledge of rhetoric, than to
grant him any acquaintance with philosophy. Nor do I say this because
the book on the art which he published appears to me to have been
written with any particular incorrectness, (for, indeed, he appears to
me to have shown very tolerable ingenuity and diligence in arranging
topics which he had collected from ancient writings on the subject,
and also to have advanced some new theories himself,) but it is the
least part of the business of an orator to speak concerning his art,
which is what he has done: his business is rather to speak from his
art, which is what we all see that this Hermagoras was very little
able to do. And so that, indeed, appears to us to be the proper
materials of rhetoric, which we have said appeared to be such to
Aristotle. VII. And these are the divisions of it, as numerous writers
have laid them down: Invention; Arrangement; Elocution; Memory;
Delivery. Invention, is the conceiving of topics either true or
probable, which may make one's cause appear probable; Arrangement, is
the distribution of the topics which have been thus conceived with
regular order; Elocution, is the adaptation of suitable words and
sentences to the topics so conceived; Memory, is the lasting sense in
the mind of the matters and words corresponding to the reception of
these topics. Delivery, is a regulating of the voice and body in a
manner suitable to the dignity of the subjects spoken of and of the
language employed.

Now, that these matters have been briefly defined, we may postpone to
another time those considerations by which we may be able to elucidate
the character and the duty and the object of this art; for they would
require a very long argument, and they have no very intimate connexion
with the definition of the art and the delivery of precepts relating
to it. But we consider that the man who writes a treatise on the art
of rhetoric ought to write about two other subjects also; namely,
about the materials of the art, and about its divisions. And it seems,
indeed, that we ought to treat of the materials and divisions of this
art at the same time. Wherefore, let us first consider what sort of
quality invention ought to be, which is the most important of all the
divisions, and which applies to every description of cause in which an
orator can be engaged.

VIII. Every subject which contains in itself any controversy existing
either in language or in disputation, contains a question either
about a fact, or about a name, or about a class, or about an action.
Therefore, that investigation out of which a cause arises we call a
stating of a case. A stating of a case is the first conflict of causes
arising from a repulse of an accusation; in this way. "You did so and
so;"--"I did not do so;"--or, "it was lawful for me to do so." When
there is a dispute as to the fact, since the cause is confirmed by
conjectures, it is called a conjectural statement. But when it is a
dispute as to a name, because the force of a name is to be defined by
words, it is then styled a definitive statement. But when the thing
which is sought to be ascertained is what is the character of the
matter under consideration, because it is a dispute about violence,
and about the character of the affair, it is called a general
statement. But when the cause depends on this circumstance, either
that that man does not seem to plead who ought to plead, or that he
does not plead with that man with whom he ought to plead, or that
he does not plead before the proper people, at the proper time,
in accordance with the proper law, urging the proper charge, and
demanding the infliction of the proper penalty, then it is called a
statement by way of demurrer; because the arguing of the case appears
to stand in need of a demurrer and also of some alteration. And
some one or other of these sorts of statement must of necessity be
incidental to every cause. For if there be any one to which it is not
incidental, in that there can be no dispute at all; on which account
it has no right even to be considered a cause at all.

And a dispute as to fact may be distributed over every sort of time.
For as to what has been done, an inquiry can be instituted in this
way--"whether Ulysses slew Ajax;" and as to what is being done, in
this way--"whether the people of Tregellae are well affected towards
the Roman people;" and as to what is going to happen, in this way--"if
we leave Carthage uninjured, whether any inconvenience will accrue to
the republic."

It is a dispute about a name, when parties are agreed as to the fact,
and when the question is by what name that which has been done is to
be designated. In which class of dispute it is inevitable on that
account that there should be a dispute as to the name; not because the
parties are not agreed about the fact, not because the fact is not
notorious, but because that which has been done appears in a different
light to different people, and on that account one calls it by one
name and another by another. Wherefore, in disputes of this kind
the matter must be defined by words, and described briefly; as, for
instance, if any one has stolen any sacred vessel from a private
place, whether he is to be considered a sacrilegious person, or a
simple thief. For when that is inquired into, it is necessary to
define both points--what is a thief, and what is a sacrilegious
person,--and to show by one's own description that the matter which
is under discussion ought to be called by a different name from that
which the opposite party apply to it. IX. The dispute about kind
is, when it is agreed both what has been done, and when there is
no question as to the name by which it ought to be designated; and
nevertheless there is a question of what importance the matter is, and
of what sort it is, and altogether of what character it is; in this
way,--whether it be just or unjust; whether it be useful or useless;
and as to all other circumstances with reference to which there is any
question what is the character of that which has been done, without
there being any dispute as to its name. Humagoras assigned
four divisions to this sort of dispute: the deliberative, the
demonstrative, the judicial, and the one relating to facts. And, as it
seems to us, this was no ordinary blunder of his, and one which it is
incumbent on us to reprove; though we may do so briefly, lest, if we
were to pass it over in silence, we might be thought to have had no
good reason for abandoning his guidance; or if we were to dwell too
long on this point, we might appear to have interposed a delay and an
obstacle to the other precepts which we wish to lay down.

If deliberation and demonstration are kinds of causes, then the
divisions of any one kind cannot rightly be considered causes; for the
same matter may appear to be a class to one person, and a division to
another; but it cannot appear both a class and a division to the same
person. But deliberation and demonstration are kinds of argument; for
either there is no kind of argument at all, or there is the judicial
kind alone, or there are all three kinds, the judicial and the
demonstrative and the deliberative. Now, to say there is no kind of
argument at the same time that he says that there are many arguments,
and is giving precepts for them, is foolishness. How, too, is it
possible that there should be one kind only, namely the judicial, when
deliberation and demonstration in the first place do not resemble one
another, and are exceedingly different from the judicial kind, and
have each their separate object to which they ought to be referred. It
follows, then, that there are three kinds of arguments. Deliberation
and demonstration cannot properly be considered divisions of any kind
of argument. He was wrong, therefore, when he said that they were
divisions of a general statement of the case.

X. But if they cannot properly be considered divisions of a kind of
argument, much less can they properly be considered divisions of a
division of an argument. But all statement of the case is a division
of an argument. For the argument is not adapted to the statement of
the case, but the statement of the case is adapted to the argument.
But demonstration and deliberation cannot be properly considered
divisions of a kind of argument, because they are separate kinds
of arguments themselves. Much less can they properly be considered
divisions of that division, as he calls them. In the next place,
if the statement of the case, both itself as a whole; and also any
portion of that statement, is a repelling of an accusation, then that
which is not a repelling of an accusation is neither a statement of a
case, nor a portion of a statement of a case; but if that which is not
a repelling of an attack is not a statement of a case, nor a portion
of a statement of a case, then deliberation and demonstration are
neither a statement of a case, nor a portion of a statement of a
case. If, therefore, a statement of a case, whether it be the whole
statement or some portion of it, be a repelling of an accusation, then
deliberation and demonstration are neither a statement of a case, nor
any portion of such statement. But he himself asserts that it is
a repelling of an accusation. He must therefore assert also that
demonstration and deliberation are neither a statement of a case, nor
a portion of such a statement. And he will be pressed by the same
argument whether he calls the statement of a case the original
assertion of his cause by the accuser, or the first speech in answer
to such accusation by the advocate of the defence. For all the same
difficulties will attend him in either case.

In the next place a conjectural argument cannot, as to the same
portion of it, be at the same time both a conjectural one and a
definitive one. Again, a definitive argument cannot, as to the same
portion of it, be at the same time both a definitive argument and one
in the form and character of a demurrer. And altogether, no statement
of a case, and no portion of such a statement, can at one and the same
time both have its own proper force and also contain the force of
another kind of argument. Because each kind of argument is considered
simply by its own merits, and according to its own nature; and if any
other kind be united with it, then it is the number of statements of
a case that is doubled, and not the power of the statement that is
increased.

But a deliberative argument, both as to the same portion of it and
also at the same time, very frequently has a statement of its case
both conjectural, and general, and definitive, and in the nature of a
demurrer; and at times it contains only one statement, and at times
it contains many such. Therefore it is not itself a statement of the
case, nor a division of such statement: and the same thing must be
the case with respect to demonstration. These, then, as I have said
before, must be considered kinds of argument, and not divisions of any
statement of the subject.

XI. This statement of the case then, which we call the general one,
appears to us to have two divisions,--one judicial and one relating to
matters of fact. The judicial one is that in which the nature of right
and wrong, or the principles of reward and punishment, are inquired
into. The one relating to matters of fact is that in which the thing
taken into consideration is what is the law according to civil
precedent, and according to equity; and that is the department in
which lawyers are considered by us to be especially concerned.

And the judicial kind is itself also distributed under two
divisions,--one absolute, and one which takes in something besides as
an addition, and which may be called assumptive. The absolute division
is that which of itself contains in itself an inquiry into right and
wrong. The assumptive one is that which of itself supplies no firm
ground for objection, but which takes to itself some topics for
defence derived from extraneous circumstances. And its divisions are
four,--concession, removal of the accusation from oneself, a retorting
of the accusation, and comparison. Concession when the person on his
trial does not defend the deed that has been done, but entreats to be
pardoned for it: and this again is divided into two parts,--purgation
and deprecation. Purgation is when the fact is admitted, but when the
guilt of the fact is sought to be done away. And this may be on three
grounds,--of ignorance, of accident, or of necessity. Deprecation is
when the person on his trial confesses that he has done wrong, and
that he has done wrong on purpose, and nevertheless entreats to be
pardoned. But this kind of address can be used but very rarely.
Removal of the accusation from oneself is when the person on his trial
endeavours by force of argument and by influence to remove the charge
which is brought against him from himself to another, so that it may
not fix him himself with any guilt at all. And that can be done in
two ways,--if either the cause of the deed, or the deed itself, is
attributed to another. The cause is attributed to another when it is
said that the deed was done in consequence of the power and influence
of another; but the deed itself is attributed to another when it is
said that another either might have done it, or ought to have done it.
The retorting of an accusation takes place when what is done is said
to have been lawfully done because another had previously provoked
the doer wrongfully. Comparison is, when it is argued that some
other action has been a right or an advantageous one, and then it is
contended that this deed which is now impeached was committed in order
to facilitate the accomplishment of that useful action.

In the fourth kind of statement of a case, which we call the one which
assumes the character of a demurrer, that sort of statement contains a
dispute, in which an inquiry is opened who ought to be the accuser or
pleader, or against whom, or in what manner, or before whom, or under
what law, or at what time the accusation ought to be brought forward;
or when something is urged generally tending to alter the nature of,
or to invalidate the whole accusation. Of this kind of statement of
a case Hermagoras is considered the inventor: not that many of the
ancient orators have not frequently employed it, but because former
writers on the subject have not taken any notice of it, and have not
entered it among the number of statements of cases. But since it has
been thus invented by Hermagoras, many people have found fault with
it, whom we considered not so much to be deceived by ignorance (for
indeed the matter is plain enough) as to be hindered from admitting
the truth by some envy or fondness for detraction.

XII. We have now then mentioned the different kinds of statements of
cases, and their several divisions. But we think that we shall be
able more conveniently to give instances of each kind, when we are
furnishing a store of arguments for each kind. For so the system of
arguing will be more clear, when it can be at once applied both to the
general classification and to the particular instance.

When the statement of the case is once ascertained, then it is proper
at once to consider whether the argument be a simple or a complex one,
and if it be a complex one, whether it is made up of many subjects
of inquiry, or of some comparison. That is a simple statement which
contains in itself one plain question, in this way--"Shall we declare
war against the Corinthians, or not?" That is a complex statement
consisting of several questions in which many inquiries are made, in
this way.--"Whether Carthage shall be destroyed, or whether it shall
be restored to the Carthaginians, or whether a colony shall be led
thither." Comparison is a statement in which inquiry is raised in the
way of contest, which course is more preferable, or which is the most
preferable course of all, in this way.--"Whether we had better send an
army into Macedonia against Philip, to serve as an assistance to our
allies, or whether we had better retain it in Italy, in order that we
may have as numerous forces as possible to oppose to Hannibal." In
the next place, we must consider whether the dispute turns on general
reasoning, or on written documents, for a controversy with respect
to written documents, is one which arises out of the nature of the
writing.

XIII And of that there are five kinds which have been separated from
statements of cases. For when the language of the writing appears to
be at variance with the intention of the writer, then two laws or more
seem to differ from one another, and then, too, that which has been
written appears to signify two things or more. Then also, from that
which is written, something else appears to be discovered also,
which is not written, and also the effect of the expressions used is
inquired into, as if it were in the definitive statement of the
case, in which it has been placed. Wherefore, the first kind is that
concerning the written document and the intention of it; the second
arises from the laws which are contrary to one another, the third is
ambiguous, the fourth is argumentative, the fifth we call definitive.

But reason applies when the whole of the inquiry does not turn on the
writing, but on some arguing concerning the writing. But, then, when
the kind of argument has been duly considered, and when the statement
of the case has been fully understood; when you have become aware
whether it is simple or complex, and when you have ascertained
whether the question turns on the letter of the writing or on general
reasoning; then it is necessary to see what is the question, what
is the reasoning, what is the system of examining into the excuses
alleged, what means there are of establishing one's own allegations;
and all these topics must be derived from the original statement of
the case. What I call "the question" is the dispute which arises from
the conflict of the two statements in this way. "You have not done
this lawfully;" "I have done it lawfully." And this is the conflict of
arguments, and on this the statement of the case hinges. It arises,
therefore, from that kind of dispute which we call "the question," in
this way:--"Whether he did so and so lawfully." The reasoning is that
which embraces the whole cause; and if that be taken away, then there
is no dispute remaining behind in the cause. In this way, in order
that for the sake of explaining myself more clearly, I may content
myself with an easy and often quoted instance. If Orestes be accused
of matricide, unless he says this, "I did it rightfully, for she had
murdered my father," he has no defence at all. And if his defence be
taken away, then all dispute is taken away also. The principle of his
argument then is that she murdered Agamemnon. The examination of
this defence is then a dispute which arises out of the attempts to
invalidate or to establish this argument. For the argument itself may
be considered sufficiently explained, since we dwelt upon it a little
while ago. "For she," says he, "had murdered my father." "But," says
the adversary, "for all that it was not right for your mother to be
put to death by you who were her son; for her act might have been
punished without your being guilty of wickedness."

XIV. From this mode of bringing forward evidence, arises that last
kind of dispute which we call the judication, or examination of the
excuses alleged. And that is of this kind: whether it was right that
his mother should be put to death by Orestes, because she had put to
death Orestes's father?

Now proof by testimony is the firmest sort of reasoning that can be
used by an advocate in defence, and it is also the best adapted for
the examination of any excuse which may be alleged. For instance, if
Orestes were inclined to say that the disposition of his mother had
been such towards his father, towards himself and his sisters, towards
the kingdom, and towards the reputation of his race and family, that
her children were of all people in the world the most bound to
inflict punishment upon her. And in all other statements or cases,
examinations of excuses alleged are found to be carried on in this
manner. But in a conjectural statement of a case, because there is no
express evidence, for the fact is not admitted at all, the examination
of the defence put forward cannot arise from the bringing forward of
evidence. Wherefore, it is inevitable that in this case the question
and the judication must be the same thing. As "it was done," "it was
not done." The question is whether it was done.

But it must invariably happen that there will be the same number of
questions, and arguments, and examinations, and evidences employed
in a cause, as there are statements of the case or divisions of such
statements. When all these things are found in a cause, then at length
each separate division of the whole cause must be considered. For it
does not seem that those points are necessarily to be first noticed,
which have been the first stated; because you must often deduce those
arguments which are stated first, at least if you wish them to be
exceedingly coherent with one another and to be consistent with the
cause, from those arguments which are to be stated subsequently.
Wherefore, when the examination of the excuses alleged, and all those
arguments which require to be found out for the purpose of such
examination have been diligently found out by the rules of art, and
handled with due care and deliberation, then at length we may proceed
to arrange the remaining portions of our speech. And these portions
appear to us to be in all six; the exordium, the relation of the fact,
the division of the different circumstances and topics, the bringing
forward of evidence, the finding fault with the action which has been
done, and the peroration.

At present, since the exordium ought to be the main thing of all,
we too will first of all give some precepts to lead to a system of
opening a case properly.

XV. An exordium is an address bringing the mind of the hearer into a
suitable state to receive the rest of the speech, and that will be
effected if it has rendered him well disposed towards the speaker,
attentive, and willing to receive information. Wherefore, a man who
is desirous to open a cause well, must of necessity be beforehand
thoroughly acquainted with the nature and kind of cause which he has
to conduct. Now the kinds of causes are five; one honourable, one
astonishing, one low, one doubtful, one obscure. The kind of cause
which is called honourable, is such an one as the disposition of the
hearer favours at once, without waiting to hear our speech. The kind
that is astonishing, is that from which the mind of those who are
about to hear us has been alienated. The kind which is low, is one
which is disregarded by the hearer, or which does not seem likely to
be carefully attended to. The kind which is doubtful, is that in which
either the examination into the excuses alleged is doubtful, or the
cause itself, being partly honourable and partly discreditable; so as
to produce partly good-will and partly disinclination. The kind which
is obscure, is that in which either the hearers are slow, or in which
the cause itself is entangled in a multitude of circumstances hard
to be thoroughly acquainted with. Wherefore, since there are so
many kinds of causes, it is necessary to open one's case on a very
different system in each separate kind. Therefore, the exordium is
divided into two portions, first of all a beginning, and secondly
language calculated to enable the orator to work his way into the good
graces of his hearers. The beginning is an address, in plain words,
immediately rendering the hearer well disposed towards one, or
inclined to receive information, or attentive. The language calculated
to enable the orator to work his way into the good graces of his
hearers, is an address which employs a certain dissimulation, and
which by a circuitous route as it were obscurely creeps into the
affections of the hearer.

In the kind of cause which we have called astonishing, if the hearers
be not positively hostile, it will be allowable by the beginning of
the speech to endeavour to secure their good-will. But if they be
excessively alienated from one, then it will be necessary to have
recourse to endeavours to insinuate oneself into their good graces.
For if peace and good-will be openly sought for from those who are
enemies to one, they not only are not obtained, but the hatred which
they bear one is even inflamed and increased. But in the kind of cause
which I have called low, for the sake of removing his contempt it will
be indispensable to render the hearer attentive. The kind of cause
which has been styled doubtful, if it embraces an examination into the
excuses alleged, which is also doubtful, must derive its exordium
from that very examination; but if it have some things in it of a
creditable nature, and some of a discreditable character, then it will
be expedient to try and secure the good-will of the hearer, so that
the cause may change its appearance, and seem to be an honourable one.
But when the kind of cause is the honourable kind, then the exordium
may either be passed over altogether, or if it be convenient, we may
begin either with a relation of the business in question, or with a
statement of the law, or with any other argument which must be brought
forward in the course of our speech, and on which we most greatly
rely; or if we choose to employ an exordium, then we must avail
ourselves of the good-will already existing towards us, in order that
that which does exist may be strengthened.

XVI. In the kind of cause which I have called obscure, it will be
advisable to render the hearers inclined to receive instruction by a
carefully prepared exordium. Now, since it has been already explained
what effect is to be sought to be produced by the exordium, it remains
for us to show by what arguments all such effects may be produced.

Good-will is produced by dwelling on four topics:--on one derived from
our own character, from that of our adversaries, from that of the
judges, and from the cause itself. From our own character, if we
manage so as to speak of our own actions and services without
arrogance; if we refute the charges which have been brought against
us, and any other suspicions in the least, discreditable which it may
be endeavoured to attach to us; if we dilate upon the inconveniences
which have already befallen us, or the difficulties which are still
impending over us; if we have recourse to prayers and to humble and
suppliant entreaty. From the character of our adversaries, if we are
able to bring them either into hatred, or into unpopularity, or into
contempt. They will be brought into hatred, if any action of theirs
can be adduced which has been lascivious, or arrogant, or cruel, or
malignant. They will be made unpopular, if we can dilate upon their
violent behaviour, their power, their riches, their numerous kinsmen,
their wealth, and their arrogant and intolerable use of all these
sources of influence; so that they may appear rather to trust to these
circumstances than to the merits of their cause. They will be brought
into contempt, if sloth, or negligence, or idleness, or indolent
pursuits, or luxurious tranquillity can be alleged against them.
Good-will will be procured, derived from the character of the hearers
themselves, if exploits are mentioned which have been performed by
them with bravery, or wisdom, or humanity; so that no excessive
flattery shall appear to be addressed to them; and if it is plainly
shown how high and honourable their reputation is, and how anxious is
the expectation with which men look for their decision and authority.
Or from the circumstances themselves, if we extol our own cause with
praises, and disparage that of the opposite party by contemptuous
allusions.

But we shall make our hearers attentive, if we show that the things
which we are going to say and to speak of are important, and unusual,
and incredible; and that they concern either all men, or those who are
our present hearers, or some illustrious men, or the immortal gods, or
the general interests of the republic. And if we promise that we will
in a very short time prove our own cause; and if we explain the
whole of the examination into the excuses alleged, or the different
examinations, if there be more than one.

We shall render our hearers willing to receive information, if we
explain the sum total of the cause with plainness and brevity, that is
to say, the point on which the dispute hinges. For when you wish to
make a hearer inclined to receive information you must also render him
attentive. For he is above all men willing to receive information who
is prepared to listen with the greatest attention.

XVII. The next thing which it seems requisite to speak of, is, how
topics intended to enable the orator to work his way into the good
graces of his hearers ought to be handled. We must then use such a
sort of address as that when the kind of cause which we are conducting
is that which I have called astonishing; that is to say, as I have
stated before, when the disposition of the hearer is adverse to one.
And that generally arises from one of three causes: either if there
be anything discreditable in the cause itself, or if any such belief
appears to have been already instilled into the hearer by those who
have spoken previously; or if one is appointed to speak at a time when
those who have got to listen to one are wearied with hearing others.
For sometimes when one is speaking, the mind of the hearer is
alienated from one no less by this circumstance than by the two
former.

If the discreditable nature of one's cause excites the ill-will of
one's hearers, or if it be desirable to substitute for the man on whom
they look unfavourably another man to whom they are attached; or, for
the matter they regard with dislike, another matter of which they
approve; or if it be desirable to substitute a person for a thing, or
a thing for a person, in order that the mind of the hearer may be led
away from that which he hates to that which he loves; and if your
object is to conceal from view the fact that you are about to defend
that person or action which you are supposed to be going to defend;
and then, when the hearer has been rendered more propitious, to enter
gradually on the defence, and to say that those things at which the
opposite party is indignant appear scandalous to you also; and then,
when you have propitiated him who is to listen to you, to show that
none of all those things at all concern you, and to deny that you are
going to say anything whatever respecting the opposite party whether
it be good or bad; so as not openly to attack those men who are loved
by your hearers, and yet doing it secretly as far as you can to
alienate from them the favourable disposition of your hearers; and
at the same time to mention the judgment of some other judges in a
similar case, or to quote the authority of some others as worthy of
imitation; and then to show that it is the very same point, or one
very like it, or one of greater or less importance, (as the case may
make it expedient,) which is in question at present.

If the speech of your adversaries appears to have made an impression
on your hearers, which is a thing which will be very easily
ascertained by a man who understands what are the topics by which an
impression is made; then it is requisite to promise that you will
speak first of all on that point which the opposite party consider
their especial stronghold, or else to begin with a reference to what
has been said by the adversary, and especially to what he said
last; or else to appear to doubt, and to feel some perplexity and
astonishment as to what you had best say first, or what argument it is
desirable to reply to first--for when a hearer sees the man whom the
opposite party believe to be thrown into perplexity by their speech
prepared with unshaken firmness to reply to it, he is generally apt to
think that he has assented to what has been said without sufficient
consideration, rather than that the present speaker is confident
without due grounds. But if fatigue has alienated the mind of the
hearer from your cause, then it is advantageous to promise to speak
more briefly than you had been prepared to speak; and that you will
not imitate your adversary.

If the case admit of it, it is not disadvantageous to begin with some
new topic, or with some one which may excite laughter; or with some
argument which has arisen from the present moment; of which kind are
any sudden noise or exclamation; or with something which you have
already prepared, which may embrace some apologue, or fable, or other
laughable circumstance. Or, if the dignity of the subject shall seem
inconsistent with jesting, in that case it is not disadvantageous to
throw in something sad, or novel, or terrible. For as satiety of food
and disgust is either relieved by some rather bitter taste, or is at
times appeased by a sweet taste; so a mind weary with listening
is either reinstated in its strength by astonishment, or else is
refreshed by laughter.

XVIII. And these are pretty nearly the main things which it appeared
desirable to say separately concerning the exordium of a speech, and
the topics which an orator should use for the purpose of insinuating
himself into the good grace of his hearers. And now it seems desirable
to lay down some brief rules which may apply to both in common.

An exordium ought to have a great deal of sententiousness and gravity
in it, and altogether to embrace all things which have a reference
to dignity; because that is the most desirable effect to be produced
which in the greatest degree recommends the speaker to his hearer.
It should contain very little brilliancy, or wit, or elegance of
expression, because from these qualities there always arises a
suspicion of preparation and artificial diligence: and that is an idea
which, above all others takes away credit from a speech, and authority
from a speaker. But the following are the most ordinary faults to be
found in an exordium, and those it is above all things desirable
to avoid. It must not be vulgar, common, easily changed, long,
unconnected, borrowed, nor must it violate received rules. What I mean
by vulgar, is one which may be so adapted to numerous causes as to
appear to suit them all. That is common, which appears to be able to
be adapted no less to one side of the argument than to the other. That
is easily changed, which with a slight alteration may be advanced by
the adversary on the other side of the question. That is long, which
is spun out by a superfluity of words or sentences far beyond what is
necessary. That is unconnected, which is not derived from the cause
itself, and is not joined to the whole speech as a limb is to the
body. That is borrowed, which effects some other end than that which
the kind of cause under discussion requires; as if a man were
to occupy himself in rendering his hearer inclined to receive
information, when the cause requires him only to be well disposed
towards the speaker: or, if a man uses a formal beginning of a speech,
when what the subject requires is an address by which the speaker may
insinuate himself into the good graces of his hearer. That is contrary
to received rules, which effects no one of those objects for the sake
of which the rules concerning exordiums have been handed down. This
is the sort of blunder which renders him who hears it neither well
disposed to one, nor inclined to receive information, nor attentive;
or (and that indeed is the most disastrous effect of all) renders him
of a totally contrary disposition. And now we have said enough about
the exordium.

XIX. Narration is an explanation of acts that have been done, or of
acts as if they have been done. There are three kinds of narration.
One kind is that in which the cause itself and the whole principle of
the dispute is contained. Another is that in which some digression,
unconnected with the immediate argument, is interposed, either for the
sake of criminating another, or of instituting a comparison, or of
provoking some mirth not altogether unsuitable to the business under
discussion, or else for the sake of amplification. The third kind is
altogether foreign to civil causes, and is uttered or written for the
sake of entertainment, combined with its giving practice, which is not
altogether useless. Of this last there are two divisions, the one of
which is chiefly conversant about things, and the other about persons.
That which is concerned in the discussion and explanation of things
has three parts, fable, history, and argument. Fable is that in which
statements are expressed which are neither true nor probable, as is
this--


  "Huge winged snakes, join'd by one common yoke."


History is an account of exploits which have been performed, removed
from the recollection of our own age; of which sort is the statement,
"Appius declared war against the Carthaginians." Argument is an
imaginary case, which still might have happened. Such is this in
Terence--


  "For after Sosia became a man."


But that sort of narration which is conversant about persons, is of
such a sort that in it not only the facts themselves, but also the
conversations of the persons concerned and their very minds can be
thoroughly seen, in this way--


  "And oft he came to me with mournful voice,
  What is your aim, your conduct what? Oh why
  Do you this youth with these sad arts destroy?
  Why does he fall in love? Why seeks he wine,
  And why do you from time to time supply
  The means for such excess? You study dress
  And folly of all kinds; while he, if left
  To his own natural bent, is stern and strict,
  Almost beyond the claims of virtue."


In this kind of narration there ought to be a great deal of
cheerfulness wrought up out of the variety of circumstances; out of
the dissimilarity of dispositions; out of gravity, lenity, hope, fear,
suspicion, regret, dissimulation, error, pity, the changes of fortune,
unexpected disaster, sudden joy, and happy results. But these
embellishments may be derived from the precepts which will hereafter
be laid down about elocution.

At present it seems best to speak of that kind of narration which
contains an explanation of the cause under discussion.

XX. It is desirable then that it should have three qualities; that
it should be brief, open, and probable. It will be brief, if the
beginning of it is derived from the quarter from which it ought to be;
and if it is not endeavoured to be extracted from what has been last
said, and if the speaker forbears to enumerate all the parts of
a subject of which it is quite sufficient to state the total
result;--for it is often sufficient to say what has been done, and
there is no necessity for his relating how it was done;--and if the
speaker does not in his narration go on at a greater length than there
is any occasion for, as far as the mere imparting of knowledge is
concerned; and if he does not make a digression to any other topic;
and if he states his case in such a way, that sometimes that which has
not been said may be understood from that which has been said; and if
he passes over not only such topics as may be injurious, but those too
which are neither injurious nor profitable; and if he repeats nothing
more than once; and if he does not at once begin with that topic
which was last mentioned;--and the imitation of brevity takes in many
people, so that, when they think that they are being brief, they are
exceedingly prolix, while they are taking pains to say many things
with brevity, not absolutely to say but few things and no more than
are necessary. For to many men a man appears to speak with brevity who
says, "I went to the house; I called out the servant; he answered
me; I asked for his master; he said that he was not at home." Here,
although he could not have enumerated so many particulars more
concisely, yet, because it would have been enough to say, "He said
that he was not at home," he is prolix on account of the multitude of
circumstances which he mentions. Wherefore, in this kind of narration
also it is necessary to avoid the imitation of brevity, and we must
no less carefully avoid a heap of unnecessary circumstances than a
multitude of words.

But a narration will be able to be open, if those actions are
explained first which have been done first, and if the order of
transactions and times is preserved, so that the things are related as
they have been done, or as it shall seem that they may have been done.
And in framing this narration it will be proper to take care that
nothing be said in a confused or distorted manner; that no digression
be made to any other subject; that the affair may not be traced too
far back, nor carried too far forward; that nothing be passed over
which is connected with the business in hand; and altogether the
precepts which have been laid down about brevity, must be attended to
in this particular also. For it often happens that the truth is but
little understood, more by reason of the prolixity of the speaker,
than of the obscurity of the statement. And it is desirable to use
clear language, which is a point to be dwelt upon when we come to
precepts for elocution.

XXI. A narration will be probable, if in it those characteristics are
visible which are usually apparent in truth; if the dignity of the
persons mentioned is preserved; if the causes of the actions performed
are made plain; if it shall appear that there were facilities for
performing them; if the time was suitable; if there was plenty of
room; if the place is shown to have been suitable for the transaction
which is the subject of the narration; if the whole business, in
short, be adapted to the nature of those who plead, and to the reports
bruited about among the common people, and to the preconceived
opinions of those who hear. And if these principles be observed, the
narration will appear like the truth.

But besides all this, it will be necessary to take care that such a
narration be not introduced when it will be a hindrance, or when it
will be of no advantage; and that it be not related in an unseasonable
place, or in a manner which the cause does not require. It is a
hindrance, when the very narration of what has been done comes at a
time that the hearer has conceived great displeasure at something,
which it will be expedient to mitigate by argument, and by pleading
the whole cause carefully. And when this is the case, it will be
desirable rather to scatter the different portions of the transactions
limb by limb as it were over the cause, and, as promptly as may be,
to adapt them to each separate argument, in order that there may be
a remedy at hand for the wound, and that the defence advanced may at
once mitigate the hatred which has arisen.

Again, a narration is of no advantage when, after our case has once
been set forth by the opposite party, it is of no importance to relate
it a second time or in another manner; or when the whole affair is so
clearly comprehended by the hearers, as they believe at least that it
can do us no good to give them information respecting it in another
fashion. And when this is the case, it is best to abstain from any
narration altogether. It is uttered in an unseasonable place, when it
is not arranged in that part of the speech in which the case requires
it, and concerning this kind of blunder we will speak when we come
to mention the arrangement of the speech. For it is the general
arrangement of the whole that this affects. It is not related in the
manner which the cause requires, when either that point which is
advantageous to the opposite party is explained in a clear and elegant
manner, or when that which may be of benefit to the speaker is stated
in an obscure or careless way. Wherefore, in order that this fault may
be avoided, everything ought to be converted by the speaker to the
advantage of his own cause by passing over all things which make
against it which can be passed over, by touching lightly on those
points which are beneficial to the adversary, and by relating those
which are advantageous to himself carefully and clearly. And now
we seem to have said enough about narration. Let us now pass on in
regular order to the arrangement of the different topics.

XXII An arrangement of the subjects to be mentioned in an argument,
when properly made, renders the whole oration clear and intelligible.
There are two parts in such a division, each of which is especially
connected with the opening of the cause, and with the arrangement of
the whole discussion. One part is that which points out what are the
particulars as to which one is in agreement with the opposite party,
and also what remains in dispute; and from this there is a certain
definite thing pointed out to the hearer, as that to which he should
direct his attention. The other part is that in which the explanation
of those matters on which we are about to speak, is briefly arranged
and pointed out. And this causes the hearer to retain certain things
in his mind, so as to understand that when they have been discussed
the speech will be ended. At present it seems desirable to mention
briefly how it is proper to use each kind of arrangement. And this
arrangement points out what is suitable and what is not suitable; its
duty is to turn that which is suitable to the advantage of its own
side, in this way--"I agree with the opposite party as to the fact,
that a mother has been put to death by her son." Again, on the other
side.--"We are both agreed that Agamemnon was slain by Clytaemnestra"
For in saying this each speaker has laid down that proposition which
was suitable, and nevertheless has consulted the advantage of his own
side.

In the next place, what the matter in dispute is must be explained,
when we come to mention the examination into the excuses which are
alleged. And how that is managed has been already stated.

But the arrangement which embraces the properly distributed explanation
of the facts, ought to have brevity, completeness, conciseness.
Brevity is when no word is introduced which is not necessary. This is
useful in this sort of speaking, because it is desirable to arrest the
attention of the hearer by the facts themselves and the real divisions
of the case, and not by words or extraneous embellishments of diction.
Completeness is that quality by which we embrace every sort of
argument which can have any connexion with the case concerning which
we have got to speak, and in this division we must take care not to
omit any useful topic, not to introduce any such too late, out of its
natural place, for that is the most pernicious and discreditable error
of all. Conciseness in arrangement is preserved if the general classes
of facts are clearly laid down, and are not entangled in a promiscuous
manner with the subordinate divisions. For a class is that which
embraces many subordinate divisions as, "an animal." A subordinate
division is that which is contained in the class as "a horse."
But very often the same thing may be a class to one person, and a
subordinate division to another. For "man" is a subordinate division
of "animal," but a class as to "Theban," or "Trojan."

XXIII And I have been more careful in laying down this definition, in
order that after it has been clearly comprehended with reference to
the general arrangement, a conciseness as to classes or genera may be
preserved throughout the arrangement. For he who arranges his oration
in this manner--"I will prove that by means of the covetousness and
audacity and avarice of our adversaries, all sorts of evils have
fallen on the republic," fails to perceive that in this arrangement of
his, when he intended to mention only classes, he has joined also a
mention of a subordinate division. For covetousness is the general
class under which all desires are comprehended, and beyond all
question avarice is a subordinate division of that class.

We must therefore avoid, after having mentioned a universal class,
then, in the same arrangement, to mention along with it any one of
its subordinate divisions, as if it were something different and
dissimilar. And if there are many subordinate divisions to any
particular class, after that has been simply explained in the first
arrangement of the oration, it will be more easily and conveniently
arranged when we come to the subsequent explanation in the general
statement of the case after the division. And this, too, concerns the
subject of conciseness, that we should not undertake to prove more
things than there is any occasion for, in this way--"I will prove that
the opposite party were able to do what we accuse them of, and had the
inclination to do it, and did it." It is quite enough to prove that
they did it. Or when there is no natural division at all in a cause,
and when it is a simple question that is under discussion, though that
is a thing which cannot be of frequent occurrence, still we must use
careful arrangement. And these other precepts also, with respect to
the division of subjects which have no such great connexion with the
practice of orators, precepts which come into use in treatises in
philosophy, from which we have transferred, hither those which
appeared to be suitable to our purpose, of which we found nothing in
the other arts. And in all these precepts about the division of our
subjects, it will throughout our whole speech be found that every
portion of them must be discussed in the same order as that in which
it has been originally stated, and then, when everything has been
properly explained, let the whole be summed up, and summed up so that
nothing be introduced subsequently besides the conclusion. The old
man in the Andria of Terence arranges briefly and conveniently the
subjects with which he wishes his freedman to become acquainted--


  "And thus the life and habits of my son
  And my designs respecting his career,
  And what I wish your course towards both to be,
  Will be quite plain to you."


And accordingly, as he has proposed in his original arrangement, he
proceeds to relate, first the life of his son--


  "For when, O Sosia, he became a man,
  He was allow'd more liberty"


Then comes his own design--


  "And now I take great care"


After that, what he wishes Sosia to do; that he put last in his
original arrangement he now mentions last--


  "And now the part is yours" ...


As, therefore, in this instance, he came first to the portion which he
had mentioned first, and so, when he had discussed them all, made an
end of speaking, we too ought to advance to each separate portion of
our subject, and when we had finished every part, to sum up. Now
it appears desirable to proceed in regular order to lay down some
precepts concerning the confirmation of our arguments, as the regular
order of the subject requires.

XXIV Confirmation is that by means of which our speech proceeding in
argument adds belief, and authority, and corroboration to our cause.
As to this part there are certain fixed rules which will be divided
among each separate class of causes. But it appeals to be not an
inconvenient course to disentangle what is not unlike a wood, or a
vast promiscuous miss of materials all jumbled together, and after
that to point out how it may be suitable to corroborate each separate
kind of cause, after we have drawn all our principles of argumentation
from this source. All statements are confirmed by some argument or
other, either by that which is derived from persons, or by that which
is deduced from circumstances. Now we consider that these different
things belong to persons, a name, nature, a way of life, fortune,
custom, affection, pursuits, intentions, actions, accidents, orations.
A name is that which is given to each separate person, so that each
is called by his own proper and fixed appellation. To define nature
itself is difficult, but to enumerate those parts of it which we
require for the laying down of these precepts is more easy.

And these refer partly to that portion of things which is divine, and
partly to that which is mortal. Now of things which are mortal one
part is classed among the race of men, and one among the race of
brutes: and the race of men is distinguished by sex, whether they be
male or female and with respect to their nation, and country, and
kindred, and age, with respect to their nation, whether a man be a
Greek or a barbarian; with respect to their country, whether a man be
an Athenian or a Lacedaemonian; with respect to their kindred, from
what ancestors a man is descended, and who are his relations; with
respect to his age, whether he is a boy, or a youth, or a full
grown man, or an old man. Besides these things, those advantages or
disadvantages which come to a man by nature, whether in respect of
his mind or his body, are taken into consideration, in this
manner:--whether he be strong or weak; whether he be tall or short;
whether he be handsome or ugly; whether he be quick in his motions or
slow; whether he be clever or stupid; whether he have a good memory,
or whether he be forgetful; whether he be courteous, fond of doing
kindnesses, modest, patient, or the contrary. And altogether all these
things which are considered to be qualities conferred by nature on
men's minds or bodies, must be taken into consideration when defining
nature. For those qualities which are acquired by industry relate to a
man's condition, concerning which we must speak hereafter.

XXV. With reference to a man's way of life it is proper to consider
among what men, and in what manner, and according to whose direction
he has been brought up; what teachers of the liberal sciences he has
had; what admonitors to encourage him to a proper course of life;
with what friends he is intimate; in what business, or employment, or
gainful pursuit he is occupied; in what manner he manages his estate,
and what are his domestic habits. With reference to his fortune we
inquire whether he is a slave or a free man; whether he is wealthy or
poor; whether he is a private individual or a man in office; if he be
in office, whether he has become so properly or improperly; whether he
is prosperous, illustrious, or the contrary; what sort of children he
has. And if we are inquiring about one who is no longer alive, then we
must consider also by what death he died.

But when we speak of a man's habitual condition, we mean his constant
and absolute completeness of mind or body, in some particular
point--as for instance, his perception of virtue, or of some art,
or else some science or other. And we include also some personal
advantages not given to him by nature, but procured by study and
industry. By affection, we mean a sudden alteration of mind or body,
arising from some particular cause, as joy, desire, fear, annoyance,
illness, weakness and other things which are found under the same
class. But study is the assiduous and earnest application of the
mind, applied to some particular object with great good-will, as to
philosophy, poetry, geometry, or literature. By counsel, we mean a
carefully considered resolution to do or not to do something. But
actions, and accidents, and speeches will be considered with reference
to three different times; what a man has done, what has happened to
him, or what he has said; or what he is doing, or what is happening to
him, or what he is saying; or what he is going to do, what is about to
happen to him, or what speech he is about to deliver. And all these
things appear to be attributable to persons.

XXVI. But of the considerations which belong to things, some are
connected with the thing itself which is the subject of discussion;
some are considered in the performance of the thing; some are united
with the thing itself; some follow in the accomplishment of the thing.
Those things are connected with the thing itself which appear always
to be attached to the thing and which cannot be separated from it.
The first of such things is a brief exposition of the whole business,
which contains the sum of the entire matter, in this way--"The slaying
of a parent;" "the betrayal of a country." Then comes the cause of
this general fact; and we inquire by what means, and in what manner,
and with what view such and such a thing has been done. After that we
inquire what was done before this action under consideration was done,
and all the steps which preceded this action. After that, what was
done in the very execution of this action. And last of all, what has
been done since.

But with reference to the performance of an action, which was the
second topic of those which were attributed to things, the place, and
the time, and the manner, and the opportunity, and the facilities will
be inquired into. The place is taken into consideration in which the
thing was done; with reference to the opportunity which the doer
seems to have had of executing the business; and that opportunity is
measured by the importance of the action, by the interval which has
elapsed, by the distance, by the nearness, by the solitude of the
place, or by the frequented character of it, by the nature of the
spot itself and by the neighbourhood of the whole region. And it is
estimated also with reference to these characteristics, whether the
place be sacred or not, public or private, whether it belongs or
has belonged to some one else, or to the man whose conduct is under
consideration.

But the time is, that, I mean, which we are speaking of at the present
moment, (for it is difficult to define it in a general view of it
with any exactness,) a certain portion of eternity with some fixed
limitation of annual or monthly, or daily or nightly space. In
reference to this we take into consideration the things which are
passed, and those things which, by reason of the time which has
elapsed since, have become so obsolete as to be considered incredible,
and to be already classed among the number of fables, and those things
also which, having been performed a long time ago and at a time remote
from our recollection, still affect us with a belief that they have
been handed down truly, because certain memorials of those facts are
extant in written documents, and those things which have been done
lately, so that most people are able to be acquainted with them. And
also those things which exist at the present moment, and which are
actually taking place now, and which are the consequences of former
actions. And with reference to those things it is open to us to
consider which will happen sooner, and which later. And also generally
in considering questions of time, the distance or proximity of the
time is to be taken into account: for it is often proper to measure
the business done with the time occupied in doing it, and to consider
whether a business of such and such magnitude, or whether such and
such a multitude of things, can be performed in that time. And we
should take into consideration the time of year, and of the month, and
of the day, and of the night, and the watches, and the hours, and each
separate portion of any one of these times.

XXVII. An occasion is a portion of time having in it a suitable
opportunity for doing or avoiding to do some particular thing.
Wherefore there is this difference between it and time. For, as to
genus, indeed, they are both understood to be identical; but in time
some space is expressed in some manner or other, which is regarded
with reference to years, or to a year, or to some portion of a year,
but in an occasion, besides the space of time implied in the word,
there is indicated an especial opportunity of doing something. As
therefore the two are identical in genus it is some portion and
species as it were, in which the one differs, as we have said, from
the other.

Now occasion is distributed into three classes, public, common and
singular. That is a public occasion, which the whole city avails
itself of for some particular cause, as games, a day of festival, or
war. That is a common occasion which happens to all men at nearly the
same time, as the harvest, the vintage, summer, or winter. That is a
singular occasion, which, on account of some special cause, happens
at times to some private individuals, as for instance, a wedding, a
sacrifice, a funeral, a feast, sleep.

But the manner, also, is inquired into, in what manner, how, and with
what design the action was done? Its parts are, the doer knowing what
he was about, and not knowing. But the degree of his knowledge is
measured by these circumstances whether the doer did his action
secretly, openly, under compulsion or through persuasion. The fact
of the absence of knowledge is brought forward as an excuse, and its
parts are actual ignorance, accident, necessity. It is also attributed
to agitation of mind, that is, to annoyance, to passion to love,
and to other feelings of a similar class. Facilities, are those
circumstances owing to which a thing is done more easily, or without
which a thing cannot be done at all.

XXVIII. And it is understood that there is added to the general
consideration of the whole matter, the consideration what is greater
than and what is less than, and what is like the affair which is
under discussion, and what is equally important with it, and what is
contrary to it, and what is negatively opposed to it, and the whole
classification of the affair, and the divisions of it, and the
ultimate result. The cases of greater, and less and equally important,
are considered with reference to the power, and number and form of the
business, as if we were regarding the stature of a human body.

Now what is similar arises out of a species admitting of comparisons.
Now what admits of comparisons is estimated by a nature which may be
compared with it, and likened to it. What is contrary, is what is
placed in a different class and is as distant as possible from that
thing to which it is called contrary, as cold is from heat and
death from life. But that is negatively opposed to a thing which is
separated from the thing by an opposition which is limited to a denial
of the quality; in this way, "to be wise," and "not to be wise." That
is a genus which embraces several species, as "Cupidity." That is a
species which is subordinate to a genus, as "Love," "Avarice." The
Result is the ultimate termination of any business; in which it is a
common inquiry, what has resulted from each separate fact; what is
resulting from it; what is likely to result from it. Wherefore, in
order that that which is likely to happen may be more conveniently
comprehended in the mind with respect to this genus, we ought first
to consider what is accustomed to result from every separate
circumstance; in this manner:--From arrogance, hatred usually results;
and from insolence, arrogance.

The fourth division is a natural consequence from those qualities,
which we said were usually attributed to things in distinction from
persons. And with respect to this, those circumstances are sought for
which ensue from a thing being done. In the first place, by what name
it is proper that that which has been done should be called. In the
next place, who have been the chief agents in, or originators of that
action; and last of all, who have been the approvers and the imitators
of that precedent and of that discovery. In the next place, whether
there is any regular usage established with regard to that case, or
whether there is any regular rule bearing on that case, or any regular
course of proceeding, any formal decision, any science reduced to
rules, any artificial system. In the next place, whether its nature is
in the habit of being ordinarily displayed, or whether it is so very
rarely, and whether it is quite unaccustomed to be so. After that,
whether men are accustomed to approve of such a case with their
authority, or to be offended at such actions; and with what eyes they
look upon the other circumstances which are in the habit of following
any similar conduct, either immediately or after an interval. And
in the very last place, we must take notice whether any of those
circumstances which are rightly classed under honesty or utility
ensue. But as to these matters it will be necessary to speak more
clearly when we come to mention the deliberative kind of argument.
And the circumstances which we have now mentioned are those which are
usually attributed to things as opposed to persons.

XXIX. But all argumentation, which can be derived from those topics
which we have mentioned, ought to be either probable or unavoidable.
Indeed, to define it in a few words, argumentation appears to be an
invention of some sort, which either shows something or other in a
probable manner, or demonstrates it in an irrefutable one. Those
things are demonstrated irrefutably which can neither be done nor
proved in any other manner whatever than that in which they are
stated; in this manner:--"If she has had a child, she has lain with
a man." This sort of arguing, which is conversant with irrefutable
demonstration, is especially used in speaking in the way of dilemma,
or enumeration, or simple inference.

Dilemma is a case in which, whichever admission you make, you are
found fault with. For example:--"If he is a worthless fellow, why are
you intimate with him? If he is an excellent man, why do you accuse
him?" Enumeration is a statement in which, when many matters have been
stated and all other arguments invalidated, the one which remains is
inevitably proved; in this manner:--"It is quite plain that he was
slain by this man, either because of his enmity to him, or some fear,
or hope, which he had conceived, or in order to gratify some friend of
his; or, if none of these alternatives are true, then that he was not
slain by him at all; for a great crime cannot be undertaken without a
motive. But he had no quarrel with him, nor fear of him, nor hope of
any advantage to be gained by his death, nor did his death in the
least concern any friend of his. It remains, therefore, that he was
not slain by him at all." But a simple inference is declared from a
necessary consequence, in this way:--"If you say that I did that at
that time, at that time I was beyond the sea; it follows, that I not
only did not do what you say I did, but that it was not even possible
for me to have done it." And it will be desirable to look to this very
carefully, in order that this sort of inference may not be refuted in
any manner, so that the proof may not only have some sort of argument
in it, and some resemblance to an unavoidable conclusion, but that the
very argument itself may proceed on irrefutable reasons.

But that is probable which is accustomed generally to take place,
or which depends upon the opinion of men, or which contains some
resemblance to these properties, whether it be false or true. In that
description of subject the most usual probable argument is something
of this sort:--"If she is his mother, she loves her son." "If he is an
avaricious man, he neglects his oath." But in the case which depends
mainly on opinion, probable arguments are such as this: "That there
are punishments prepared in the shades below for impious men."--"That
those men who give their attention to philosophy do not think that
there are gods."

XXX. But resemblance is chiefly seen in things which are contrary to
one another, or equal to one another, and in those things which fall
under the same principle. In things contrary to one another, in this
manner:--"For if it is right that those men should be pardoned who
have injured me unintentionally, it is also fitting that one should
feel no gratitude towards those who have benefited me because they
could not help it."

In things equal to one another, in this way:--"For as a place without
a harbour cannot be safe for ships, so a mind without integrity cannot
be trustworthy for a man's friends." In those things which fall
under the same principle a probable argument is considered in this
way:--"For if it be not discreditable to the Rhodians to let out their
port dues, then it is not discreditable even to Hermacreon to rent
them." Then these arguments are true, in this manner:--"Since there is
a scar, there has been a wound." Then they are probable, in in this
way:--"If there was a great deal of dust on his shoes, he must have
come off a journey." But (in order that we may arrange this matter in
certain definite divisions) every probable argument which is assumed
for the purpose of discussion, is either a proof, or something
credible, or something already determined; or something which may be
compared with something else.

That is a proof which falls under some particular sense, and which
indicates something which appears to have proceeded from it, which
either existed previously, or was in the thing itself, or has ensued
since, and, nevertheless, requires the evidence of testimony, and a
more authoritative confirmation,--as blood, flight, dust, paleness,
and other tokens like these. That is a credible statement which,
without any witness being heard, is confirmed in the opinion of the
hearer; in this way:--There is no one who does not wish his children
to be free from injury, and happy. A case decided beforehand, is a
matter approved of by the assent, or authority, or judgment of some
person or persons. It is seen in three kinds of decision;--the
religious one, the common one, the one depending on sanction. That is
a religious one, which men on their oaths have decided in accordance
with the laws. That is a common one, which all men have almost in a
body approved of and adopted; in this manner:--"That all men should
rise up on the appearance of their elders; That all men should pity
suppliants." That depends on sanction, which, as it was a doubtful
point what ought to be considered its character, men have established
of their own authority; as, for instance, the conduct of the father
of Gracchus, whom the Roman people made consul after his censorship,
because he had done nothing in his censorship without the knowledge of
his colleague.

But that is a decision admitting of comparisons, which in a multitude
of different circumstances contains some principle which is alike
in all. Its parts are three,--representation, collation, example. A
Representation is a statement demonstrating some resemblance of bodies
or natures; Collation is a statement comparing one thing with another,
because of their likeness to one another; Example is that which
confirms or invalidates a case by some authority, or by what has
happened to some man, or under some especial circumstances. Instances
of these things, and descriptions of them, will be given amid the
precepts for oratory. And the source of all confirmations has been
already explained as occasion offered, and has been demonstrated
no less clearly than the nature of the case required. But how each
separate statement, and each part of a statement, and every dispute
ought to be handled,--whether we refer to verbal discussion or
to writings,--and what arguments are suitable for each kind of
discussion, we will mention, speaking separately of each kind, in the
second book. At present we have only dropped hints about the numbers,
and moods, and parts of arguing in an irregular and promiscuous
manner; hereafter we will digest (making careful distinctions between
and selections from each kind of cause) what is suitable for each kind
of discussion, culling it out of this abundance which we have already
displayed.

And indeed every sort of argument can be discovered from among these
topics; and that, when discovered, it should be embellished, and
separated in certain divisions, is very agreeable, and highly
necessary, and is also a thing which has been greatly neglected by
writers on this art. Wherefore at this present time it is desirable
for us to speak of that sort of instruction, in order that perfection
of arguing may be added to the discovery of proper arguments. And all
this topic requires to be considered with great care and diligence,
because there is not only great usefulness in this matter, but there
is also extreme difficulty in giving precepts.

XXXI. All argumentation, therefore, is to be carried on either by
induction, or by ratiocination. Induction is a manner of speaking
which, by means of facts which are not doubtful, forces the assent of
the person to whom it is addressed. By which assent it causes him even
to approve of some points which are doubtful, on account of their
resemblance to those things to which he has assented; as in the
Aeschines of Socrates, Socrates shows that Aspasia used to argue with
Xenophon's wife, and with Xenophon himself. "Tell me, I beg of you, O
you wife of Xenophon, if your neighbour has better gold than you have,
whether you prefer her gold or your own?" "Hers," says she. "Suppose
she has dresses and other ornaments suited to women, of more value
than those which you have, should you prefer your own or hers?" "Hers,
to be sure," answered she. "Come, then," says Aspasia, "suppose she
has a better husband than you have, should you then prefer your own
husband or hers?" On this the woman blushed.

But Aspasia began a discourse with Xenophon himself. "I ask you, O
Xenophon," says she, "if your neighbour has a better horse than yours
is, whether you would prefer your own horse or his?" "His," says he.
"Suppose he has a better farm than you have, which farm, I should like
to know, would you prefer to possess?" "Beyond all doubt," says he,
"that which is the best." "Suppose he has a better wife than you have,
would you prefer his wife?" And on this Xenophon himself was silent.
Then spake Aspasia,--"Since each of you avoids answering me that
question alone which was the only one which I wished to have answered,
I will tell you what each of you are thinking of; for both you, O
woman, wish to have the best husband, and you, O Xenophon, most
exceedingly desire to have the most excellent wife. Wherefore, unless
you both so contrive matters that there shall not be on the whole
earth a more excellent man or a more admirable woman, then in truth
you will at all times desire above all things that which you think to
be the best thing in the world, namely, that you, O Xenophon, may be
the husband of the best possible wife; and you, O woman, that you may
be married to the most excellent husband possible." After they had
declared their assent to these far from doubtful propositions, it
followed, on account of the resemblance of the cases, that if any one
had separately asked them about some doubtful point, that also would
have been admitted as certain, on account of the method employed in
putting the question.

This was a method of instruction which Socrates used to a great
extent, because he himself preferred bringing forward no arguments for
the purpose of persuasion, but wished rather that the person with whom
he was disputing should form his own conclusions from arguments with
which he had furnished himself, and which he was unavoidably compelled
to approve of from the grounds which he had already assented to.

XXXII. And with reference to this kind of persuasion, it appears to me
desirable to lay down a rule, in the first place, that the argument
which we bring forward by way of simile, should be such that it is
impossible to avoid admitting it. For the premiss on account of
which we intend to demand that that point which is doubtful shall be
conceded to us, ought not to be doubtful itself. In the next place, we
must take care that that point, for the sake of establishing which the
induction is made, shall be really like those things which we have
adduced before as matters admitting of no question. For it will be of
no service to us that something has been already admitted, if that for
the sake of which we were desirous to get that statement admitted be
unlike it; so that the hearer may not understand what is the use of
those original inductions, or to what result they tend.

For the man who sees that, if he is correct in giving his assent to
the thing about which he is first asked, that thing also to which he
does not agree must unavoidably be admitted by him, very often will
not allow the examination to proceed any further, either by not
answering at all, or by answering wrongly. Wherefore it is necessary
that he should, by the method in which the inquiry is conducted, be
led on without perceiving it, from the admissions which he has already
made, to admit that which he is not inclined to admit, and at last
he must either decline to give an answer, or he must admit what is
wanted, or he must deny it. If the proposition be denied, then we must
either show its resemblance to those things which have been already
admitted or we must employ some other induction. If it be granted,
then the argumentation may be brought to a close. If he keeps silence,
then an answer must be extracted, or, since silence is very like a
confession, it may be as well to bring the discussion to a close,
taking the silence to be equivalent to an admission.

And so this kind of argumentation is threefold. The first part
consists of one simile, or of several, the second, of that which we
desire to have admitted, for the sake of which the similes have
been employed, the third proceeds from the conclusion which either
establishes the admissions which have been made or points out what may
be established from it.

XXXIII But because it will not appear to some people to have been
explained with sufficient clearness, unless we submit some instance
taken from the civil class of causes, it seems desirable to employ
some example of this sort, not because the rules to be laid down
differ, or because it is expedient to employ such differently in this
sort of discussion from what we should in ordinary discourse, but in
order to satisfy the desire of those men, who, though they may have
seen something in one place, are unable to recognise it in another
unless it be proved. Therefore in this cause which is very notorious
among the Greeks, that of Epaminondas, the general of the Thebans, who
did not give up his army to the magistrate who succeeded him in due
course of law, and when he himself had retained his army a few days
contrary to law, he utterly defeated the Lacedaemonians, the accuser
might employ an argumentation by means of induction, while defending
the letter of the law in opposition to its spirit, in this way:--

"If, O judges, the framer of the law had added to his law what
Epaminondas says that he intended, and had subjoined the exception
'except where any one has omitted to deliver up his army for the
advantage of the republic,' would you have endured it? I think not.
And if you yourselves, (though, such a proceeding is very far from
your religious habits and from your wisdom,) for the sake of doing
honour to this man, were to order the same exception to be subjoined
to the law, would the Theban people endure that such a thing should be
done? Beyond all question it would not endure it. Can it possibly then
appear to you that that which would be scandalous if it were added to
a law, should be proper to be done just as if it had been added to the
law? I know your acuteness well; it cannot seem so to you, O judges.
But if the intention of the framer of the law cannot be altered as to
its expressions either by him or by you, then beware lest it should be
a much more scandalous thing that that should be altered in fact, and
by your decision, which cannot be altered in one single word."

And we seem now to have said enough for the present respecting
induction. Next, let us consider the power and nature of
ratiocination.

XXXIV. Ratiocination is a sort of speaking, eliciting something
probable from the fact under consideration itself, which being
explained and known of itself, confirms itself by its own power and
principles.

Those who have thought it profitable to pay diligent attention to this
kind of reasoning, have differed a little in the manner in which they
have laid down rules, though they were aiming at the same end as far
as the practice of speaking went. For some of them have said that
there are five divisions of it, and some have thought that it had no
more parts than could be arranged under three divisions. And it would
seem not useless to explain the dispute which exists between these
parties, with the reasons which each allege for it; for it is a short
one, and not such that either party appears to be talking nonsense.
And this topic also appears to us to be one that it is not at all
right to omit in speaking.

Those who think that it ought to be arranged in five divisions,
say that first of all it is desirable to explain the sum of the
discussion, in this way:--Those things are better managed which are
done on some deliberate plan, than those which are conducted without
any steady design. This they call the first division. And then they
think it right that it should be further proved by various arguments,
and by as copious statements as possible; in this way:--"That house
which is governed by reason is better appointed in all things, and
more completely furnished, than that which is conducted at random,
and on no settled plan;--that army which is commanded by a wise and
skilful general, is governed more suitably in all particulars than
that which is managed by the folly and rashness of any one. The same
principle prevails with respect to sailing; for that ship performs its
voyage best which has the most experienced pilot."

When the proposition has been proved in this manner, and when two
parts of the ratiocination have proceeded, they say in the third part,
that it is desirable to assume, from the mere intrinsic force of the
proposition, what you wish to prove; in this way:--"But none of all
those things is managed better than the entire world." In the fourth
division they adduce besides another argument in proof of this
assumption, in this manner:--"For both the rising and setting of the
stars preserve some definite order, and their annual commutations
do not only always take place in the same manner by some express
necessity, but they are also adapted to the service of everything, and
their daily and nightly changes have never injured anything in any
particular from being altered capriciously." And all these things are
a token that the nature of the world has been arranged by no ordinary
wisdom. In the fifth division they bring forward that sort of
statement, which either adduces that sort of fact alone which is
compelled in every possible manner, in this way:--"The world,
therefore, is governed on some settled plan;" or else, when it has
briefly united both the proposition and the assumption, it adds this
which is derived from both of them together, in this way:--"But if
those things are managed better which are conducted on a settled plan,
than those which are conducted without such settled plan; and if
nothing whatever is managed better than the entire world; therefore it
follows that the world is managed on a settled plan." And in this way
they think that such argumentation has five divisions.

XXXV. But those who affirm that it has only three divisions, do not
think that the argumentation ought to be conducted in any other way,
but they find fault with this arrangement of the divisions. For they
say that neither the proposition nor the assumption ought to be
separated from their proofs; and that a proposition does not appear to
be complete, nor an assumption perfect, which is not corroborated by
proof. Therefore, they say that what those other men divide into two
parts, proposition and proof, appears to them one part only, namely
proposition. For if it be not proved, the proposition has no business
to make part of the argumentation. In the same way they say that
that which those other men call the assumption, and the proof of the
assumption, appears to them to be assumption only. And the result is,
that the whole argumentation being treated in the same way, appears to
some susceptible of five divisions, and to others of only three; so
that the difference does not so much affect the practice of speaking,
as the principles on which the rules are to be laid down.

But to us that arrangement appears to be more convenient which divides
it under five heads; and that is the one which all those who come from
the school of Aristotle, or of Theophrastus, have chiefly followed.
For as it is chiefly Socrates and the disciples of Socrates who have
employed that former sort of argumentation which goes on induction,
so this which is wrought up by ratiocination has been exceedingly
practised by Aristotle, and the Peripatetics, and Theophrastus; and
after them by those rhetoricians who are accounted the most elegant
and the most skilful. And it seems desirable to explain why that
arrangement is more approved of by us, that we may not appear to have
adopted it capriciously; at the same time we must be brief in the
explanation, that we may not appear to dwell on such subjects longer
than the general manner of laying down rules requires.

XXXVI. If in any sort of argumentation it is sufficient to use a
proposition by itself, and if it is not requisite to add proof to the
proposition; but if in any sort of argumentation a proposition is of
no power unless proof be added to it; then proof is something distinct
from the proposition. For that which can be joined to a thing or
separated from it, cannot possibly be the same thing with that to
which it is joined or from which it is separated. But there is a
certain kind of argumentation in which the proposition does not
require confirmatory proof, and also another kind in which it is of
no use at all without such proof, as we shall show. Proof, then, is a
thing different from a proposition. And we will demonstrate that point
which we have promised to show in this way:--The proposition which
contains in itself something manifest, because it is unavoidable that
that should be admitted by all men, has no necessity for our desiring
to prove and corroborate it.

It is a sort of statement like this:--"If on the day on which that
murder was committed at Rome, I was at Athens, I could not have been
present at that murder." Because this is manifestly true, there is no
need to adduce proof of it; wherefore, it is proper at once to assume
the fact, in this way:--"But I was at Athens on that day." If this is
not notorious, it requires proof; and when the proof is furnished the
conclusion must follow:--"Therefore I could not have been present at
the murder." There is, therefore, a certain kind of proposition which
does not require proof. For why need one waste time in proving that
there is a kind which does require proof; for that is easily visible
to all men. And if this be the case, from this fact, and from that
statement which we have established, it follows that proof is
something distinct from a proposition. And if it is so, it is
evidently false that argumentation is susceptible of only three
divisions.

In the same manner it is plain that there is another sort of proof
also which is distinct from assumption. For if in some sort of
argumentation it is sufficient to use assumption, and if it is not
requisite to add proof to the assumption; and if, again, in some sort
of argumentation assumption is invalid unless proof be added to it;
then proof is something separate and distinct from assumption. But
there is a kind of argumentation in which assumption does not require
proof; and a certain other kind in which it is of no use without
proof; as we shall show. Proof, then, is a thing distinct from
assumption. And we will demonstrate that which we have promised to in
this manner.

That assumption which contains a truth evident to all men has no need
of proof. That is an assumption of this sort:--"If it be desirable
to be wise, it is proper to pay attention to philosophy." This
proposition requires proof. For it is not self-evident. Nor is it
notorious to all men, because many think that philosophy is of no
service at all, and some think that it is even a disservice. A
self-evident assumption is such as this:--"But it is desirable to be
wise." And because this is of itself evident from the simple fact, and
is at once perceived to be true, there is no need that it be proved.
Wherefore, the argumentation may be at once terminated:--"Therefore
it is proper to pay attention to philosophy." There is, therefore, a
certain kind of assumption which does not stand in need of proof; for
it is evident that is a kind which does. Therefore, it is false that
argumentation is susceptible of only a threefold division.

XXXVII. And from these considerations that also is evident, that there
is a certain kind of argumentation in which neither proposition nor
assumption stands in need of proof, of this sort, that we may adduce
something undoubted and concise, for the sake of example. "If wisdom
is above all things to be desired, then folly is above all things to
be avoided; but wisdom is to be desired above all things, therefore
folly is above all things to be avoided." Here both the assumption and
the proposition are self-evident, on which account neither of them
stands in need of proof. And from all these facts it is manifest that
proof is at times added, and at times is not added. From which it
is palpable that proof is not contained in a proposition, nor in an
assumption, but that each being placed in its proper place, has its
own peculiar force fixed and belonging to itself. And if that is the
case, then those men have made a convenient arrangement who have
divided argumentation into five parts.

Are there five parts of that argumentation which is carried on by
ratiocination? First of all, proposition, by which that topic is
briefly explained from which all the force of the ratiocination ought
to proceed. Then the proof of the proposition, by which that which has
been briefly set forth being corroborated by reasons, is made more
probable and evident. Then assumption, by which that is assumed which,
proceeding from the proposition, has its effect on proving the case.
Then the proof of the assumption, by which that which has been assumed
is confirmed by reasons. Lastly, the summing up, in which that which
results from the entire argumentation is briefly explained. So the
argumentation which has the greatest number of divisions consists of
these five parts.

The second sort of argumentation has four divisions; the third has
three. Then there is one which has two; which, however, is a disputed
point. And about each separate division it is possible that some
people may think that there is room for a discussion.

XXXVIII. Let us then bring forward some examples of those matters
which are agreed upon. And in favour of those which are doubtful, let
us bring forward some reasons. Now the argumentation which is divided
into five divisions is of this sort:--It is desirable, O judges, to
refer all laws to the advantage of the republic, and to interpret them
with reference to the general advantage, and according to the strict
wording according to which they are drawn up. For our ancestors were
men of such virtue and such wisdom, that when they were drawing up
laws, they proposed to themselves no other object than the safety and
advantage of the republic; for they were neither willing themselves to
draw up any law which could be injurious; and if they had drawn up one
of such a character, they were sure that it would be rejected when its
tendency was perceived. For no one wishes to preserve the laws for the
sake of the laws, but for the sake of the republic; because all men
believe that the republic is best managed by means of laws. It is
desirable, therefore, to interpret all written laws with reference to
that cause for the sake of which it is desirable that the laws should
be preserved. That is to say, since we are servants of the republic,
let us interpret the laws with reference to the advantage and benefit
of the republic. For as it is not right to think that anything results
from medicine except what has reference to the advantage of the body,
since it is for the sake of the body that the science of medicine has
been established; so it is desirable to think that nothing proceeds
from the laws except what is for the advantage of the republic, since
it is for the sake of the republic that laws were instituted.

Therefore, while deciding on this point, cease to inquire about the
strict letter of the law, and consider the law (as it is reasonable to
do) with reference to the advantage of the republic. For what was more
advantageous for the Thebans than for the Lacedaemonians to be put
down? What object was Epaminondas, the Theban general, more bound
to aim at than the victory of the Thebans? What had he any right to
consider more precious or more dear to him, than the great glory then
acquired by the Thebans, than such an illustrious and magnificent
trophy? Surely, disregarding the letter of the law, it became him to
consider the intention of the framer of the law. And this now has been
sufficiently insisted on, namely, that no law has ever been drawn
up by any one, that had not for its object the benefit of the
commonwealth. He then thought that it was the very extremity of
madness, not to interpret with reference to the advantage of the
republic, that which had been framed for the sake of the safety of the
republic. And it is right to interpret all laws with reference to the
safety of the republic; and if he was a great instrument of the safety
of the republic, certainly it is quite impossible that he by one and
the same action should have consulted the general welfare, and yet
should have violated the laws.

XXXIX. But argumentation consists of four parts, when we either
advance a proposition, or claim an assumption without proof. That it
is proper to do when either the proposition is understood by its own
merits, or when the assumption is self-evident and is in need of no
proof. If we pass over the proof of the proposition, the argumentation
then consists of four parts, and is conducted in this manner:--"O
judges, you who are deciding on your oaths, in accordance with the
law, ought to obey the laws; but you cannot obey the laws unless
you follow that which is written in the law. For what more certain
evidence of his intention could the framer of a law leave behind him,
than that which he himself wrote with great care and diligence? But if
there were no written documents, then we should be very anxious for
them, in order that the intention of the framer of the law might be
ascertained; nor should we permit Epaminondas, not even if he were
beyond the power of this tribunal, to interpret to us the meaning of
the law; much less will we now permit him, when, the law is at hand,
to interpret the intention of the lawgiver, not from that which is
most clearly written, but from that which is convenient for his own
cause. But if you, O judges, are bound to obey the laws, and if you
are unable to do so unless you follow what is written in the law; what
can hinder your deciding that he has acted contrary to the laws?"

But if we pass over the proof of the assumption, again the
argumentation will be arranged under four heads, in this
manner:--"When men have repeatedly deceived us, having pledged their
faith to us, we ought not to give credit to anything that they say for
if we receive any injury; in consequence of their perfidy, there will
be no one except ourselves whom we shall have any right to accuse. And
in the first place, it is inconvenient to be deceived, in the
next place, it is foolish, thirdly, it is disgraceful. But the
Carthaginians have before this deceived us over and over again. It is
therefore the greatest insanity to rest any hopes on their good faith,
when you have been so often deceived by their treachery."

When the proof both of the proposition and of the assumption is passed
over, the argumentation becomes threefold only, in this way--"We must
either live in fear of the Carthaginians if we leave them with their
power undiminished, or we must destroy their city. And certainly it is
not desirable to live in fear of them. The only remaining alternative
then is to destroy their city."

XL But some people think that it is both possible and advisable at
times to pass over the summing up altogether, when it is quite evident
what is effected by ratiocination. And then if that be done they
consider that the argumentation is limited to two divisions, in this
way--"If she has had a child she is not a virgin. But she has had a
child." In this case they say it is quite sufficient to state the
proposition and assumption, since it is quite plain that the matter
which is here stated is such as does not stand in need of summing up.
But to us it seems that all ratiocination ought to be terminated in
proper form and that that defect which offends them is above all
things to be avoided namely, that of introducing what is self evident
into the summing up.

But this will be possible to be effected if we come to a right
understanding of the different kinds of summing up. For we shall
either sum up in such a way as to unite together the proposition and
the assumption, in this way--"But if it is right for all laws to be
referred to the general advantage of the republic, and if this man
ensured the safety of the republic, undoubtedly he cannot by one
and the same action have consulted the general safety and yet have
violated the laws,"--or thus, in order that the opinion we advocate
may be established by arguments drawn from contraries, in this
manner--"It is then the very greatest madness to build hopes on the
good faith of those men by whose treachery you have been so repeatedly
deceived,"--or so that that inference alone be drawn which is already
announced, in this manner--"Let us then destroy their city,"--or so
that the conclusion which is desired must necessarily follow from the
assertion which has been established, in this way--"If she has had a
child, she has laid with a man. But she has had a child." This then is
established. "Therefore she has lain with a man." If you are unwilling
to draw this inference, and prefer inferring what follows, "Therefore
she has committed incest," you will have terminated your argumentation
but you will have missed an evident and natural summing up.

Wherefore in long argumentations it is often desirable to draw
influences from combinations of circumstances, or from contraries. And
briefly to explain that point alone which is established, and in
those in which the result is evident, to employ arguments drawn from
consequences. But if there are any people who think that argumentation
ever consists of one part alone they will be able to say that it is
often sufficient to carry-on an argumentation in this way.--"Since
she has had a child, she has lain with a man." For they say that
this assertion requires no proof, nor assumption, nor proof of an
assumption, nor summing up. But it seems to us that they are misled
by the ambiguity of the name. For argumentation signifies two things
under one name, because any discussion respecting anything which is
either probable or necessary is called argumentation, and so also is
the systematic polishing of such a discussion.

When then they bring forward any statement of this kind,--"Since she
has had a child, she has lain, with a man," they bring forward a plain
assertion, not a highly worked up argument, but we are speaking of the
parts of a highly worked up argument.

XLI. That principle then has nothing to do with this matter. And with
the help of this distinction we will remove other obstacles which seem
to be in the way of this classification, if any people think that it
is possible that at times the assumption may be omitted, and at other
times the proposition, and if this idea has in it anything probable
or necessary, it is quite inevitable that it must affect the hearer in
some great degree. And if it were the only object in view, and if
it made no difference in what manner that argument which had been
projected was handled, it would be a great mistake to suppose that
there is such a vast difference between the greatest orators and
ordinary ones.

But it will be exceedingly desirable to infuse variety into our
speech, for in all cases sameness is the mother of satiety. That will
be able to be managed if we not always enter upon our argumentation
in a similar manner. For in the first place it is desirable to
distinguish our orations as to their kinds, that is to say, at one
time to employ induction, and at another ratiocination. In the next
place, in the argumentation itself, it is best not always to begin
with the proposition, nor in every case to employ all the five
divisions, nor always to work up the different parts in the same
manner, but it is permissible sometimes to begin with the assumption,
sometimes with one or other of the proofs, sometimes with both,
sometimes to employ one kind of summing up, and sometimes another. And
in order that this variety may be seen, let us either write, or in any
example whatever let us exercise this same principle with respect to
those things which we endeavour to prove, that our task may be as easy
as possible.

And concerning the parts of the argumentation it seems to us that
enough has been said. But we wish to have it understood that we hold
the doctrine that argumentations are handled in philosophy in many
other manners, and those too at times obscure ones, concerning which,
however, there is still some definite system laid down. But still
those methods appear to us to be inconsistent with the practice of an
orator. But as to those things which we think belong to orators, we
do not indeed undertake to say that we have attended to them more
carefully than others have, but we do assert that we have written on
them with more accuracy and diligence. At present let us go on in
regular order to the other points, as we originally proposed.

XLII. Reprehension is that by means of which the proof adduced by the
opposite party is invalidated by arguing, or is disparaged, or is
reduced to nothing. And this sort of argument proceeds from the same
source of invention which confirmation employs, because whatever the
topics may be by means of which any statement can be confirmed, the
very same may be used in order to invalidate it. For nothing is to
be considered in all these inventions, except that which has been
attributed to persons or to things. Wherefore it will be necessary
that the invention and the high polish which ought to be given to
argumentation must be transferred to this part of our oration also
from those rules which have been already laid down. But in order that
we may give some precepts with reference to this part also, we will
explain the different methods of reprehension, and those who observe
them will more easily be able to do away with or invalidate those
statements which are made on the opposite side.

All argumentation is reprehended when anything, whether it be one
thing only, or more than one of those positions which are assumed, is
not granted, or if, though they are granted, it is denied that the
conclusion legitimately follows from them, or if it is shown that the
very kind of argumentation is faulty, or if in opposition to one
form and reliable sort of argumentation another is employed which is
equally firm and convincing. Something of those positions which have
been assumed is not granted when either that thing which the opposite
party says is credible is denied to be such, or when what they think
admits of a comparison with the present case is shown to be unlike
it, or when what has been already decided is either turned aside
as referring to something else, or is impeached as having been
erroneously decided, or when that which the opposite party have called
a proof is denied to be such, or if the summing up is denied in
some one point or in every particular, or if it is shown that the
enumeration of matters stated and proved is incorrect, or if the
simple conclusion is proved to contain something false. For everything
which is assumed for the purpose of arguing on, whether as necessary
or as only probable, must inevitably be assumed from these topics, as
we have already pointed out.

XLIII. What is assumed as something credible is invalidated, if it is
either manifestly false, in this way:--"There is the one who would not
prefer riches to wisdom." Or on the opposite side something credible
may be brought against it, in this manner--"Who is there who is not
more desirous of doing his duty than of acquiring money?" Or it may be
utterly and absolutely incredible, as if some one, who it is notorious
is a miser, were to say that he had neglected the acquisition of some
large sum of money for the sake of performing some inconsiderable
duty. Or if that which happens in some circumstances, and to some
persons, were asserted to happen habitually in all cases and to
everybody, in this way.--'Those men who are poor have a greater regard
for money than for duty.' 'It is very natural that a murder should
have been committed in that which is a desert place.' How could a man
be murdered in a much frequented place? Or if a thing which is done
seldom is asserted never to be done at all, as Curius asserts in his
speech in behalf of Fulvius, where he says, "No one can fall in love
at a single glance, or as he is passing by."

But that which is assumed as a proof may be invalidated by a
recurrence to the same topics as those by which it is sought to be
established. For in a proof the first thing to be shown is that it is
true, and in the next place, that it is one especially affecting the
matter which is under discussion, as blood is a proof of murder in the
next place, that that has been done which ought not to have been, or
that has not been done which ought to have been and last of all, that
the person accused was acquainted with the law and usages affecting
the matter which is the subject of inquiry. For all these circumstance
are matters requiring proof, and we will explain them more carefully,
when we come to speak about conjectural statements separately.
Therefore, each of these points in a reprehension of the statement of
the adversary must be laboured, and it must be shown either that such
and such a thing is no proof, or that it is an unimportant proof, or
that it is favourable to oneself rather than to the adversary, or that
it is altogether erroneously alleged, or that it may be diverted so as
to give grounds to an entirely different suspicion.

XLIV. But when anything is alleged as a proper object of comparison,
since that is a class of argument which turns principally on
resemblance, in reprehending the adversity it will be advisable to
deny that there is any resemblance at all to the case with which it is
attempted to institute the comparison. And that may be done if it
be proved to be different in genus or in nature, or in power, or
in magnitude, or in time or place, or with reference to the person
affected, or to the opinions generally entertained of it. And if it
be shown also in what classification that which is brought forward on
account of the alleged resemblance and in what place too the whole
genus with reference to which it is brought forward, ought to be
placed. After that it will be pointed out how the one thing differs
from the other, from which we shall proceed to show that a different
opinion ought to be entertained of that which is brought forward by
way of comparison, and of that to which it is sought to be compared.
And this sort of argument we especially require when that particular
argumentation which is carried on by means of induction is to be
reprehended. If any previous decision be alleged, since these are the
topics by which it is principally established, the praise of those who
have delivered such decision, the resemblance of the matter which is
at present under discussion to that which has already been the subject
of the decision referred to, that not only the decision is not found
fault with because it is mentioned, but that it is approved of by
every one, and by showing too, that the case which has been already
decided is a more difficult and a more important one than that which
is under consideration now. It will be desirable also to invalidate
it by arguments drawn from the contrary topics, if either truth or
probability will allow us to do so. And it will be necessary to take
care and notice whether the matter which has been decided has any real
connexion with that which is the present subject of discussion, and
we must also take care that no case is adduced in which any error has
been committed, so that it should seem that we are passing judgment on
the man himself who has delivered the decision referred to.

It is desirable further to take care that they do not bring forward
some solitary or unusual decision when there have been many decisions
given the other way. For by such means as this the authority of the
decision alleged can be best invalidated. And it is desirable that
those arguments which are assumed as probable should be handled in
this way.

XLV. But those which are brought forward as necessary, if they are
only imitations of a necessary kind of argumentation and are not so in
reality, may be reprehended in this manner. In the first place, the
summing up, which ought to take away the force of the admissions you
have made if it be a correct one, will never be reprehended, if it
be an incorrect one it may be attacked by two methods, either by
conversion or by the invalidating one portion of it. By conversion, in
this way.


  "For if the man be modest, why should you
  Attack so good a man? And if his heart
  And face be seats of shameless impudence,
  Then what avails your accusation
  Of one who views all fame with careless eye?"


In this case, whether you say that he is a modest man or that he is
not, he thinks that the unavoidable inference is that you should not
accuse him. But that may be reprehended by conversion thus--"But
indeed, he ought to be accused, for if he be modest, accuse him, for
he will not treat your imputations against him lightly, but if he has
a shameless disposition of mind, still accuse him, for in that case he
is not a respectable man."

And again, the argument may be reprehended by an invalidating of
the other part of it--"But if he is a modest man, when he has
been corrected by your accusation he will abandon his error." An
enumeration of particulars is understood to be faulty if we either say
that something has been passed over which we are willing to admit, or
if some weak point has been included in it which can be contradicted,
or if there is no reason why we may not honestly admit it. Something
is passed over in such an enumeration as this.--"Since you have
that horse, you must either have bought it, or have acquired it by
inheritance, or have received it as a gift, or he must have been born
on your estate, or, if none of these alternatives of the case, you
must have stolen it. But you did not buy it, nor did it come to you by
inheritance, nor was it foaled on your estate, nor was it given to you
as a present, therefore you must certainly have stolen it."

This enumeration is fairly reprehended, if it can be alleged that the
horse was taken from the enemy, as that description of booty is not
sold. And if that be alleged, the enumeration is disproved, since that
matter has been stated which was passed over in such enumeration.

XLVI. But it will also be reprehended in another manner, if any
contradictory statement is advanced; that is to say, just by way of
example, if, to continue arguing from the previous case, it can be
shown that the horse did come to one by inheritance, or if it should
not be discreditable to admit the last alternative, as if a person,
when his adversaries said,--"You were either laying an ambush against
the owner, or you were influenced by a friend, or you were carried
away by covetousness," were to confess that he was complying with the
entreaties of his friend.

But a simple conclusion is reprehended if that which follows does not
appear of necessity to cohere with that which has gone before. For
this very proposition, "If he breathes, he is alive," "If it is day,
it is light," is a proposition of such a nature that the latter
statement appears of necessity to cohere with the preceding one. But
this inference, "If she is his mother, she loves him," "If he has ever
done wrong, he will never be chastised," ought to be reprehended in
such a manner as to show that the latter proposition does not of
necessity cohere with the former.

Inferences of this kind, and all other unavoidable conclusions, and
indeed all argumentation whatever, and its reprehension too, contains
some greater power and has a more extensive operation than is here
explained. But the knowledge of this system is such that it cannot
be added to any portion of this art, not that it does of itself
separately stand in need of a long time, and of deep and arduous
consideration. Wherefore those things shall be explained by us at
another time, and when we are dealing with another subject, if
opportunity be afforded us. At present we ought to be contented with
these precepts of the rhetoricians given for the use of orators. When,
therefore, any one of these points which are assumed is not granted,
the whole statement is invalidated by these means.

XLVII. But when, though these things are admitted, a conclusion is
not derived from them, we must consider these points too, whether any
other conclusion is obtained, or whether anything else is meant, in
this way,--If, when any one says that he is gone to the army, and any
one chooses to use this mode of arguing against him, "If you had come
to the army you would have been seen by the military tribunes, but you
were not seen by them, therefore you did not go to the army." On this
case, when you have admitted the proposition, and the assumption, you
have got to invalidate the conclusion, for some other inference has
been drawn, and not the one which was inevitable.

And at present, indeed, in order that the case might be more easily
understood, we have brought forward an example pregnant with a
manifest and an enormous error; but it often happens that an error
when stated obscurely is taken for a truth; when either you do not
recollect exactly what admissions you have made, or perhaps you have
granted something as certain which is extremely doubtful. If you have
granted something which is doubtful on that side of the question which
you yourself understand, then if the adversary should wish to adapt
that part to the other part by means of inference, it will be
desirable to show, not from the admission which you have made, but
from what he has assumed, that an inference is really established; in
this manner:--"If you are in need of money, you have not got money. If
you have not got money, you are poor. But you are in need of money,
for if it were not so you would not pay attention to commerce;
therefore you are poor." This is refuted in this way:--"When you said,
if you are in need of money you have not got money, I understood you
to mean, 'If you are in need of money from poverty, then you have
not got money;' and therefore I admitted the argument. But when you
assumed, 'But you are in need of money,' I understood you to mean,
'But you wish to have more money.' But from these admissions this
result, 'Therefore you are poor,' does not follow. But it would follow
if I had made this admission to you in the first instance, that any
one who wished to have more money, had no money at all."

XLVIII. But many often think that you have forgotten what admissions
you made, and therefore an inference which does not follow
legitimately is introduced into the summing up as if it did follow; in
this way:--"If the inheritance came to him, it is probable that he
was murdered by him." Then they prove this at considerable length.
Afterwards they assume, But the inheritance did come to him. Then the
inference is deduced; Therefore he did murder him. But that does
not necessarily follow from what they had assumed. Wherefore it is
necessary to take great care to notice both what is assumed, and what
necessarily follows from those assumptions. But the whole description
of argumentation will be proved to be faulty on these accounts; if
either there is any defect in the argumentation itself, or if it is
not adapted to the original intention. And there will be a defect in
the argumentation itself, if the whole of it is entirely false, or
common, or ordinary, or trifling, or made up of remote suppositions;
if the definition contained in it be faulty, if it be controverted,
if it be too evident, if it be one which is not admitted, or
discreditable, or objected to, or contrary, or inconstant, or adverse
to one's object.

That is false in which there is evidently a lie; in this
manner:--"That man cannot be wise who neglects money. But Socrates
neglected money; therefore he was not wise." That is common which does
not make more in favour of our adversaries than of ourselves; in
this manner:--"Therefore, O judges, I have summed up in a few words,
because I had truth on my side." That is ordinary which, if the
admission be now made, can be transferred also to some other case
which is not easily proved; in this manner:--"If he had not truth on
his side, O judges, he would never have risked committing himself to
your decision." That is trifling which is either uttered after the
proposition, in this way:--"If it had occurred to him, he would not
have done so;" or if a man wishes to conceal a matter manifestly
disgraceful under a trifling defence, in this manner:--


  "Then when all sought your favour, when your hand
  Wielded a mighty sceptre, I forsook you;
  But now when all fly from you, I prepare
  Alone, despising danger, to restore you."


XLIX. That is remote which is sought to a superfluous extent, in this
manner:--"But if Publius Scipio had not given his daughter Cornelia in
marriage to Tiberius Gracchus, and if he had not had the two Gracchi
by her, such terrible seditions would never have arisen. So that all
this distress appears attributable to Scipio." And like this is that
celebrated complaint--


  "Oh that the woodman's axe had spared the pine
  That long on Pelion's lofty summit grew."[57]


For the cause is sought further back than is at all necessary. That
is a bad definition, when it either describes common things in this
manner:--"He is seditious who is a bad and useless citizen;" for this
does not describe the character of a seditious man more than of an
ambitious one,--of a calumniator, than of any wicked man whatever,
in short. Or when it says anything which is false; in this
manner:--"Wisdom is a knowledge how to acquire money." Or when it
contains something which is neither dignified nor important; in this
way:--"Folly is a desire of inordinate glory." That, indeed, is one
folly; but this is defining folly by a species, not by its whole
genus. It is controvertible when a doubtful cause is alleged, for the
sake of proving a doubtful point; in this manner:--


  "See how the gods who rule the realms above
  And shades below, and all their motions sway,
  Themselves are all in tranquil concord found."


That is self-evident, about which there is no dispute at all. As if
any one while accusing Orestes were to make it quite plain that his
mother had been put to death by him. That is a disputable definition,
when the very thing which we are amplifying is a matter in dispute.
As if any one, while accusing Ulysses, were to dwell on this point
particularly, that it is a scandalous thing that the bravest of
men, Ajax, should have been slain by a most inactive man. That is
discreditable which either with respect to the place in which it is
spoken, or to the man who utters it, or to the time at which it is
uttered, or to those who hear it, or to the matter which is the
subject of discussion, appears scandalous on account of the subject
being a discreditable one. That is an offensive one, which offends the
inclinations of those who hear it; as if any one were to praise the
judiciary law of Caepio before the Roman knights, who are themselves
desirous of acting as judges.

L. That is a contrary definition, which is laid down in opposition to
the actions which those who are the hearers of the speech have done;
as if any one were to be speaking before Alexander the Great against
some stormer of a city, and were to say that nothing was more inhuman
than to destroy cities, when Alexander himself had destroyed Thebes.
That is an inconsistent one, which is asserted by the same man in
different senses concerning the same case; as if any one, after he has
said that the man who has virtue is in need of nothing whatever for
the purpose of living well, were afterwards to deny that any one could
live well without good health; or that he would stand by a friend in
difficulty out of good-will towards him, for that then he would hope
that some good would accrue to himself by so doing.

That is an adverse definition, which in some particular is an actual
injury to one's own cause; as if any one were to extol the power, and
resources, and prosperity of the enemy, while encouraging his own
soldiers to fight. If some part of the argumentation is not adapted to
the object which is or ought to be proposed to one, it will be found
to be owing to some one of these defects. If a man has promised a
great many points and proved only a few; or if, when he is bound to
prove the whole, he speaks only of some portion; in this way:--The
race of women is avaricious; for Eriphyle sold the life of her husband
for gold. Or if he does not speak in defence of that particular point
which is urged in accusation; as if any one when accused of corruption
were to defend himself by the statement that he was brave; as Amphion
does in Euripides, and so too in Pacuvius, who, when his musical
knowledge is found fault with, praises his knowledge of philosophy.
Or if a part of conduct be found fault with on account of the bad
character of the man; as if any one were to blame learning on account
of the vices of some learned men. Or if any one while wishing to
praise somebody were to speak of his good fortune, and not of his
virtue; or if any one were to compare one thing with another in such
a manner as to think that he was not praising the one unless he was
blaming the other; or if he were to praise the one in such a manner as
to omit all mention of the other.

Or if, when an inquiry is being carried on respecting one particular
point, the speech is addressed to common topics; as if any one, while
men are deliberating whether war shall be waged or not, were to devote
himself wholly to the praises of peace, and not to proving that that
particular war is inexpedient. Or if a false reason for anything be
alleged, in this way:--Money is good because it is the thing which,
above all others, makes life happy. Or if one is alleged which is
invalid, as Plautus says:--


  "Sure to reprove a friend for evident faults
  Is but a thankless office; still 'tis useful,
  And wholesome for a youth of such an age,
  And so this day I will reprove my friend,
  Whose fault is palpable."--_Plautus, Frinummus_, Act i. sc. 2,
  l.1.


Or in this manner, if a man were to say, "Avarice is the greatest
evil; for the desire of money causes great distress to numbers of
people." Or it is unsuitable, in this manner:--"Friendship is the
greatest good for there are many pleasures in friendship."

LI. The fourth manner of reprehension was stated to be that by which,
in opposition to a solid argumentation, one equally, or still more
solid, has been advanced. And this kind of argumentation is especially
employed in deliberations when we admit that something which is said
in opposition to us is reasonable, but still prove that that conduct
which we are defending is necessary; or when we confess that the line
of conduct which they are advocating is useful, and prove that what
we ourselves are contending for is honourable. And we have thought it
necessary to say thus much about reprehension; now we will lay down
some rules respecting the conclusion.

Hermagoras places digression next in order, and then the ultimate
conclusion. But in this digression he considers it proper to introduce
some inferential topics, unconnected with the cause and with the
decision itself, which contain some praise of the speaker himself, or
some vituperation of the adversary, or else may lead to some other
topic from which he may derive some confirmation or reprehension, not
by arguing, but by expanding the subject by some amplification or
other. If any one thinks that this is a proper part of an oration, he
may follow Hermagoras. For precepts for embellishing, and praising,
and blaming, have partly been already given by us, and partly will be
given hereafter in their proper place. But we do not think it right
that this part should be classed among the regular divisions of a
speech, because it appears improper that there should be digressions,
except to some common topics, concerning which subject we must speak
subsequently. But it does not seem desirable to handle praise and
vituperation separately, but it seems better that they should be
considered as forming part of the argumentation itself. At present we
will treat of the conclusion of an oration.

LII. The conclusion is the end and terminating of the whole oration.
It has three parts,--enumeration, indignation, and complaint.
Enumeration is that by which matters which have been related in a
scattered and diffuse manner are collected together, and, for the sake
of recollecting them, are brought under our view. If this is always
treated in the same manner, it will be completely evident to every one
that it is being handled according to some artificial system; but if
it be done in many various ways, the orator will be able to escape
this suspicion, and will not cause such weariness. Wherefore it will
be desirable to act in the way which most people adopt, on account of
its easiness; that is, to touch on each topic separately, and in that
manner briefly to run over all sorts of argumentation; and also (which
is, however, more difficult) to recount what portions of the subject
you previously mentioned in the arrangement of the subject, as those
which you promised to explain; and also to bring to the recollection
of your hearers the reasonings by which you established each separate
point, and then to ask of those who are hearing you what it is which
they ought to wish to be proved to them; in this way:--"We proved
this; we made that plain;" and by this means the hearer will recover
his recollection of it, and will think that there is nothing besides
which he ought to require.

And in these kinds of conclusions, as has been said before, it will
be serviceable both to run over the arguments which you yourself have
employed separately, and also (which is a matter requiring still
greater art) to unite the opposite arguments with your own; and to
show how completely you have done away with the arguments which were
brought against you. And so, by a brief comparison, the recollection
of the hearer will be refreshed both as to the confirmation which you
adduced, and as to the reprehension which you employed. And it will be
useful to vary these proceedings by other methods of pleading also.
But you may carry on the enumeration in your own person, so as to
remind your hearers of what you said, and in what part of your speech
you said each thing; and also you may bring on the stage some other
character, or some different circumstance, and then make your whole
enumeration with reference to that. If it is a person, in this
way:--"For if the framer of the law were to appear, and were to
inquire of you why you doubted, what could you say after this, and
this, and this has been proved to you?" And in this case, as also in
our own character, it will be in our power to run over all kinds of
argumentation separately: and at one time to refer all separate genera
to different classes of the division, and at another to ask of the
hearer what he requires, and at another to adopt a similar course by a
comparison of one's own arguments and those of the opposite party.

But a different class of circumstance will be introduced if an
enumerative oration be connected with any subject of this sort,--law,
place, city, or monument, in this manner.--"What if the laws
themselves could speak? Would not they also address this complaint to
you? What more do you require, O judges when this, and this, and this
has been already made plain to you?" And in this kind of argument it
is allowable to use all these same methods. But this is given as a
common precept to guide one in framing an enumeration, that out of
every part of the argument, since the whole cannot be repeated over
again, that is to be selected which is of the greatest weight, and
that each point is to be run over as briefly as possible, so that
it shall appear to be only a refreshing of the recollection of the
hearers, not a repetition of the speech.

LIII. Indignation is a kind of speech by which the effect produced is,
that great hatred is excited against a man, or great dislike of some
proceeding is originated. In an address of this kind we wish to have
this understood first, that it is possible to give vent to indignation
from all those topics which we have suggested in laying down precepts
for the confirmation of a speech. For any amplifications whatever,
and every sort of indignation may be expressed, derived from those
circumstances which are attributed to persons and to things, but
still we had better consider those precepts which can be laid down
separately with respect to indignation.

The first topic is derived from authority, when we relate what a great
subject of anxiety that affair has been to the immortal gods, or to
those whose authority ought to carry the greatest weight with it.
And that topic will be derived from prophecies, from oracles, from
prophets, from tokens, from prodigies, from answers, and from other
things like these. Also from our ancestors, from kings, from states,
from nations from the wisest men, from the senate, the people, the
framers of laws. The second topic is that by which it is shown
with amplification, by means of indignation, whom that affair
concerns,--whether it concerns all men or the greater part of men,
(which is a most serious business,) or whether it concerns the higher
classes, such as those men are on whose authority the indignation
which we are professing is grounded, (which is most scandalous,) or
whether it affects those men who are one's equals in courage, and
fortune, and personal advantages, (which is most iniquitous,) or
whether it affects our inferiors, (which is most arrogant).

The third topic is that which we employ when we are inquiring what is
likely to happen, if every one else acts in the same manner. And at
the same time we point out if this man is permitted to act thus, that
there will be many imitators of the same audacity, and then from that
we shall be able to point out how much evil will follow.

The fourth topic is one by the use of which we show that many men are
eagerly looking out to see what is decided, in order that they may be
able to see by the precedent of what is allowed to one, what will be
allowed to themselves also in similar circumstances.

The fifth topic is one by the use of which we show that everything
else which has been badly managed, as soon as the truth concerning
them is ascertained, may be all set right, that this thing, however,
is one which, if it be once decided wrongly, cannot be altered by any
decision, nor set right by any power.

The sixth topic is one by which the action spoken of is proved to have
been done designedly and on purpose, and then we add this argument,
that pardon ought not to be granted to an intentional crime.

The seventh topic is one which we employ when we say that any deed
is foul, and cruel, and nefarious, and tyrannical; that it has been
effected by violence or by the influence of riches--a thing which
is as remote as possible from the laws and from all ideas of equal
justice.

LIV. An eighth topic is one of which we avail ourselves to demonstrate
that the crime which is the present subject of discussion is not
a common one,--not one such as is often perpetrated. And, that is
foreign to the nature of even men in a savage state, of the most
barbarous nations, or even of brute beasts. Actions of this nature are
such as are wrought with cruelty towards one's parents, or wife, or
husband, or children, or relations, or suppliants; next to them,
if anything has been done with inhumanity towards a man's
elders,--towards those connected with one by ties of hospitality,
--towards one's neighbours or one's friends,--to those with
whom one has been in the habit of passing one's life,--to those
by whom one has been brought up,--to those by whom one has been
taught,--to the dead,--to those who are miserable and deserving of
pity,--to men who are illustrious, noble, and who have been invested
with honours and offices,--to those who have neither had power to
injure another nor to defend themselves, such as boys, old men, women:
by all which circumstances indignation is violently excited, and will
be able to awaken the greatest hatred against a man who has injured
any of these persons.

The ninth topic is one by which the action which is the subject of the
present discussion is compared with others which are admitted on all
hands to be offences. And in that way it is shown by comparison how
much more atrocious and scandalous is the action which is the present
subject of discussion.

The tenth topic is one by which we collect all the circumstances which
have taken place in the performance of this action, and which have
followed since that action, with great indignation at and reproach of
each separate item, and by our description we bring the case as far as
possible before the eyes of the judge before whom we are speaking, so
that that which is scandalous may appear quite as scandalous to him as
if he himself had been present to see what was done.

The eleventh topic is one which we avail ourselves of when we are
desirous to show that the action has been done by him whom of all men
in the world it least became to do it, and by whom indeed it ought to
have been prevented if any one else had endeavoured to do it.

The twelfth topic is one by means of which we express our indignation
that we should be the first people to whom this has happened, and that
it has never occurred in any other instance.

The thirteenth topic is when insult is shown to have been added
to injury, and by this topic we awaken hatred against pride and
arrogance.

The fourteenth topic is one which we avail ourselves of to entreat
those who hear us to consider our injuries as if they affected
themselves; if they concern our children, to think of their own, if
our wives have been injured, to recollect their own wives, if it is
our aged relations who have suffered, to remember their own fathers or
ancestors.

The fifteenth topic is one by which we say that those things which
have happened to us appear scandalous even to foes and enemies, and
as a general rule, indignation is derived from one or other of these
topics.

LV. But complaint will usually take its origin from things of this
kind. Complaint is a speech seeking to move the pity of the hearers.
In this it is necessary in the first place to render the disposition
of the hearer gentle and merciful, in order that it may the more
easily be influenced by pity. And it will be desirable to produce that
effect by common topics, such as those by which the power of fortune
over all men is shown, and the weakness of men too is displayed,
and if such an argument is argued with dignity and with impressive
language, then the minds of men are greatly softened, and prepared to
feel pity, while they consider their own weakness in the contemplation
of the misfortunes of another.

Then the first topic to raise pity is that by which we show how great
the prosperity of our clients was, and how great their present misery
is.

The second is one which is divided according to different periods,
according to which it is shown in what miseries they have been, and
still are, and are likely to be hereafter.

The third topic is that by which each separate inconvenience is
deplored, as, for instance, in speaking of the death of a man's son,
the delight which the father took in his childhood, his love for him,
his hope of him, the comfort he derived from him, the pains he took
in his bringing up, and all other instances of the same sort, may be
mentioned so as to exaggerate the complaint.

The fourth topic is one in which all circumstances which are
discreditable or low or mean are brought forward, all circumstances
which are unworthy of a man's age, or both, or fortune, or former
honours or services, all the disasters which they have suffered or are
liable to suffer.

The fifth topic is that by using which all disadvantages we brought
separately before the eyes of the hearer, so that he who hears of them
may seem to see them, and by the very facts themselves, and not only
by the description of them, may be moved to pity as if he had been
actually present.

The sixth topic is one by which the person spoken of is shown to be
miserable, when he had no reason to expect any such fate; and that
when he was expecting something else, he not only failed to obtain it,
but fell into the most terrible misfortunes.

The seventh is one by which we suppose the fact of a similar mischance
befalling the men who are listening to us, and require of them when
they behold us to call to mind their own children, or their parents,
or some one for whom they are bound to entertain affections.

The eighth is one by which something is said to have been done which
ought not to have been done; or not to have been done which ought to
have been. In this manner:--"I was not present, I did not see him,
I did not hear his last words, I did not receive his last breath.
Moreover, he died amid his enemies, he lay shamefully unburied in an
enemy's country, being torn to pieces by wild beasts, and was deprived
in death of even that honour which is the due of all men."

The ninth is one by which our speech is made to refer to things which
are void both of language and sense; as if you were to adapt your
discourse to a horse, a house, or a garment; by which topics the minds
of those who are hearing, and who have been attached to any one, are
greatly moved.

The tenth is one by which want, or weakness, or the desolate condition
of any one is pointed out.

The eleventh is one in which is contained a recommendation to bury
one's children, or one's parents, or one's own body, or to do any
other such thing.

The twelfth is one in which a separation is lamented when you are
separated from any one with whom you have lived most pleasantly,--as
from a parent, a son, a brother, an intimate friend.

The thirteenth is one used when we complain with great indignation
that we are ill-treated by those by whom above all others we least
ought to be so,--as by our relations, or by friends whom we have
served, and whom we have expected to be assistants to us; or by whom
it is a shameful thing to be ill-treated,--as by slaves, or freedmen,
or clients, or suppliants.

The fourteenth is one which is taken as an entreaty, in which those
who hear us are entreated, in a humble and suppliant oration, to have
pity on us.

The fifteenth is one in which we show that we are complaining not only
of our own fortunes, but of those who ought to be dear to us.

The sixteenth is one by using which we show that our hearts are full
of pity for others; and yet give tokens at the same time that it will
be a great and lofty mind, and one able to endure disaster if any such
should befall us. For often virtue and splendour, in which there is
naturally great influence and authority, have more effect in exciting
pity than humility and entreaties. And when men's minds are moved it
will not be right to dwell longer on complaints; for, as Apollonius
the rhetorician said, "Nothing dries quicker than a tear."

But since we have already, as it seems, said enough of all the
different parts of a speech, and since this volume has swelled to a
great size, what follows next shall be stated in the second book.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE SECOND BOOK OF THE RHETORIC, OR OF THE TREATISE ON RHETORICAL
INVENTION, OF M.T. CICERO.

I. Some men of Crotona, when they were rich in all kinds of resources,
and when they were considered among the most prosperous people in
Italy, were desirous to enrich the temple of Juno, which they regarded
with the most religious veneration, with splendid pictures. Therefore
they hired Zeuxis of Heraclea at a vast price, who was at that time
considered to be far superior to all other painters, and employed
him in that business. He painted many other pictures, of which some
portion, on account of the great respect in which the temple is held,
has remained to within our recollection; and in order that one of his
mute representations might contain the preeminent beauty of the female
form, he said that he wished to paint a likeness of Helen. And the men
of Crotona, who had frequently heard that he excelled all other men in
painting women, were very glad to hear this; for they thought that if
he took the greatest pains in that class of work in which he had the
greatest skill, he would leave them a most noble work in that temple.

Nor were they deceived in that expectation: for Zeuxis immediately
asked of them what beautiful virgins they had; and they immediately
led him into the palaestra, and there showed him numbers of boys of
the highest birth and of the greatest beauty. For indeed, there was a
time when the people of Crotona were far superior to all other cities
in the strength and beauty of their persons; and they brought home
the most honourable victories from the gymnastic contests, with the
greatest credit. While, therefore, he was admiring the figures of the
boys and their personal perfection very greatly; "The sisters," say
they, "of these boys are virgins in our city, so that how great their
beauty is you may infer from these boys." "Give me, then," said he,
"I beg you, the most beautiful of these virgins, while I paint the
picture which I promised you, so that the reality may be transferred
from the breathing model to the mute likeness." Then the citizens of
Crotona, in accordance with a public vote, collected the virgins into
one place, and gave the painter the opportunity of selecting whom he
chose. But he selected five, whose names many poets have handed down
to tradition, because they had been approved by the judgment of the
man who was bound to have the most accurate judgment respecting
beauty. For he did not think that he could find all the component
parts of perfect beauty in one person, because nature has made nothing
of any class absolutely perfect in every part. Therefore, as if nature
would not have enough to give to everybody if it had given everything
to one, it balances one advantage bestowed upon a person by another
disadvantage.

II. But since the inclination has arisen in my mind to write a
treatise on the art of speaking, we have not put forth any single
model of which every portion was necessarily to be copied by us, of
whatever sort they might be; but, having collected together all the
writers on the subject into one place, we have selected what each
appears to have recommended which may be most serviceable, and we have
thus culled the flower from various geniuses. For of those who are
worthy of fame or recollection, there is no one who appears either to
have said nothing well, or everything admirably. So that it seemed
folly either to forsake the sensible maxims brought forward by any
one, merely because we are offended at some other blunder of his, or,
on the other hand, to embrace his faults because we have been tempted
by some sensible precept which he has also delivered.

But if in other pursuits also men would select all that was found most
sensible from many sources, instead of devoting themselves to one
fixed leader, they would err less on the side of arrogance; they
would not persist so much in error, and they would make less enormous
mistakes through ignorance. And if we had as deep an acquaintance with
this art as he had with that of painting, perhaps this work of ours
might appear as admirable in its kind as his picture did. For we have
had an opportunity of selecting from a much more copious store of
models than he had. He was able to make his selection from one city,
and from that number of virgins only which existed at that time and
place; but we have had opportunity of making our selection from all
the men who have ever lived from the very first beginning of this
science, being reduced to a system up to the present day, and taking
whatever we thought worth while from all the stores which lay open
before us.

And Aristotle, indeed, has collected together all the ancient writers
on this art, from the first writer on the subject and inventor of it,
Tisias, and has compiled with great perspicuity the precepts of each
of them, mentioning them by name, after having sought them out with
exceeding care; and he has disentangled them with great diligence
and explained their difficulties; and he has so greatly excelled the
original writers themselves in suavity and brevity of diction, that no
one is acquainted with their precepts from their own writings, but all
who wish to know what maxims they have laid down, come back to him as
to a far more agreeable expounder of their meaning.

And he himself has set before us himself and those too who had lived
before his time, in order that we might be acquainted with the method
of others, and with his own. And those who have followed him, although
they have expended a great deal of labour on the most profound and
important portions of philosophy, as he himself also, whose example
they were following, had done, have still left us many precepts on the
subject of speaking. And other masters of this science have also come
forward, taking their rise, as it were in other springs, who have also
been of great assistance in eloquence, as far at least as artificial
rules can do any good. For there lived at the same time as Aristotle,
a great and illustrious rhetorician, named Isocrates, though we have
not entirely discovered what his system was.

But we have found many lessons respecting their art from his pupils
and from those who proceeded immediately afterwards from this school.

III. From these two different families, as it were, the one of which,
while it was chiefly occupied with philosophy, still devoted some
portion of its attention to the rhetorical science, and the other was
wholly absorbed in the study and teaching of eloquence, but both kinds
of study were united by their successors, who brought to the aid of
their own pursuits those things which appeared to have been profitably
said by either of them, and those and the others their predecessors
are the men whom we and all our countrymen have proposed to ourselves
as models, as far as we were able to make them so, and we have also
contributed something from our own stores to the common stock.

But if the things which are set forth in these books deserved to
be selected with such great eagerness and care as they were, then
certainly, neither we ourselves nor others will repent of our
industry. But if we appear either rashly to have passed over some
doctrine of some one worth noticing, or to have adopted it without
sufficient elegance, in that case when we are taught better by some
one, we will easily and cheerfully change our opinion. For what is
discreditable is, not the knowing little, but the persisting foolishly
and long in what one does not understand, because the one thing is
attributed to the common infirmity of man, but the other to the
especial fault of the individual.

Wherefore we, without affirming anything positively, but making
inquiry at the same time, will advance each position with some doubt,
lest while we gain this trifling point of being supposed to have
written this treatise with tolerable neatness, we should lose that
which is of the greater importance, the credit, namely, of not
adopting any idea rashly and arrogantly. But this we shall endeavour
to gain both at present and during the whole course of our life with
great care, as far as our abilities will enable us to do so. But at
present, lest we should appear to be too prolix, we will speak of the
other points which it seems desirable to insist on.

Therefore, while we were explaining the proper classification of this
art, and its duties, and its object, and its subject matter, and its
divisions, the first book contained an account of the different kinds
of disputes, and inventions, and statements of cases, and decisions.
After that, the parts of a speech were described, and all necessary
precepts for all of them were laid down. So that we not only discussed
other topics in that book with tolerable distinctness, we spoke
at that same time in a more scattered manner of the topics of
confirmation and reprehension; and at present we think it best to give
certain topics for confirming and reprehending, suited to every class
of causes. And because it has been explained with some diligence in
the former book, in what manner argumentations ought to be handled, in
this book it will be sufficient to set forth the arguments which have
been discovered for each kind of subject simply, and without any
embellishment, so that, in this book, the arguments themselves may be
found, and in the former, the proper method of polishing them. So that
the reader must refer the precepts which are now laid down, to the
topics of confirmation and reprehension.

IV. Every discussion, whether demonstrative, or deliberative, or
judicial, must be conversant with some kind or other of statement of
the case which has been explained in the former book; sometimes with
one, sometimes with several. And though this is the case, still as
some things can be laid down in a general way respecting everything,
there are also other rules and different methods separately laid down
for each particular kind of discussion. For praise, or blame, or the
statement of an opinion, or accusation, or denial, ought all to effect
different ends. In judicial investigations the object of inquiry is,
what is just, in demonstrative discussion the question is what is
honourable, in deliberations, in our opinion, what we inquire is, what
is honourable and at the same time expedient. For the other writers
on this subject have thought it right to limit the consideration of
expediency to speeches directed to persuasion or dissuasion.

Those kinds of discussions then whose objects and results are
different, cannot be governed by the same precepts. Not that we are
saying now that the same statement of the case is not admissible in
all of them, but some kinds of speech arise from the object and kind
of the discussion, if it refers to the demonstration of some kind of
life, or to the delivery of some opinion. Wherefore now, in explaining
controversies, we shall have to deal with causes and precepts of a
judicial kind, from which many precepts also which concern similar
disputes will be transferred to other kinds of causes without much
difficulty. But hereafter we will speak separately of each kind.

At present we will begin with the conjectural statement of a case
of which this example may be sufficient to be given--A man overtook
another on his journey as he was going on some commercial expedition,
and carrying a sum of money with him, he, as men often do entered into
conversation with him on the way, the result of which was, that they
both proceeded together with some degree of friendship, so that when
they had arrived at the same inn, they proposed to sup together and to
sleep in the same apartment. Having supped, they retired to rest in
the same place. But when the innkeeper (for that is what is said to
have been discovered since, after the man had been detected in another
crime) had taken notice of one of them, that is to say, of him who had
the money, he came by night, after he had ascertained that they were
both sound asleep, as men usually are when tired, and took from its
sheath the sword of the one who had not the money, and which sword he
had lying by his side and slew the other man with it and took away
his money, and replaced the bloody sword in the sheath, and returned
himself to his bed.

But the man with whose sword the murder had been committed, rose
long before dawn and called over and over again on his companion; he
thought that he did not answer because he was overcome with sleep; and
so he took his sword and the rest of the things which he had with him,
and departed on his journey alone. The innkeeper not long afterwards
raised an outcry that the man was murdered, and in company with some
of his lodgers pursued the man who had gone away. They arrest him on
his journey, draw his sword out of its sheath, and find it bloody, the
man is brought back to the city by them, and put on his trial. On this
comes the allegation of the crime, "You murdered him," and the denial,
"I did not murder him," and from this is collected the statement of
the case. The question in the conjectural examination is the same as
that submitted to the judges, "Did he murder him, or not?"

V. Now we will set forth the topics one portion of which applies to
all conjectural discussion. But it will be desirable to take notice of
this in the exposition of these topics and of all the others, and to
observe that they do not all apply to every discussion. For as every
man's name is made up of some letters, and not of every letter, so it
is not every store of arguments which applies to every argumentation,
but some portion which is necessary applies to each. All conjecture,
then, must be derived either from the cause of an action, or from the
person, or from the case itself.

The cause of an action is divided into impulsion and ratiocination.
Impulsion is that which without thought encourages a man to act in
such and such a manner, by means of producing some affection of
the mind, as love, anger, melancholy, fondness for wine, or indeed
anything by which the mind appears to be so affected as to be unable
to examine anything with deliberation and care, and to do what it does
owing to some impulse of the mind, rather than in consequence of any
deliberate purpose.

But ratiocination is a diligent and careful consideration of whether
we shall do anything or not do it. And it is said to have been in
operation, when the mind appears for some particular definite reason
to have avoided something which ought not to have been done, or to
have adopted something which ought to have been done, so that if
anything is said to have been done for the sake of friendship, or of
chastising an enemy, or under the influence of fear, or of a desire
for glory or for money, or in short, to comprise everything under
one brief general head, for the sake of retaining, or increasing, or
obtaining any advantage; or, on the other hand, for the purpose of
repelling, or diminishing, or avoiding any disadvantage;--for those
former things must fall under one or other of those heads, if either
any inconvenience is submitted to for the purpose of avoiding any
greater inconvenience, or of obtaining any more important advantage;
or if any advantage is passed by for the sake of obtaining some
other still greater advantage, or of avoiding some more important
disadvantage.

This topic is as it were a sort of foundation of this statement of the
case; for nothing that is done is approved of by any one unless some
reason be shown why it has been done. Therefore the accuser, when he
says that anything has been done in compliance with some impulse,
ought to exaggerate that impulse, and any other agitation or affection
of the mind, with all the power of language and variety of sentiments
of which he is master, and to show how great the power of love is, how
great the agitation of mind which arises from anger, or from any one
of those causes which he says was that which impelled any one to do
anything. And here we must take care, by an enumeration of examples of
men who have done anything under the influence of similar impulse, and
by a collation of similar cases, and by an explanation of the way in
which the mind itself is affected, to hinder its appearing marvellous
if the mind of a man has been instigated by such influence to some
pernicious or criminal action.

VI. But when the orator says that any one has done such and such
an action, not through impulse, but in consequence of deliberate
reasoning, he will then point out what advantage he has aimed at,
or what inconvenience he has avoided, and he will exaggerate the
influence of those motives as much as he can, so that as far as
possible the cause which led the person spoken of to do wrong, may
appear to have been an adequate one. If it was for the sake of glory
that he did so and so, then he will point out what glory he thought
would result from it; again, if he was influenced by desire of power,
or riches, or by friendship, or by enmity; and altogether whatever the
motive was, which he says was his inducement to the action, he will
exaggerate as much as possible.

And he is bound to give great attention to this point, not only what
the effect would have been in reality, but still more what it would
have been in the opinion of the man whom he is accusing. For it makes
no difference that there really was or was not any advantage or
disadvantage, if the man who is accused believed that there would or
would not be such. For opinion deceives men in two ways, when either
the matter itself is of a different kind from that which it is
believed to be, or when the result is not such as they thought it
would be. The matter itself is of a different sort when they think
that which is good bad, or, on the other hand, when they think that
good which is bad. Or when they think that good or bad which is
neither good nor bad, or when they think that which is good or bad
neither bad nor good.

Now that this is understood, if any one denies that there is any money
more precious or sweeter to a man than his brother's or his friend's
life, or even than his own duty, the accuser is not to deny that; for
then the blame and the chief part of the hatred will be transferred to
him who denies that which is said so truly and so piously. But what
he ought to say is, that the man did not think so; and that assertion
must be derived from those topics which relate to the person,
concerning whom we must speak hereafter.

VII. But the result deceives a person, when a thing has a different
result from that which the persons who are accused are said to have
thought it would have. As when a man is said to have slain a different
person from him whom he intended to slay, either because he was
deceived by the likeness or by some suspicion, or by some false
indication; or that he slew a man who had not left him his heir in his
will, because he believed that he had left him his heir. For it is not
right to judge of a man's belief by the result, but rather to consider
with what expectation, and intention, and hope he proceeded to such
a crime; and to recollect that the matter of real importance is to
consider with what intention a man does a thing, and not what the
consequence of his action turns out to be.

And in this topic this will be the great point for the accuser, if he
is able to show that no one else had any reason for doing so at all.
And the thing next in importance will be to show that no one else had
such great or sufficient reason for doing so. But if others appear
also to have had a motive for doing so, then we must show that they
had either no power, or no opportunity, or no inclination to do it.
They had no power if it can be said that they did not know it, or were
not in the place, or were unable to have accomplished it; they had no
opportunity, if it can be proved that any plan, any assistants, any
instruments, and all other things which relate to such an action, were
wanting to them. They had no inclination, if their disposition can be
said to be entirely alien to such conduct, and unimpeachable. Lastly,
whatever arguments we allow a man on his trial to use in his defence,
the very same the prosecutor will employ in delivering others from
blame. But that must be done with brevity, and many arguments must be
compressed into one, in order that he may not appear to be accusing
the man on his trial for the sake of defending some one else, but to
be defending some one else with a view to strengthen his accusation
against him.

VIII. And these are for the most part the things which must be done
and considered by an accuser. But the advocate for the defence will
say, on the other hand, either that there was no motive at all, or, if
he admits that there was, he will make light of it, and show that it
was a very slight one, or that such conduct does not often proceed
from such a motive. And with reference to this topic it will be
necessary to point out what is the power and character of that motive,
by which the person on his trial is said to have been induced to
commit any action; and in doing this it is requisite to adduce
instances and examples of similar cases, and the actual nature of
such a motive is to be explained as gently as possible, so that the
circumstance which is the subject of the discussion may be explained
away, and instead of being considered as a cruel and disorderly act,
may be represented as something more mild and considerate, and still
the speech itself may be adapted to the mind of the hearer, and to a
sort of inner feeling, as it were, in his mind.

But the orator will weaken the suspicions arising from the
ratiocination, if he shall say either that the advantage intimated had
no existence, or a very slight one, or that it was a greater one to
others, or that it was no greater advantage to himself than to others,
or that it was a greater disadvantage than advantage to himself.
So that the magnitude of the advantage which is said to have been
desired, was not to be compared with the disadvantage which was really
sustained, or with the danger which was incurred. And all those topics
will be handled in the same manner in speaking of the avoiding of
disadvantage.

But if the prosecutor has said that the man on his trial was pursuing
what appeared to him to be an advantage, or was avoiding that which
appeared to him to be a disadvantage, even though he was mistaken in
that opinion, then the advocate for the defence must show that no one
can be so foolish as to be ignorant of the truth in such an affair.
And if that be granted, then the other position cannot be granted,
that the man ever doubted at all what the case was, but that he,
without the least hesitation, considered what was false as false,
and what was true as true. But if he doubted, then it was a proof of
absolute insanity for a man under the influence of a doubtful hope to
incur a certain danger.

But as the accuser when he is seeking to remove the guilt from others
must use the topics proper to an advocate for the defence; so the man
on his trial must use those topics which have been allotted to an
accuser, when he wishes to transfer an accusation from his own
shoulders to those of others.

IX. But conjectures will be derived from the person, if those things
which have been attributed to persons are diligently considered, all
of which we have mentioned in the first book; for sometimes some
suspicion arises from the name. But when we say the name, we mean also
the surname. For the question is about the particular and peculiar
name of a man, as if we were to say that a man is called Caldus
because he is a man of a hasty and sudden disposition; or that
ignorant Greeks have been deceived by men being called Clodius, or
Caecilius, or Marcus.

And we may also derive some suspicious circumstances from nature; for
all these questions, whether it is a man or a woman, whether he is of
this state or that one, of what ancestors a man is descended, who are
his relations, what is his age, what is his disposition, what bodily
strength, or figure, or constitution he has, which are all portions
of a man's nature, have much influence in leading men to form
conjectures.

Many suspicions also are engendered by men's way of life, when the
inquiry is how, and by whom, and among whom a man was brought up and
educated, and with whom he associates, and what system and habits of
domestic life he is devoted to.

Moreover, argumentation often arises from fortune; when we consider
whether a man is a slave or a free man, rich or poor, noble or
ignoble, prosperous or unfortunate; whether he now is, or has been,
or is likely to be a private individual or a magistrate; or, in fact,
when any one of those circumstances is sought to be ascertained which
are attributable to fortune. But as habit consists in some perfect
and consistent formation of mind or body, of which kind are virtue,
knowledge, and their contraries; the fact itself, when the whole
circumstances are stated, will show whether this topic affords any
ground for suspicion. For the consideration of the state of a
man's mind is apt to give good grounds for conjecture, as of his
affectionate or passionate disposition, or of any annoyance to which
he has been exposed; because the power of all such feelings and
circumstances is well understood, and what results ensue after any one
of them is very easy to be known.

But since study is an assiduous and earnest application of the mind
to any particular object with intense desire, that argument which the
case itself requires will easily be deduced from it. And again,
some suspicion will be able to be inferred from the intention;
for intention is a deliberate determination of doing or not doing
something. And after this it will be easy to see with respect to
facts, and events, and speeches, which are divided into three separate
times, whether they contribute anything to confirming the conjectures
already formed in the way of suspicion.

X. And those things indeed are attributed to persons, which when they
are all collected together in one place, it will be the business of
the accuser to use them as inducing a disapprobation of the person;
for the fact itself has but little force unless the disposition of the
man who is accused can be brought under such suspicion as to appear
not to be inconsistent with such a fault. For although there is no
great advantage in expressing disapprobation of any one's disposition,
when there is no cause why he should have done wrong, still it is but
a trifling thing that there should be a motive for an offence, if the
man's disposition is proved to be inclined to no line of conduct which
is at all discreditable. Therefore the accuser ought to bring into
discredit the life of the man whom he is accusing, by reference to
his previous actions, and to show whether he has ever been previously
convicted of a similar offence. And if he cannot show that, he must
show whether he has ever incurred the suspicion of any similar guilt;
and especially, if possible, that he has committed some offence or
other of some kind under the influence of some similar motive to this
which is in existence here, in some similar case, or in an equally
important case, or in one more important, or in one less important.
As, if with respect to a man who he says has been induced by money to
act in such and such a manner, he were able to show that any other
action of his in any case had been prompted by avarice.

And again it will be desirable in every cause to mention the nature,
or the manner of life, or the pursuits, or the fortune, or some one of
those circumstances which are attributed to persons, in connexion with
that cause which the speaker says was the motive which induced the man
on his trial to do wrong; and also, if one cannot impute anything to
him in respect of an exactly corresponding class of faults, to bring
the disposition of one's adversary into discredit by reference to some
very dissimilar class. As, if you were to accuse him of having done
so and so, because he was instigated by avarice; and yet, if you are
unable to show that the man whom you accuse is avaricious, you must
show that other vices are not wholly foreign to his nature, and that
on that account it is no great wonder if a man who in any affair has
behaved basely, or covetously, or petulantly, should have erred in
this business also. For in proportion as you can detract from
the honesty and authority of the man who is accused, in the same
proportion has the force of the whole defence been weakened.

If it cannot be shown that the person on his trial has been ever
before implicated in any previous guilt, then that topic will come
into play which we are to use for the purpose of encouraging the
judges to think that the former character of the man has no bearing
on the present question; for that he has formerly concealed his
wickedness, but that he is now manifestly convicted; so that it is not
proper that this case should be looked at with reference to his former
life, but that his former life should now be reproved by this conduct
of his, and that formerly he had either no opportunity of doing wrong,
or no motive to do so. Or if this cannot be said, then we must have
recourse to this last assertion,--that it is no wonder if he now does
wrong for the first time, for that it is necessary that a man who
wishes to commit sin, must some time or other commit it for the first
time. If nothing whatever is known of his previous life, then it is
best to pass over this topic, and to state the reason why it is passed
over, and then to proceed at once to corroborate the accusation by
arguments.

XI. But the advocate for the defence ought in the first place to show,
if he can, that the life of the person who is accused has always been
as honourable as possible. And he will do this best by recounting any
well known services which he has rendered to the state in general,
or any that he has done to his parents, or relations, or friends, or
kinsmen, or associates, or even any which are more remarkable or more
unusual, especially if they have been done with any extraordinary
labour, or danger, or both, or when there was no absolute necessity,
purely because it was his duty, or if he has done any great benefit to
the republic, or to his parents, or to any other of the people whom I
have just mentioned, and if, too, he can show that he has never been
so influenced by any covetousness as to abandon his duty, or to commit
any error of any description. And this statement will be the more
confirmed, if when it is said that he had an opportunity of doing
something which was not quite creditable with impunity, it can be
shown at the same time that he had no inclination to do it.

But this very kind of argument will be all the stronger if the person
on his trial can be shown to have been unimpeachable previously in
that particular sort of conduct of which he is now accused, as, for
instance, if he be accused of having done so and so for the sake
of avarice, and can be proved to have been all his life utterly
indifferent to the acquisition of money. On this indignation may be
expressed with great weight, united with a complaint that it is a most
miserable thing, and it may be argued that it is a most scandalous
thing, to think that that was the man's motive, when his disposition
during the whole of his life has been as unlike it as possible. Such a
motive often harries audacious men into guilt, but it has no power to
impel an upright man to sin. It is unjust, moreover, and injurious to
every virtuous man, that a previously well-spent life should not be of
the greatest possible advantage to a man at such a time, but that a
decision should be come to with reference only to a sudden accusation
which can be got up in a hurry, and with no reference to a man's
previous course of life, which cannot be extemporised to suit an
occasion, and which cannot be altered by any means.

But if there have been any acts of baseness in his previous life, or
if they be said to have undeservedly acquired such a reputation, or if
his actions are to be attributed by the envy, or love of detraction,
or mistaken opinion of some people, either to ignorance, or necessity,
or to the persuasion of young men, or to any other affection of mind
in which there is no vice, or if he has been tainted with errors of
a different kind, so that his disposition appears not entirely
faultless, but still far remote from such a fault, and if his
disgraceful or infamous course of life cannot possibly be mitigated by
any speech,--then it will be proper to say that the inquiry does not
concern his life and habits, but is about that crime for which he is
now prosecuted, so that, omitting all former actions, it is proper
that the matter which is in hand should be attended to.

XII. But suspicions may be derived from the fact itself, if the
administration of the whole matter is examined into in all its parts;
and these suspicions will arise partly from the affair itself when
viewed separately, and partly from the persons and the affairs taken
together. They will be able to be derived from the affair, if we
diligently consider those circumstances which have been attributed
to such affairs. And from them all the different genera, and most
subordinate species, will appear to be collected together in this
statement of the case.

It will therefore be desirable to consider in the first place what
circumstances there are which are united to the affair itself,--that
is to say, which cannot be separated from it, and with reference to
this topic it will be sufficient to consider what was done before the
affair in question took place from which a hope arose of accomplishing
it, and an opportunity was sought of doing it, what happened with
respect to the affair itself, and what ensued afterwards. In the next
place, the execution of the whole affair must be dealt with for this
class of circumstances which have been attributed to the affair has
been discussed in the second topic.

So with reference to this class of circumstances we must have a
regard to time, place, occasion, and opportunity, the force of each
particular of which has been already carefully explained when we were
laying down precepts for the confirmation of an argument. Wherefore,
that we may not appear to have given no rules respecting these things,
and that we may not, on the other hand, appear to have repeated the
same things twice over, we will briefly point out what it is proper
should be considered in each part. In reference to place, then,
opportunity is to be considered; and in reference to time, remoteness;
and in reference to occasion, the convenience suitable for doing
anything; and with reference to facility, the store and abundance
of those things by means of which anything is done more easily, or
without which it cannot be done at all.

In the next place we must consider what is added to the affair, that
is to say, what is greater, what is less, what is equally great, what
is similar. And from these topics some conjecture is derived, if
proper consideration is given to the question how affairs of greater
importance, or of less, or of equal magnitude, or of similar
character, are usually transacted. And in this class of subjects the
result also ought to be examined into; that is to say, what usually
ensues as the consequence of every action must be carefully
considered; as, for instance, fear, joy, trepidation.

But the fourth part was a necessary consequence from those
circumstances which we said were attendant on affairs. In it those
things are examined which follow the accomplishment of an affair,
either immediately or after an interval. And in this examination we
shall see whether there is any custom, any action, any system, or
practice, or habit, any general approval or disapproval on the part of
mankind in general, from which circumstance some suspicion at times
arises.

XIII. But there are some suspicions which are derived from the
circumstances which are attributed to persons and things taken
together. For many circumstances arising from fortune, and from
nature, and from the way of a man's life, and from his pursuits
and actions, and from chance, or from speeches, or from a person's
designs, or from his usual habit of mind or body, have reference to
the same things which render a statement credible or incredible, and
which are combined with a suspicion of the fact.

For it is above all things desirable that inquiry should be made in
this way, of stating the case first of all, whether anything could be
done; in the next place, whether it could have been done by any one
else; then we consider the opportunity, on which we have spoken
before; then whether what has been done is a crime which one is
bound to repent of; we must inquire too whether he had any hope of
concealing it; then whether there was any necessity for his doing so;
and as to this we must inquire both whether it was necessary that the
thing should be done at all, or that it should be done in that manner.
And some portion of these considerations refer to the design, which
has been already spoken of as what is attributed to persons; as in the
instance of that cause which we have mentioned. These circumstances
will be spoken of as before the affair,--the facts, I mean, of his
having joined himself to him so intimately on the march, of his having
sought occasion to speak with him, of his having lodged with him,
and supped with him. These circumstances were a part of the
affair,--night, and sleep. These came after the affair,--the fact
of his having departed by himself; of his having left his intimate
companion with such indifference; of his having a bloody sword.

Part of these things refer to the design. For the question is asked,
whether the plan of executing this deed appears to have been one
carefully devised and considered, or whether it was adopted so hastily
that it is not likely that any one should have gone on to crime so
rashly. And in this inquiry we ask also whether the deed could have
been done with equal ease in any other manner; or whether it could
have happened by chance. For very often if there has been a want of
money, or means, or assistants, there would not appear to have been
any opportunity of doing such a deed. If we take careful notice
in this way, we shall see that all these circumstances which are
attributed to things, and those too which are attributed to persons,
fit one another. In this case it is neither easy nor necessary, as it
is in the former divisions, to draw distinctions as to how the accuser
and how the advocate for the defence ought to handle each topic. It
is not necessary, because, when the case is once stated, the
circumstances themselves will teach those men, who do not expect to
find everything imaginable in this treatise, what is suitable for each
case; and they will apply a reasonable degree of understanding to the
rules which are here laid down, in the way of comparing them with the
systems of others. And it is not easy, because it would be an endless
business to enter into a separate explanation with respect to every
portion of every case; and besides, these circumstances are adapted to
each part of the case in different manners on different occasions.

XIV. Wherefore it will be desirable to consider what we have now set
forth. And our mind will approach invention with more ease, if it
often and carefully goes over both its own relation and that of
the opposite party, of what has been done; and if, eliciting what
suspicions each part gives rise to, it considers why, and with what
intention, and with what hopes and plans, each thing was done. Why it
was done in this manner rather than in that; why by this man rather
than by that; why it was done without any assistant, or why with this
one; why no one was privy to it, or why somebody was, or why this
particular person was; why this was done before; why this was not done
before; why it was done in this particular instance; why it was done
afterwards; what was done designedly, or what came as a consequence of
the original action; whether the speech is consistent with the facts
or with itself; whether this is a token of this thing, or of that
thing, or of both this and that, and which it is a token of most; what
has been done which ought not to have been done, or what has not been
done which ought to have been done.

When the mind considers every portion of the whole business with this
intention, then the topics which have been reserved, will come into
use, which we have already spoken of; and certain arguments will
be derived from them both separately and unitedly. Part of which
arguments will depend on what is probable, part on what is necessary;
there will be added also to conjecture questions, testimony, reports.
All of which things each party ought to endeavour by a similar use of
these rules to turn to the advantage of his own cause. For it will be
desirable to suggest suspicions from questions, from evidence, and
from some report or other, in the same manner as they have been
derived from the cause, or the person, or the action.

Wherefore those men appear to us to be mistaken who think that this
kind of suspicion does not need any regular system, and so do those
who think that it is better to give rules in a different manner about
the whole method of conjectural argument. For all conjecture must be
derived from the same topics; for both the cause of every rumour and
the truth of it will be found to arise from the things attributed to
him who in his inquiry has made any particular statement, and to him
who has done so in his evidence. But in every cause a part of the
arguments is joined to that cause alone which is expressed, and it is
derived from it in such a manner that it cannot be very conveniently
transferred from it to all other causes of the same kind; but part
of it is more rambling, and adapted either to all causes of the same
kind, or at all events to most of them.

XV. These arguments then which can be transferred to many causes,
we call common topics. For a common topic either contains some
amplification of a well understood thing,--as if any one were desirous
to show that a man who has murdered his father is worthy of the very
extremity of punishment; and this topic is not to be used except when
the cause has been proved and is being summed up;--or of a doubtful
matter which has some probable arguments which can be produced on the
other side of the question also; as a man may say that it is right to
put confidence in suspicions, and, on the contrary, that it is not
right to put confidence in suspicions. And a portion of the common
topics is employed in indignation or in complaint, concerning which we
have spoken already. A part is used in urging any probable reason on
either side.

But an oration is chiefly distinguished and made plain by a sparing
introduction of common topics, and by giving the hearers actual
information by some topics, and by confirming previously used
arguments in the same way. For it is allowable to say something common
when any topic peculiar to the cause is introduced with care; and when
the mind of the hearer is refreshed so as to be inclined to attend to
what follows, or is reawakened by everything which has been already
said. For all the embellishments of elocution, in which there is a
great deal both of sweetness and gravity, and all things, too, which
have any dignity in the invention of words or sentences, are bestowed
upon common topics.

Wherefore there are not as many common topics for orators as there are
for lawyers. For they cannot be handled with elegance and weight, as
their nature requires, except by those who have acquired a great flow
of words and ideas by constant practice. And this is enough for us to
say in a general way concerning the entire class of common topics.

XVI. Now we will proceed to explain what common topics are usually
available in a conjectural statement of a case. As for instance--that
it is proper to place confidence in suspicions, or that it is not
proper, that it is proper to believe witnesses, or that it is not
proper, that it is proper to believe examinations, or that it is not
proper, that it is proper to pay attention to the previous course of a
man's life, or that it is not proper, that it is quite natural that a
man who has done so and so should have committed this crime also, or
that it is not natural, that it is especially necessary to consider
the motive, or that it is not necessary. And all these common topics,
and any others which arise out of any argument peculiar to the cause
in hand, may be turned either way.

But there is one certain topic for an accuser by which he exaggerates
the atrocity of an action, and there is another by which he says that
it is not necessary to pity the miserable. That, too, is a topic for
an advocate for the defence by which the false accusations of the
accusers are shown up with indignation, and that by which pity is
endeavoured to be excited by complaints. These and all other common
topics are derived from the same rules from which the other systems
of arguments proceed, but those are handled in a more delicate, and
acute, and subtle manner, and these with more gravity, and more
embellishment, and with carefully selected words and ideas. For in
them the object is, that that which is stated may appear to be true.
In these, although it is desirable to preserve the appearance of
truth, still the main object is to give importance to the statement.
Now let us pass on to another statement of the case.

XVII. When there is a dispute as to the name of a thing because the
meaning of a name is to be defined by words, it is called a definitive
statement. By way of giving an example of this, the following case may
be adduced. Caius Flaminius, who as consul met with great disasters in
the second Punic war, when he was tribune of the people, proposed, in
a very seditious manner, an agrarian law to the people, against the
consent of the senate, and altogether against the will of all the
nobles. While he was holding an assembly of the people, his own father
dragged him from the temple. He is impeached of treason. The charge
is--"You attacked the majesty of the people in dragging down a tribune
of the people from the temple." The denial is--"I did not attack the
majesty of the people." The question is--"Whether he attacked the
majesty of the people or not?" The argument is--"I only used the power
which I legitimately had over my own son." The denial of this argument
is--"But a man who, by the power belonging to him as a father, that is
to say, as a private individual, attacks the power of a tribune of the
people, that is to say, the power of the people itself, attacks the
majesty of the people." The question for the judges is--"Whether a man
attacks the majesty of the people who uses his power as a father in
opposition to the power of a tribune?" And all the arguments must be
brought to bear on this question.

And, that no one may suppose by any chance that we are not aware that
some other statement of the case may perhaps be applicable to this
cause, we are taking that portion only for which we are going to give
rules. But when all parts have been explained in this book, any one,
if he will only attend diligently, will see every sort of statement
in every sort of cause, and all their parts, and all the discussions
which are incidental to them. For we shall mention them all.

The first topic then for an accuser is a short and plain definition,
and one in accordance with the general opinion of men, of that name,
the meaning of which is the subject of inquiry. In this manner--"To
attack the majesty of the people is to detract from the dignity, or
the rank, or the power of the people, or of those men to whom the
people has given power." This definition being thus briefly set forth
in words, must be confirmed by many assertions and reasons and must
be shown to be such as you have described it. Afterwards it will be
desirable to add to the definition which you have given, the action
of the man who is accused, and to add it too with reference to the
character which you have proved it to have. Take for instance--"to
attack the majesty of the people." You must show that the adversary
does attack the majesty of the people, and you must confirm this whole
topic by a common topic, by which the atrocity or indignity of the
fact, and the whole guilt of it, and also our indignation at it, may
be increased.

After that it will be desirable to invalidate the definition of the
adversaries, but that will be invalidated if it be proved to be false.
This proof must be deduced from the belief of men concerning it,
when we consider in what manner and under what circumstances men
are accustomed to use that expression in their ordinary writing or
talking. It will also be invalidated if the proof of that description
be shown to be discreditable or useless, and if it be shown what
disadvantages will ensue if that position be once admitted. And
it will be derived from the divisions of honour and usefulness,
concerning which we will give rules when we lay down a system
of deliberations. And if we compare the definition given by our
adversaries with our own definition, and prove our own to be true, and
honourable, and useful, and theirs to be entirely different. But we
shall seek out things like them in an affair of either greater, or
less, or equal importance, from which our description will be proved.

XVIII Now, if there be more matters to be defined,--as for instance,
if we inquire whether he is a thief or a sacrilegious person who has
stolen sacred vessels from a private house,--we shall have to employ
many definitions, and then the whole cause will have to be dealt with
on a similar principle. But it is a common topic to dwell on the
wickedness of that man who endeavours to wrest to his own purposes not
only the effect of things, but also the meaning of words, in order
both to do as he pleases, and to call what he does by whatever name he
likes.

Then the first topic to be used by an advocate for the defence, is
also a brief and plain definition of a name, adopted in accordance
with the opinion of men. In this way--To diminish the majesty of the
people is to usurp some of the public powers when you are not invested
with any office. And then the confirmation of this definition is
derived from similar instances and similar principles. Afterwards
comes the separation of one's own action from that definition. Then
comes the common topic by which the expediency or honesty of the
action is increased.

Then comes the reprehension of the definition of the opposite party,
which is also derived from all the same topics as those which we have
prescribed to the accuser. And afterwards other arguments will be
adduced besides the common topic. But that will be a common topic
for the advocate of the defence to use, by which he will express
indignation that the accuser not only alters facts in order to bring
him into danger, but that he attempts also to alter words. For
those common topics which are assumed either for the purpose of
demonstrating the falsehood of the accusations of the prosecutor, or
for exciting pity, or for expressing indignation at an action, or for
the purpose of deterring people from showing pity, are derived from
the magnitude of the danger, not from the nature of the cause.
Wherefore they are incidental not to every cause, but to every
description of cause. We have made mention of them in speaking of the
conjectural statement of a case, but we shall use induction when the
cause requires.

XIX But when the pleading appears to require some translation, or to
need any alteration, either because he is not pleading who ought to
do so, or he is not pleading with the man he ought, or before the men
whom he ought to have for hearers, or in accordance with the proper
law, or under liability to the proper punishment, or in reference to
the proper accusation, or at the proper time, it is then called a
transferable statement of the case. We should require many examples of
this if we were to inquire into every sort of translation, but because
the principle on which the rules proceed is similar, we have no need
of a superfluity of instances. And in our usual practice it happens
from many causes that such translations occur but seldom. For many
actions are prevented by the exceptions allowed by the praetors, and
we have the civil law established in such a way that that man is sure
to lose his cause who does not conduct it as he ought. So that
those actions greatly depend on the state of the law. For there the
exceptions are demanded, and an opportunity is allowed of conducting
the cause in some manner, and every formula of private actions is
arranged. But in actual trials they occur less frequently, and yet, if
they ever do occur at all, they are such that by themselves they have
less strength, but they are confirmed by the assumption of some other
statement in addition to them. As in a certain trial which took place
"When a certain person had been prosecuted for poisoning, and, because
he was also accused of parricide, the trial was ordered to proceed
out of its regular order, when in the accusation some charges were
corroborated by witnesses and arguments, but the parricide was barely
mentioned, it was proper for the advocate for the defence to dwell
much and long on this circumstance, as, nothing whatever was proved
respecting the death of the accused person's parent, and therefore
that it was a scandalous thing to inflict that punishment on him which
is inflicted on parricides, but that that must inevitably be the case
if he were convicted, since that it is added as one of the counts of
the indictment, and since it is on that account that the trial has
been ordered to be taken out of its regular order. Therefore if it is
not right that that punishment should be inflicted on the criminal, it
is also not right that he should be convicted, since that punishment
must inevitably follow a conviction." Here the advocate for the
defence, by bringing the commutation of the punishment into his
speech, according to the transferable class of topics, will invalidate
the whole accusation. But he will also confirm the alteration by a
conjectural statement of the case when employed in defending his
client on the other charges.

XX But we may give an example of translation in a cause, in this
way--When certain armed men had come for the purpose of committing
violence, and armed men were also prepared on the other side, and when
one of the armed men with his sword cut off the hand of a certain
Roman knight who resisted his violence, the man whose hand had been
cut off brings an action for the injury. The man against whom the
action is brought pleads a demurrer before the praetor, without there
being any prejudice to a man on trial for his life. The man who brings
the action demands a trial on the simple fact, the man against whom
the action is brought says that a demurrer ought to be added. The
question is--"Shall the demurrer be allowed or not?" The reason
is--"No, for it is not desirable in an action for damages that there
should be any prejudged decision of a crime, such as is the subject of
inquiry when assassins are on their trial." The arguments intended to
invalidate this reason are--"The injuries are such that it is a shame
that a decision should not be come to as early as possible." The
thing to be decided is--"Whether the atrocity of the injuries is a
sufficient reason why, while that point is before the tribunal, a
previous decision should be given concerning some greater crime,
concerning which a tribunal is prepared." And this is the example. But
in every cause the question ought to be put to both parties, by whom,
and by whose agency, and how, and when it is desirable that the action
should be brought, or the decision given; or what ought to be decided
concerning that matter.

That ought to be assumed from the divisions of the law, concerning
which we must speak hereafter; and we then ought to argue as to what
is usually done in similar cases, and to consider whether, in this
instance, out of wickedness, one course is really adopted and another
pretended; or whether the tribunal has been appointed and the action
allowed to proceed through folly or necessity, because it could not be
done in any other manner, or owing to an opportunity which offered for
acting in such a manner; or whether it has been done rightly without
any interruption of any sort. But it is a common topic to urge against
the man who seeks to avail himself of a demurrer to an action, that
he is fleeing from a decision and from punishment, because he has
no confidence in the justice of his cause. And that, owing to the
demurrer, everything will be in confusion, if matters are not
conducted and brought into court as they ought to be; that is to
say, if it is either pleaded against a man it ought not, or with an
improper penalty, or with an improper charge, or at an improper time;
and this principle applies to any confusion of every sort of tribunal.
Those three statements of cases then, which are not susceptible of any
decisions, must be treated in this manner. At present let us consider
the question and its divisions on general principles.

XXI. When the fact and the name of the action in question is agreed
upon, and when there is no dispute as to the character of the action
to be commenced; then the effect, and the nature, and the character of
the business is inquired into. We have already said, that there appear
to be two divisions of this; one which relates to facts and one which
relates to law. It is like this: "A certain person made a minor his
heir, but the minor died before he had come into the property which
was under the care of guardians. A dispute has arisen concerning
the inheritance which came to the minor, between those who are the
reversionary heirs of the father of the minor,--the possession belongs
to the reversionary heirs." The first statement is that of the next of
kin--"That money, concerning which he, whose next of kin we are, said
nothing in his will, belongs to us." The reply is--"No, it belongs
to us who are the reversionary heirs according to the will of his
father." The thing to be inquired into is--To whom does it rightfully
belong? The argument is--"For the father made a will for himself and
for his son as long as the latter was a minor, wherefore it is
quite clear that the things which belonged to the son are now ours,
according to the will of the father." The argument to upset this
is--"Aye, the father made his own will, and appointed you as
reversionary heir, not to his son, but himself. Wherefore, nothing
except what belonged to him himself can be yours by his will." The
point to be determined is, whether any one can make a will to affect
the property of his son who is a minor, or, whether the reversionary
heirs of the father of the family himself, are not the heirs of his
son also as long as he is a minor. And it is not foreign to the
subject, (in order that I may not, on the one hand, omit to mention
it, or, on the other, keep continually repeating it,) to mention a
thing here which has a bearing on many questions. There are causes
which have many reasons, though the grounds of the cause are simple,
and that is the case when what has been done, or what is being
defended, may appear right or natural on many different accounts, as
in this very cause. For this further reason may be suggested by the
heirs--"For there cannot be more heirs than one of one property, for
causes quite dissimilar, nor has it ever happened, that one man was
heir by will, and another by law, of the same property." This, again,
is what will be replied, in order to invalidate this--"It is not one
property only; because one part of it was the adventitious property of
the minor, whose heir no one had been appointed by will at that time,
in the case of anything happening to the minor, and with respect to
the other portion of the property, the inclination of the father, even
after he was dead, had the greatest weight, and that, now that the
minor is dead, gives the property to his own heirs."

The question to be decided is, "Whether it was one property?" And
then, if they employ this argument by way of invalidating the other,
"That there can be many heirs of one property for quite dissimilar
causes," the question to be decided arises out of that argument,
namely "Whether there can be more heirs than one, of different classes
and character, to one property?"

XXII Therefore, in one statement of the case, it has been understood
how there are more reasons than one, more topics than one to
invalidate such reasons, and besides that, more questions than one for
the decision of the judge. Now let us look to the rules for this class
of question. We must consider in what the rights of each party, or of
all the parties (if there are many parties to the suit), consist. The
beginning, then, appears derived from nature; but some things seem to
have become adopted in practice for some consideration of expediency
which is either more or less evident to us. But afterwards things
which were approved of, or which seemed useful, either through habit,
or because of their truth, appeared to have been confirmed by laws,
and some things seem to be a law of nature, which it is not any
vague opinion, but a sort of innate instinct that implants in us,
as religion, piety, revenge for injuries, gratitude, attention to
superiors, and truth. They call religion, that which is conversant
with the fear of, and ceremonious observance paid to the gods; they
call that piety, which warns us to fulfil our duties towards our
country, our parents, or others connected with us by ties of blood,
gratitude is that which retains a recollection of honours and benefits
conferred on one, and acts of friendship done to one, and which shows
itself by a requital of good offices, revenge for injuries is that by
which we repel violence and insult from ourselves and from those who
ought to be dear to us, by defending or avenging ourselves, and by
means of which we punish offences, attention to superiors, they call
the feeling under the influence of which we feel reverence for and pay
respect to those who excel us in wisdom or honour or in any dignity,
truth, they style that habit by which we take care that nothing has
been or shall be done in any other manner than what we state. And the
laws of nature themselves are less inquired into in a controversy of
this sort, because they have no particular connexion with the civil
law of which we are speaking and also, because they are somewhat
remote from ordinary understandings. Still it is often desirable to
introduce them for the purpose of some comparison, or with a view to
add dignity to the discussion.

But the laws of habit are considered to be those which without any
written law, antiquity has sanctioned by the common consent of all
men. And with reference to this habit there are some laws which are
now quite fixed by their antiquity. Of which sort there are many other
laws also, and among them far the greatest part of those laws which
the praetors are in the habit of including in their edicts. But some
kinds of law have already been established by certain custom, such as
those relating to covenants, equity, formal decisions. A covenant
is that which is agreed upon between two parties, because it is
considered to be so just that it is said to be enforced by justice,
equity is that which is equal to all men, a formal decision is that by
which something has been established by the declared opinion of some
person or persons authorized to pronounce one. As for regular laws,
they can only be ascertained from the laws. It is desirable, then, by
trying over every part of the law, to take notice of and to extract
from these portions of the law whatever shall appear to arise out of
the case itself, or out of a similar one, or out of one of greater or
less importance. But since, as has been already said, there are two
kinds of common topics, one of which contains the amplification of a
doubtful matter, and the other of a certain one, we must consider what
the case itself suggests, and what can be and ought to be amplified by
a common topic. For certain topics to suit every possible case cannot
be laid down, and perhaps in most of them it will be necessary at
times to rely on the authority of the lawyers, and at times to speak
against it. But we must consider, in this case and in all cases,
whether the case itself suggests any common topics besides those which
we have mentioned.

Now let us consider the juridical kind of inquiry and its different
divisions. XXIII The juridical inquiry is that in which the nature of
justice and injustice, and the principle of reward or punishment, is
examined. Its divisions are two, one of which we call the absolute
inquiry, and the other the one which is accessory. That is the
absolute inquiry which itself contains in itself the question of right
and not right, not as the inquiry about facts does, in an overhand and
obscure manner, but openly and intelligibly. It is of this sort.--When
the Thebans had defeated the Lacedaemonians in war, as it was nearly
universal custom among the Greeks, when they were waging war against
one another, for those who were victorious to erect some trophy
on their borders, for the sake only of declaring their victory at
present, not that it might remain for ever as a memorial of the war,
they erected a brazen trophy. They are accused before the Amphictyons,
that is, before the common council of Greece. The charge is, "They
ought not to have done so." The denial is, "We ought." The question
is, "Whether they ought." The reason is, "For we gained such glory
by our valour in that war, that we wished to leave an everlasting
memorial of it to posterity." The argument adduced to invalidate this
is, "But still it is not right for Greeks to erect an eternal memorial
of then enmity to Greeks." The question to be decided is, "As for the
sake of celebrating their own excessive valour Greeks have erected an
imperishable monument of their enmity to Greeks, whether they have
done well or ill?" We, therefore, have now put this reason in the
mouth of the Thebans, in order that this class of cause which we
are now considering might be thoroughly understood. For if we had
furnished them with that argument which is perhaps the one which
they actually used, "We did so because our enemies warred against us
without any considerations of justice and piety," we should then be
digressing to the subject of retorting an accusation, of which we will
speak hereafter. But it is manifest that both kinds of question are
incidental to this controversy. And arguments must be derived for
it from the same topics as those which are applicable to the cause
depending on matters of fact, which has been all ready treated of.
But to take many weighty common topics both from the cause itself, if
there is any opportunity for employing the language of indignation or
complaint, and also from the advantage and general character of the
law, will be not only allowable, but proper, if the dignity of the
cause appears to require such expedients.

XXIV. At present let us consider the assumptive portion of the
juridical inquiry. But it is then called assumptive, when the fact
cannot be proved by its own intrinsic evidence, but is defended by
some argument brought from extraneous circumstances. Its divisions
are four in number: comparison, the retort of the accusation, the
refutation of it as far as regards oneself, and concession.

Comparison is when any action which intrinsically cannot be approved,
is defended by reference to that for the sake of which it was done. It
is something of this sort:--"A certain general, when he was blockaded
by the enemy and could not escape by any possible means, made a
covenant with them to leave behind his arms and his baggage, on
condition of being allowed to lead away his soldiers in safety. And he
did so. Having lost his arms and his baggage, he saved his men, beyond
the hopes of any one. He is prosecuted for treason." Then comes the
definition of treason. But let us consider the topic which we are at
present discussing.

The charge is, "He had no business to leave behind the arms and
baggage." The denial is, "Yes, he had." The question is, "Whether he
had any right to do so?" The reason for doing so is, "For else he
would have lost all his soldiers." The argument brought to invalidate
this is either the conjectural one, "They would not have been lost,"
or the other conjectural one, "That was not your reason for doing so."
And from this arise the questions for decision: "Whether they would
have been lost?" and, "Whether that was the reason why he did so?" Or
else, this comparative reason which we want at this minute: "But it
was better to lose his soldiers than to surrender the arms and baggage
to the enemy." And from this arises the question for the decision of
the judges: "As all the soldiers must have been lost unless they had
come into this covenant, whether it was better to lose the soldiers,
or to agree to these conditions?"

It will be proper to deal with this kind of cause by reference to
these topics, and to employ the principles of, and rules for the other
statements of cases also. And especially to employ conjectures for the
purpose of invalidating that which those who are accused will compare
with the act which is alleged against them as a crime. And that will
be done if either that result which the advocates for the defence say
would have happened unless that action had been performed which is now
brought before the court, be denied to have been likely to ensue; or
if it can be proved that it was done with a different object and in a
different manner from that stated by the man who is on his trial. The
confirmation of that statement, and also the argument used by the
opposite party to invalidate it, must both be derived from the
conjectural statement of the case. But if the accused person is
brought before the court, because of his action coming under the name
of some particular crime, (as is the case in this instance, for the
man is prosecuted for treason), it will be desirable to employ a
definition and the rules for a definition.

XXV. And this usually takes place in this kind of examination, so that
it is desirable to employ both conjecture and definition. But if
any other kind of inquiry arises, it will be allowable on similar
principles to transfer to it the rules for that kind of inquiry. For
the accuser must of all things take pains to invalidate, by as many
reasons as possible, the very fact on account of which the person on
his trial thinks that it is granted to him that he was right. And it
is easy to do so, if he attempts to overturn that argument by as many
statements of the case as he can employ.

But comparison itself, when separated from the other kinds of
discussion, will be considered according to its own intrinsic power,
if that which is mentioned in the comparison is shown, either not to
have been honourable, or not to have been useful, or not to have been
necessary, or not so greatly useful, or not so very honourable, or not
so exceedingly necessary.

In the next place it is desirable for the accuser to separate the
action which he himself is accusing, from that which the advocate for
the defence compares with it. And he will do that if he shows that it
is not usually done in such a manner, and that it ought not to be done
so, and that there is no reason why this thing should be done on this
account; for instance, that those things which have been provided for
the sake of safety, should be surrendered to the enemy for the sake of
safety. Afterwards it will be desirable to compare the injury with the
benefit, and altogether to compare the action which is impeached with
that which is praised by the advocate for the defence or which is
attempted to be proved as what must inevitably have ensued, and then,
by disparaging the one at the same time to exaggerate the importance
of the mischief caused by the other. That will be effected if it
be shown that that which the person on his trial avoided was more
honourable, more advantageous, and more necessary than that which
he did. But the influence and character of what is honourable, and
useful, and necessary, will be ascertained in the rules given for
deliberation.

In the next place, it will be desirable to explain that comparative
kind of judicial decision as if it were a deliberative cause and
then afterwards to discuss it by the light thrown on it by rules for
deliberation. For let this be the question for judicial decision which
we have already mentioned--"As all the soldiers would have been lost
if they had not come to this agreement, was it better for the soldiers
to be lost, or to come to this agreement?" It will be desirable that
this should be dealt with with reference to the topics concerning
deliberation, as if the matter were to come to some consultation.

XXVI. But the advocate for the defence will take the topics in
accordance with which other statements of the case are made by the
accuser, and will prepare his own defence from those topics with
reference to the same statements. But all other topics which belong to
the comparison, he will deal with in the contrary manner.

The common topics will be these,--the accuser will press his charges
against the man who confesses some discreditable or pernicious action,
or both, but still seeks to make some defence, and will allege
the mischievous or discreditable nature of his conduct with great
indignation. The advocate for the defence will insist upon it, that no
action ought to be considered pernicious or discreditable, or, on the
other hand, advantageous or creditable, unless it is ascertained with
what intention, at what time, and on what account it was done. And
this topic is so common, that if it is well handled in this cause it
is likely to be of great weight in convincing the hearers. And there
is another topic, by means of which the magnitude of the service done
is demonstrated with very great amplification, by reference to the
usefulness, or honourableness, or necessity of the action. And there
is a third topic, by means of which the matter which is expressed in
words is placed before the eyes of those men who are the hearers, so
that they think that they themselves also would have done the same
things, if the same circumstances and the same cause for doing so had
happened to them at the same time.

The retorting of a charge takes place, when the accused person,
having confessed that of which he is accused, says that he did it
justifiably, being induced by the sin committed against him by the
other party. As in this case--"Horatius, when he had slain the three
Curiatii and lost his two brothers, returned home victorious. He saw
his sister not troubled about the death of her brothers, but at the
same time calling on the name of Curiatius, who had been betrothed to
her, with groans and lamentation. Being indignant, he slew the maid".
He is prosecuted.

The charge is, "You slew your sister wrongfully". The refutation is "I
slew her lawfully". The question is, "Whether he slew her lawfully".
The reason is, "Yes, for she was lamenting the death of enemies, and
was indifferent to that of her brothers, she was grieved that I and
the Roman people were victorious". The argument to invalidate this
reason is, "Still she ought not to have been put to death by her
brother without being convicted". On this the question for the
decision of the judges is, "Whether when Horatia was showing her
indifference to the death of her brothers, and lamenting that of the
enemy, and not rejoicing at the victory of her brother and of the
Roman people, she deserved to be put to death by her brother without
being condemned".

XXVII For this kind of cause, in the first place, whatever is given
out of the other statements of cases ought to be taken, as has been
already enjoined when speaking of comparison. After that, if there is
any opportunity of doing so, some statement of the case ought to be
employed by which he to whom the crime is imputed may be defended. In
the next place, we ought to argue that the fault which the accused
person is imputing to another, is a lighter one than that which he
himself committed; in the next place, we ought to employ some portion
of a demurrer, and to show by whom, and through whose agency, and
how, and when that matter ought to have been tried, or adjudged, or
decided. And at the same time, we ought to show that it was not proper
that punishment should have been inflicted before any judgment was
pronounced. Then we must also point out the laws and the course of
judicial proceeding by which that offence which the accused person
punished of his own accord, might have been chastised according to
precedent, and by the regular course of justice. In the next place, it
will be right to deny that it is proper to listen to the charge which
is brought by the accused person against his victim, when he who
brings it did not choose to submit it to the decision of the judges,
and it may be urged that one ought to consider that on which no
decision has been pronounced, as if it had not been done, and after
that to point out the impudence of those men who are now before
the judges accusing the man whom they themselves condemned without
consulting the judges, and are now bringing him to trial on whom they
have already inflicted punishment. After this we may say that it is
bringing irregularity into the courts of justice, and that the judges
will be advancing further than their power authorizes them, if they
pronounce judgment at the same time in the case of the accused person,
and of him whom the accused person impeaches. And in the next place,
we may point out if this rule is established, and if men avenge one
offence by another offence, and one injury by another injury, what
vast inconvenience will ensue from such conduct, and that if the
person who is now the prosecutor had chosen to do so too, there would
have been no need of this trial at all, and that if every one else
were to do so, there would be an end of all courts of justice.

After that it may be pointed out, that even if the maiden who is now
accused by him of this crime had been convicted, he would not himself
have had any right to inflict punishment on her, so that it is a
shameful thing that the man who would have had no right to punish her,
even if she had been convicted, should have punished her without her
being even brought to trial at all. And then the accused person may
be called upon to produce the law which he says justifies his having
acted in such a manner.

After that, as we have enjoined when speaking of comparison, that that
which is mentioned in comparison should be disparaged by the accuser
as much as possible, so, too, in this kind of argument, it will be
advantageous to compare the fault of the party on whom the accusation
is retorted with the crime of the accused person who justified his
action as having been lawfully done. And after that it is necessary to
point out that that is not an action of such a sort, that on account
of it this other crime ought to have been committed. The last point,
as in the case of comparison, is the assumption of a judicial
decision, and the dilating upon it in the way of amplification, in
accordance with the rules given respecting deliberation.

XXVIII But the advocate for the defence will invalidate what is urged
by means of other statements from those topics which have already been
given. But the demurrer itself he will prove first of all, by dwelling
on the guilt and audacity of the man to whom he imputes the crime, and
by bringing it before the eyes of the judges with as much indignation
as possible if the case admits of it, and also with vehement
complaint, and afterwards by proving that the accused person chastised
the offence more lightly than the offender deserved, by comparing the
punishment inflicted with the injury done. In the next place, it will
be desirable to invalidate by opposite arguments those topics which
are handled by the prosecutor in such a way that they are capable of
being refuted and retorted, of which kind are the three last topics
which I have mentioned. But that most vehement attack of the
prosecutors, by which they attempt to prove that irregularity will be
introduced into all the courts of justice if power is given to any man
of inflicting punishment on a person who has not been convicted, will
have its force much weakened, first of all, if the injury be shown to
be such as appears intolerable not only to a good man but absolutely
to any freeman, and in the next place to be so manifest that it could
not have been denied even by the person who had done it, and moreover,
of such a kind that the person who did chastise it was the person
who above all others was bound to chastise it. So that it was not so
proper nor so honourable for that matter to be brought before a court
of justice as for it to be chastised in that manner in which, and by
that person by whom it was chastised, and lastly, that the case was
so notorious that there was no occasion whatever for a judicial
investigation into it. And here it will be proper to show, by
arguments and by other similar means, that there are very many things
so atrocious and so notorious, that it is not only not necessary, but
that it is not even desirable to wait for the slow proceedings of a
judicial trial.

There is a common topic for an accuser to employ against a person,
who, when he cannot deny the fact of which he is accused, still
derives some hope from his attempt to show that irregularity will be
introduced into all courts of justice by such proceedings. And here
there will come in the demonstration of the usefulness of judicial
proceedings, and the complaint of the misfortune of that person who
has been punished without being condemned; and the indignation to
be expressed against the audacity and cruelty of the man who has
inflicted the punishment. There is also a topic for the advocate for
the defence to employ, in complaining of the audacity of the person
whom he chastised; and in urging that the case ought to be judged
of, not by the name of the action itself, but with reference to the
intention of the person who committed it, and the cause for which, and
the time at which it was committed. And in pointing out what great
mischief will ensue either from the injurious conduct, or the
wickedness of some one, unless such excessive and undisguised audacity
were chastised by him whose reputation, or parents, or children, or
something else which either necessarily is, or at least ought to be
dear to every one, is affected, by such conduct.

XXIX. The transference of an accusation takes place when the
accusation of that crime which is imputed to one by the opposite party
is transferred to some other person or circumstance. And that is done
in two ways. For sometimes the motive itself is transferred,
and sometimes the act. We may employ this as an instance of the
transference of the motive:--"The Rhodians sent some men as
ambassadors to Athens. The quaestors did not give the ambassadors the
money for their expenses which they ought to have given them. The
ambassadors consequently did not go. They are impeached." The charge
brought against them is, "They ought to have gone." The denial is,
"They ought not." The question is, "Whether they ought." The reason
alleged is, "Because the money for their expenses, which is usually
given to ambassadors from the public treasury, was not given to them
by the quaestor." The argument brought to invalidate that reason is,
"Still you ought to have discharged the duty which was entrusted to
you by the public authority." The question for the decision of the
judges is, "Whether, as the money which ought to have been supplied
from the public treasury was not furnished to those men who were
appointed ambassadors, they were nevertheless bound to discharge the
duties of their embassy." In this class of inquiry, as in all the
other kinds, it will be desirable to see if anything can be assumed,
either from a conjectural statement of the case, or from any other
kind of statement. And after that, many arguments can be brought to
bear on this question, both from comparison, and from the transference
of the guilt to other parties.

But the prosecutor will, in the first place, if he can, defend the man
through whose fault the accused person says that that action was done;
and if he cannot, he will declare that the fault of the other party
has nothing to do with this trial, but only the fault of this man whom
he himself is accusing. Afterwards he will say that it is proper for
every one to consider only what is his own duty; and that if the one
party did wrong, that was no reason for the other doing wrong too. And
in the next place, that if the other man has committed a fault, he
ought to be accused separately as this man is, and that the accusation
of the one is not to be mixed up with the defence of the other.

But when the advocate for the defence has dealt with the other
arguments, if any arise out of other statements of the case, he will
argue in this way with reference to the transference of the charge to
other parties. In the first place, he will point out to whose fault
it was owing that the thing happened; and in the next place, as it
happened in consequence of the fault of some one else, he will point
out that he either could not or ought not to have done what the
prosecutor says he ought: that he could not, will be considered with
reference to the particulars of expediency, in which the force of
necessity is involved; that he ought not, with reference to the
honourableness of the proceeding. We will consider each part more
minutely when talking of the deliberative kind of argument. Then
he will say, that everything was done by the accused person which
depended on his own power; that less was done than ought to have been,
was the consequence of the fault of another person. After that,
in pointing out the criminality of that other person, it will be
requisite to show how great the good will and zeal of the accused
person himself was. And that must be established by proofs of this
sort--by his diligence in all the rest of the affair, by his previous
actions, or by his previous expressions. And it may be well to show
that it would have been advantageous to the man himself to have done
this, and disadvantageous not to have done it, and that to have done
it would have been more in accordance with the rest of his life, than
the not having done it, which, was owing to the fault of the other
party.

XXX But if the criminality is not to be transferred to some particular
person, but to some circumstance, as in this very case--"If the
quaestor had been dead, and on that account the money had not been
given to the ambassadors," then, as the accusation of the other party,
and the denial of the fault is removed, it will be desirable to employ
the other topics in a similar manner, and to assume whatever is
suitable to one's purpose from the divisions of admitted facts. But
common topics are usually nearly the same to both parties, and then,
after the previous topics are taken for granted, will suit either to
the greatest certainty. The accuser will use the topic of indignation
at the fact, the defender, when the guilt belongs to another and does
not attach to himself, will urge that he does not deserve to have any
punishment inflicted on him.

But the removal of the criminality from oneself is effected when the
accused person declares, that what is attributed to him as a crime
did not affect him or his duty, and asserts that if there was any
criminality in it, it ought not to be attributed to him. That kind of
dispute is of this sort--"In the treaty which was formerly made with
the Samnites, a certain young man of noble birth held the pig which
was to be sacrificed, by the command of the general. But when the
treaty was disavowed by the senate, and the general surrendered to the
Samnites, one of the senators asserted that the man who held the pig
ought also to be given up." The charge is, "He ought to be given up."
The denial is, "He ought not." The question is, "Whether he ought or
not." The reason is, "For it was no particular duty of mine, nor did
it depend on my power, being as young as I was, and only a private
individual, and while the general was present with the supreme
authority and command, to take care that the treaty was solemnised
with all the regular formalities." The argument to invalidate this
reason is, "But since you became an accomplice in a most infamous
treaty, sanctioned with the most formal solemnities of religion, you
ought to be surrendered." The question for the judges to decide is
"Whether, since a man who had no official authority was present, by
the command of the general, aiding and abetting in the adopting of
the treaty, and in that important religious ceremony, he ought to be
surrendered to the enemy or not." This kind of question is so far
different from the previous one, because in that the accused person
admits that he ought to have done what the prosecutor says ought
to have been done, but he attributes the cause to some particular
circumstance or person, which was a hindrance to his own intention,
without having recourse to any admission. For that has greater force,
which will be understood presently. But in this case a man ought
not to accuse the opposite party, nor to attempt to transfer the
criminality to another, but he ought to show that that has not and
never has had any reference whatever to himself, either in respect
of power or duty. And in this kind of cause there is this new
circumstance, that the prosecutor often works up a fresh accusation
out of the topics employed, to remove the guilt from the accused
person. As for instance,--"If any one accuses a man who, while he was
praetor, summoned the people to take up arms for an expedition, at
a time when the consuls were in the city." For as in the previous
instance the accused person showed that the matter in question had
no connexion with his duty or his power, so in this case also, the
prosecutor himself, by removing the action done from the duty and
power of the person who is put on his trial, confirms the accusation
by this very argument. And in this case it will be proper for each
party to examine, by means of all the divisions of honour and
expediency, by examples, and tokens, and by arguing what is the duty,
or right, or power of each individual, and whether he had that right,
and duty, and power which is the subject of the present discussion, or
not. But it will be desirable for common topics to be assumed from the
case itself, if there is any room in it for expressions of indignation
or complaint.

XXI. The admission of the fact takes place, when the accused person
does not justify the fact itself, but demands to be pardoned for it.
And the parts of this division of the case are two: purgation and
deprecation. Purgation is that by which (not the action, but) the
intention of the person who is accused, is defended. That has three
subdivisions,--ignorance, accident, necessity.

Ignorance is when the person who is accused declares that he did not
know something or other. As, "There was a law in a certain nation
that no one should sacrifice a calf to Diana. Some sailors, when in a
terrible tempest they were being tossed about in the open sea, made a
vow that if they reached the harbour which they were in sight of, they
would sacrifice a calf to the god who presided over that place. Being
ignorant of the law, when they landed, they sacrificed a calf." They
are prosecuted. The accusation is, "You sacrificed a calf to a god to
whom it was unlawful to sacrifice a calf." The denial consists in the
admission which has been already stated. The reason is, "I was not
aware that it was unlawful." The argument brought to invalidate that
reason is, "Nevertheless, since you have done what was not lawful, you
are according to the law deserving of punishment." The question for
the decision of the judge is, "Whether, as he did what he ought not to
have done, and was not aware that he ought not to have done so, he is
worthy of punishment or not."

But accident is introduced into the admission when it is proved that
some power of fortune interfered with his intention; as in this
case:--"There was a law among the Lacedaemonians, that if the
contractor failed to supply victims for a certain sacrifice, he should
be accounted guilty of a capital offence; and accordingly, the man who
had contracted to supply them, when the day of the sacrifice was at
hand, began to drive in cattle from the country into the city. It
happened on a sudden that the river Eurotus, which flows by Lacedaemon,
was raised by some violent storms, and became so great and furious
that the victims could not by any possibility be conveyed across. The
contractor, for the sake of showing his own willingness, placed all
the victims on the bank of the river, in order that every one on
the other side of the river might be able to see them. But though,
everyone was aware that it was the unexpected rise of the river
which hindered him from giving effect to his zeal, still some people
prosecuted him on the capital charge." The charge was, "The victims
which you were bound to furnish for the sacrifice were not furnished."
The reply was an admission of the fact. The reason alleged was, "For
the river rose on a sudden, and on that account it was impossible to
convey them across." The argument used to invalidate that reason
was, "Nevertheless, since what the law enjoins was not done, you are
deserving of punishment." The question for the decision of the judges
was, "Whether, as in that respect the contractor did not comply with
the law, being prevented by the unexpected rise of the river
which hindered his giving effect to his zeal, he is deserving of
punishment."

XXXII. But the plea of necessity is introduced when the accused person
is defended as having done what he is accused of having done under
the influence of compulsion. In this way:--"There is a law among the
Rhodians, that if any vessel with a beak is caught in their harbour,
it shall be confiscated. There was a violent storm at sea; the
violence of the winds compelled a vessel, against the will of her
crew, to take refuge in the harbour of the Rhodians. On this the
quaestor claims the vessel for the people. The captain of the ship
declared that it was not just that it should be confiscated." The
charge is, "A ship with a beak was caught in the harbour." The reply
is an admission of the fact. The reason given is, "We were driven
into the harbour by violence and necessity." The argument brought to
invalidate that reason is, "Nevertheless, according to the law that
ship ought to become the property of the people." The question for the
decision of the judge is, "Whether, as the law confiscates every ship
with a beak which is found in the harbour, and as this ship, in spite
of the endeavours of her crew, was driven into the harbour by the
violence of the tempest, it ought to be confiscated."

We have collected these examples of these three kinds of cases into
one place, because a similar rule for the arguments required for these
prevails in all of them. For in all of them, in the first place, it
is desirable, if the case itself affords any opportunity of doing so,
that a conjecture should be introduced by the accuser, in order that
that which it will be stated was not done intentionally, may be
demonstrated by some suspicious circumstances, to have been done
intentionally. In the next place, it will be well to introduce a
definition of necessity, or of accident, or of ignorance, and to add
instances to that definition, in which ignorance, or accident, or
necessity appear to have operated, and to distinguish between such
instances and the allegations put forward by the accused person, (that
is to say, to show that there is no resemblance between them,) because
this was a lighter or an easier matter, or one which did not admit of
any one's being ignorant respecting it, or one which gave no room for
accident or necessity. After that it must be shown that it might have
been avoided, and, that the accused person might have prevented it if
he had done this thing, or that thing, or that he might have guarded
against being forced to act in such a manner. And it is desirable to
prove by definitions that this conduct of his ought not to be called
imprudence, or accident, or necessity, but indolence, indifference, or
fatuity.

And if any necessity alleged appears to have in it anything
discreditable, it will be desirable for the opponent, by a chain of
common topics, to prove that it would have been better to suffer
anything, or even to die, rather than to submit to a necessity of the
sort. And then, from these topics, which have been already discussed
when we spoke of the question of fact, it will be desirable to inquire
into the nature of law and equity, and, as if we were dealing with
an absolute juridical question, to consider this point by itself
separately from all other points. And in this place, if there should
be an opportunity, it will be desirable to employ instances in which
there can be no room for any similar excuse, and also to institute a
comparison, showing that there would have been more reason to allow it
in them, and by reference to the divisions of deliberation, it may be
shown that it is admitted that that action which was committed by the
adversary is confessed to have been discreditable and useless, that
it is a matter of great importance, and one likely to cause great
mischief, if such conduct is overlooked by those who have authority to
punish it.

XXXIII. But the advocate for the defence will be able to convert all
these arguments, and then to use them for his own purposes. And
he will especially dwell on the defence of his intentions, and in
exaggerating the importance of that which was an obstacle to his
intentions, and he will show that he could not have done more than he
did do, and he will urge that in all things the will of the doer ought
to be regarded, and that it is quite impossible that he should be
justly convicted of not being free from guilt, and that under his name
the common powerlessness of mankind is sought to be convicted. Then,
too, he will say that nothing can be more scandalous than for a man
who is free from guilt, not also to be free from punishment. But the
common topics for the prosecutor to employ are these, one resting on
the confession of the accused person, and the other pointing out what
great licence for the violation of the law will follow, if it is once
laid down that the thing to be inquired into is not the action but
the cause of the action. The common topics for the advocate for the
defence to employ are, a complaint of that calamity which has taken
place by no fault of his, but in consequence of some overruling power,
and a complaint also of the power of fortune and the powerless
state of men, and an entreaty that the judges should consider his
intentions, and not the result. And in the employment of all these
topics it will be desirable that there should be inserted a complaint
of his own unhappy condition, and indignation at the cruelty of his
adversaries.

And no one ought to marvel, if in these or other instances he sees
a dispute concerning the letter of the law added to the rest of the
discussion. And we shall have hereafter to speak of this subject
separately, because some kinds of causes will have to be considered by
themselves, and with reference to their own independent merits,
and some connect with themselves some other kind of question also.
Wherefore, when everything is cleared up, it will not be difficult to
transfer to each cause whatever is suitable to that particular kind of
inquiry, as in all these instances of admission of the fact, there is
involved that dispute as to the law, which is called the question as
to the letter and spirit of the law. But as we were speaking of the
admission of the fact we gave rules for it. But in another place we
will discuss the letter and the spirit of the law. At present we will
limit our consideration to the other division of the admission of the
fact.

XXXIV. Deprecation is when it is not attempted to defend the action
in question, but entreaties to be pardoned are employed. This kind of
topic can hardly be approved of in a court of justice, because, when
the offence is admitted, it is difficult to prevail on the man who
is bound to be the chastiser of offences to pardon it. So that it is
allowable to employ that kind of address only when you do not rest the
whole cause on it. As for instance, if you were speaking in behalf of
some illustrious or gallant man, who has done great services to
the republic, you might, without appearing to have recourse to
deprecation, still employ it in this manner:--"But if, O judges, this
man, in return for the services which he has done you, and the zeal
which he has displayed in your cause at all times, were now, when he
himself is in such peril, to entreat you, in consideration of his many
good actions, to pardon this one error, it would only be what is due
both to your own character for clemency, and to his virtue, O judges,
for you to grant him this indulgence at his request." Then it will be
allowable to dwell upon the services which he has done, and by the
use of some common topic to lead the judges to feel an inclination to
pardon him.

Wherefore, although this kind of address has no proper place in
judicial proceedings, except to a certain limited extent; still,
because both the portion which is allowable must be employed at times,
and because it is often to be employed in all its force in the senate
or in the council, we will give rules for it also. For there was a
long deliberation in the senate and in the council about Syphax; and
there was a long discussion before Lucius Opimius and his bench of
assessors respecting Quintus Numitorius Pullus; and in this case the
entreaty for pardon had more influence than the strict inquiry into
the case. For he did not find it so easy to prove that he had always
been well affected towards the Roman people, by employing the
statement of the case founded on conjecture, as to show that it was
reasonable to pardon him on account of his subsequent services, when
he added the topics of deprecation to the rest of his defence.

XXXV. It will be desirable, therefore, for the man who entreats to be
pardoned for what he admits that he has done, to enumerate whatever
services of his he is able to, and, if possible, to show that they are
greater than those offences which he has committed, so that it may
appear that more good than evil has proceeded from him; and then to
put forward also the services done by his ancestors, if there are any
such; and also to show that he did what he did, not out of hatred, or
out of cruelty, but either through folly, or owing to the instigation
of some one, or for some other honourable or probable cause; and after
that to promise and undertake that he has been taught by this error of
his, and confirmed in his resolution also by the kindness of those who
pardon him, to avoid all such conduct in future. And besides this, he
may hold out a hope that he will hereafter be able, in some respect or
other, to be of great use to those who pardon him now; he will find it
serviceable to point out that he is either related to the judges,
or that he has been as far back as possible an hereditary friend
of theirs; and to express to them the earnestness of his good-will
towards them, and the nobility of the blood and dignity of those
men who are anxious for his safety. And all other qualities and
circumstances which, when attributable to persons, confer honour and
dignity on them, he, using no complaint, and avoiding all arrogance,
will point out as existing in himself, so that he may appear to
deserve some honour rather than any kind of punishment; and after that
it will be wise of him to mention other men who have been pardoned for
greater offences.

And he will do himself a great deal of good if he shows that he
himself, when in power, was merciful and inclined to pardon others.
And the offence of which he is now accused must be extenuated and
made to appear as trifling as possible; and it must be shown to be
discreditable, or at all events inexpedient, to punish such a man as
he is. After that it will be advisable to seek to move pity by use of
common topics, according to those rules which have been laid down in
the first book.

XXXVI. But the adversary will exaggerate the offences; he will say
that nothing was done ignorantly, but that everything was the result
of deliberate wickedness and cruelty. He will show that the accused
person has been pitiless, arrogant, and (if he possibly can) at all
times disaffected, and that he cannot by any possibility be rendered
friendly. If he mentions any services done by him, he will prove that
they were done for some private object, and not out of any good will;
or else he will prove that he has conceived hatred since or else that
all those services have been effaced by his frequent offences, or else
that his services are of less importance than his injuries, or that,
as he has already received adequate honours for his services, he ought
also to have punishment inflicted on him for the injuries which he has
committed. In the next place, he will urge that it is discreditable or
pernicious that he should be pardoned. And besides that, it will be
the very extremity of folly not to avail oneself of one's power over
a man, over whom one has often wished to have power, and that it is
proper to consider what feelings, or rather what hatred they ought to
entertain towards him. But one common topic to be employed will be
indignation at his offence, and another will be the argument, that it
is right to pity those who are in distress, owing to misfortune, and
not those who are in such a plight through their own wickedness.

Since, then, we have been dwelling so long on the general statement of
the case, on account of the great number of its divisions, in order
to prevent any one's mind from being so distracted by the variety
and dissimilarity of circumstances, and so led into some errors,
it appears right also to remind the reader of what remains to be
mentioned of that division of the subject, and why it remains. We have
said, that that was the juridical sort of examination in which
the nature of right and wrong, and the principles of reward and
punishment, were investigated. We have explained the causes in which
inquiry into right and wrong is proceeded with. It remains now to
explain the principles which regulate the distribution of rewards and
punishments.

XXXVII. For there are many causes which consist of a demand of some
reward. For there is often question before the judges of the rewards
to be conferred on prosecutors, and very often some reward is claimed
for them from the senate, or from the bench of judges. And it is not
advisable that any one should think that, when we are adducing some
instance which is under discussion in the senate, we by so doing are
abandoning the class of judicial examples. For whatever is said
with reference to approving or disapproving of a person, when the
consideration of the opinions of the judges is adapted to that form of
expression, that, even although it is treated with reference to the
language in which the opinion is couched, is a deliberative argument,
still, because it has especial reference to some person, it is to be
accounted also judicial. And altogether, a man who has diligently
investigated the meaning and nature of all causes will perceive that
they differ both in character and in form; but in the other divisions
he will see them all consistent with each other, and every one
connected with the other. At present, let us consider the question of
rewards. Lucius Licinius Crassus, the consul, pursued and destroyed a
band of people in the province of the Nearer Gaul, who were collected
together under no known or regular leader, and who had no name or
number of sufficient importance to be entitled enemies of the Roman
people; but still they made the province unsafe by their constant
sallies and piratical outbreaks. He returns to Rome. He demands a
triumph. Here, as also in the case of the employment of deprecation,
it does not at all concern us to supply reasons to establish and to
invalidate such a claim, and so to come before the judges; because,
unless some other statement of the case is also put forth, or some
portion of such statement, the matter for the decision of the judges
will be a simple one, and will be contained in the question itself. In
the case of the employment of deprecation, in this manner: "Whether
so and so ought to be punished." In this instance, in such a manner:
"Whether he ought to be rewarded."

Now we will furnish some topics suitable for the investigation into
the principles of rewards.

XXXVIII. The principle, then, on which rewards are conferred is
distributable into four divisions: as to the services done; the person
who has done them; the kind of reward which is to be conferred; and
the means of conferring it. The services done will be considered with
reference to their own intrinsic merits, and to the time, and to
the disposition of the man who did them, and to their attendant
circumstances. They will be examined with reference to their own
intrinsic merits, in this manner:--Whether they are important or
unimportant; whether they were difficult or easy; whether they are
of a common or extraordinary nature; whether they are considered
honourable on true or false principles. And with reference to the time
at which they were done:--If they were done at a time when we had need
of them; when other men could or would not help them; if they were
done when all other hope had failed. With reference to the disposition
of the man who did them:--If he did not do them with a view to any
advantage of his own, but if he did everything else for the express
purpose of being able to do this afterwards. And with reference to the
attendant circumstances:--If what was done appears not to have been
done by chance, but in consequence of some deliberate design, or if
chance appears to have hindered the design.

But, with respect to the man who did the service in question, it will
be requisite to consider in what manner he has lived, and what expense
or labour he has devoted to that object; whether he has at any time
done any other similar action; whether he is claiming a reward
for himself for what is in reality the result of another person's
exertions, or of the kindness of the gods. Whether he has ever, in the
case of any one else, pronounced that he ought not to be rewarded for
such a reason; or, whether he has already had sufficient honour paid
to him for what he has done; or, whether what has been done is an
action of such a sort that, if he had not done it, he would have been
deserving of punishment; but that he does not deserve reward for
having done it; or, whether he is premature in his demand for a
reward, and is proposing to sell an uncertain hope for a certain
reward; or, whether he claims the reward in order to avoid some
punishment, by its appearing as if the case had already been decided
in his favour.

XXXIX. But as to the question of the reward, it will be necessary to
consider what reward, how great a reward is claimed, and why it is
claimed; and also, to what reward, and to how great a reward, the
conduct in question is entitled. And in the next place, it will be
requisite to inquire what men had such honours paid them in the time
of our ancestors, and for what causes those honours were paid. And, in
the next place, it will be urged that they ought not to be made too
common. And this will be one common topic for any one who speaks in
opposition to a person who claims a reward;--that rewards for virtue
and eminent services ought to be considered serious and holy things,
and that they ought not to be conferred on worthless men, or to be
made common by being bestowed on men of no particular eminence. And
another will be, to urge that men will become less eager to practise
virtue when the reward of virtue has been made common; for those
things which are scarce and difficult of attainment appear honourable
and acceptable to men. And a third topic is, to put the question,
whether, if there are any instances of men who, in the times of our
ancestors, were thought worthy of such honours on account of their
eminent virtue, they will not be likely to think it some diminution
of their own glory, when they see that such men as these have such
rewards conferred on them. And then comes the enumeration of those
men, and the comparison of them with those against whom the orator is
speaking. But the topics to be used by the man who is claiming the
reward are, first of all, the exaggeration of his own action; and
next, the comparison of the actions of those men who have had rewards
conferred on them with his own; and lastly, he will urge that other
men will be repelled from the pursuit of virtue if he himself is
denied the reward to which he is entitled.

But the means of conferring the rewards are taken into consideration
when any pecuniary reward is asked for; for then it is necessary to
consider whether there is an abundance of land, and revenue, and
money, or a dearth of them. The common topics are,--that it is
desirable to increase the resources of the state, not to diminish
them; and that he is a shameless man who is not content with gratitude
in requital of his services, but who demands also solid rewards. But,
on the other hand, it may be urged, that it is a sordid thing to
argue about money, when the question is about showing gratitude to a
benefactor; and that the claimant is not asking wages for a piece of
work, but honour such as is due for an important service.

And we have now said enough about the statements of cases; now it
seems necessary to speak of those controversies which turn upon the
letter of the law.

XL. The controversy turns upon the letter of the law when some doubt
arises from the consideration of the exact terms in which it is drawn
up. That arises from ambiguity, from the letter of the law, from its
intention, from contrary laws, from ratiocination, and definition. But
a controversy arises from ambiguity, when it is an obscure point what
was the intention of the writer, because the written words mean two or
even more different things. In this manner:--"The father of a family,
when he was making his son his heir, left a hundredweight of silver
plate to his wife, in these terms:

"Let my heir give my wife a hundredweight of silver plate, consisting
of such vessels as may be chosen. After he was dead, the mother
demands of her son some very magnificent vessels of very valuable
carving. He says that he is only bound to give her those vessels which
he himself chooses." Here, in the first place, it is necessary to show
if possible that the will has not been drawn up in ambiguous terms,
because all men in ordinary conversation are accustomed to employ that
expression, whether consisting of one word or more, in that meaning in
which the speaker hopes to show that this is to be understood. Then
it is desirable to prove that from both the preceding and subsequent
language of the will, the real meaning which is being sought may
be made evident. So that if all the words, or most of them, were
considered separately by themselves, they would appear of doubtful
meaning. But as for those which can be made intelligible by a
consideration of the whole document, these have no business to be
thought obscure.

In the next place, it will be proper to draw one's conclusion as to
the intentions which were entertained by the writer from all his other
writings, and actions, and sayings, and his general disposition, and
from the usual tenor of his life; and to scrutinise that very document
in which this ambiguous phrase is contained which is the subject of
the present inquiry, all over, in all its parts, so as to see whether
there is anything opposite to that interpretation which we contend
for, or contrary to that which the adversary insists on adopting. For
it will be easy to consider what it is probable that the man who drew
up the document intended, from its whole tenor, and from the
character of the writer, and from those other circumstances which are
characteristic of the persons concerned. In the next place, it will
be desirable to show, if the facts of the case itself afford any
opportunity for doing so, that that meaning which the opposite party
contends for, is a much more inconvenient one to adopt than that which
we have assumed to be the proper one, because there is no possible
means of carrying out or complying with that other meaning; but what
we contend for can be accomplished with great ease and convenience.

As in this law (for there is no objection to citing an imaginary
one for the sake of giving an instance, in order to the more easy
comprehension of the matter):--"Let not a prostitute have a golden
crown. If such a case exists, it must be confiscated." Now, in
opposition to a man who contended that that was to become public
property in accordance with this law, it might be argued, "that there
could be no way of making a prostitute public property, and there is
no intelligible meaning for the law if that is what is to be adopted
as its proper construction; but as to the confiscation of anything
made of gold, the management and the result is easy, and there is no
difficulty in it."

XLI. And it will be desirable also to pay diligent attention to this
point, whether if that sense is sanctioned which the opposite party
contends for, any more advantageous, or honourable, or necessary
object appears to have been omitted by the framer of the document in
question. That will be done if we can prove that the object which
we are attempting to prove is either honourable, or expedient, or
necessary; and if we can also assert that the interpretation which our
adversaries insist upon, is not at all entitled to such a character.
In the next place, if there is in the law itself any controversy
arising from any ambiguity, it will be requisite to take great care to
show that the meaning which our adversaries adopt is provided for in
some other law. But it will be very serviceable indeed to point out
how the testator would have expressed himself, if he had wished the
interpretation which the adversary puts upon his words to be carried
into execution or understood. As for instance, in this cause, the one,
I mean, in which the question is about the silver plate, the woman
might argue, "That there was no use in adding the words 'as may be
chosen,' if the matter was left to the selection of the heir; for if
no such words had been inserted, there could have been no doubt at all
that the heir might have given whatever he himself chose. So that it
was downright madness, if he wished to take precautions in favour of
his heir, to add words which might have been wholly left out without
such omission prejudicing his heir's welfare."

Wherefore, it will be exceedingly advisable to employ this species of
argument in such causes:--"If he had written with this intention he
would not have employed that word; he would not have placed that word
in that place;" for it is from such particulars as these that it is
easiest to collect the intention of the writer. In the next place, it
is necessary to inquire when the document was drawn up, in order that
it may be understood what it was likely that he should have wished
at such a time. Afterwards it will be advisable to point out, by
reference to the topics furnished by the deliberative argument, what
is more useful and what more honourable to the testator to write, and
to the adversary to prove; and it will be well for both parties to
employ common topics, if there is any room for extending either
argument.

XLII. A controversy arises with respect to the letter of the document
and to its meaning, when one party employs the very words which are
set down in the paper; and the other applies all his arguments to that
which he affirms that the framer of the document intended. But the
intention of the framer of the document must be proved by the man who
defends himself, by reference to that intention, to have always the
same object in view and the same meaning; and it must also, either
by reference to the action or to some result, be adapted to the time
which the inquiry concerns. It must be proved always to have the same
object in view, in this way:--"The head of a house, at a time when he
had no children, but had a wife, inserted this clause in his will: 'If
I have a son or sons born to me, he or they is or are to be my heir
or heirs.' Then follow the ordinary provisions. After that comes the
following clause: 'If my son dies before he comes into the property,
which is held in trust for him, then,' says the clause, 'you shall be
my reversionary heir.' He never has a son. His next of kin raise a
dispute with the man who is named as the heir, in the case of the
testator's son dying before he comes into the property which his
guardians are holding for him." In this case it cannot be said that
the meaning of the testator ought to be made to suit the time or some
particular result, because that intention alone is proved on which the
man who is arguing against the language of the will relies, in order
to defend his own right to the inheritance.

There is another class of topics which introduce the question as to
the meaning of expressions, in which the mere simple intention of the
framer is not endeavoured to be proved, for that has the same weight
with reference to every period and every action; but it is argued that
it ought to be interpreted with reference to some particular action,
or to some event happening at that particular time. And that is
especially supported by the divisions of the juridical assumptive mode
of investigation. For then the comparison is instituted; as in the
case of "a man who, though the law forbad the gates to be opened
by night, did open them in a certain war, and admitted some
reinforcements into the town, in order to prevent their being
overwhelmed by the enemy if they remained outside the gates; because
the enemy were encamped close to the walls." Then comes the retorting
of the charge; as in the case of "that soldier who, when the common
law of all men forbad any one to kill a man, slew his own military
tribune who was attempting to offer violence to him." Then comes
the exculpation; as in the case of "that man who, when the law had
appointed some particular days within which he was to proceed on his
embassy, did not set out because the quaestor did not furnish him with
money for his expenses." Then comes the admission of the fact by way
of purgation, and also by the excuse of ignorance; as "in the case of
the sacrificing a calf;" and with reference to compulsion, as "in the
case of the beaked ship;" and with reference to accident, as "in the
case of the sudden rise of the river Eurotas." Wherefore, it is best
that the meaning should be introduced in such a way, as that the
framer of the law should be proved to have intended some one definite
thing; else in such a way that he should be proved to have meant this
particular thing, under these circumstances, and at this time.

XLIII. He, therefore, who is defending the exact language of the law,
will generally be able to use all these topics; and will always be
able to use the greater part of them. First of all, he will employ a
panegyric of the framer of it, and the common topic that those who
are the judges have no business to consider anything except what
is expressly stated in the law; and so much the more if any legal
document be brought forward, that is to say, either the law itself,
or some portion of the law. Afterwards--and this is a point of the
greatest importance--he will employ a comparison of the action or of
the charge brought by the opposite party with the actual words of the
law; he will show what is contained in the law, what has been done,
what the judge has sworn. And it will be well to vary this topic in
many ways, sometimes professing to wonder in his own mind what can be
said against this argument; sometimes recurring to the duty of the
judge, and asking of him what more he can think it requisite to
hear, or what further he expects; sometimes by bringing forward
the adversary himself, as if in the position of a person making an
accusation; that is to say, by asking him whether he denies that the
law is drawn up in that manner, or whether he denies that he himself
has contravened it, or disputed it. If he denies either of these
points, then one must avow that one will say no more; if he denies
neither of them, and yet continues to urge his arguments in opposition
to one, then one must say that it is impossible for any one ever to
expect to see a more impudent man. And it will be well to dwell on
this point as if nothing besides were to be said, as if nothing could
be said in contradiction, by reciting several times over what is
written; by often contrasting the conduct of the adversary with what
is written; and sometimes by recurring vehemently to the topic of the
judge himself; in which one will remind the judge of what oath he has
taken, of what his conduct is bound to be; and urge that there are two
causes on account of which a judge is bound to hesitate, one if the
law be obscurely worded, the other if the adversary denies anything.
But as in this instance the wording of the law is plain, and the
adversary admits every fact that is alleged, the judge has now nothing
to do but to fulfil the law, and not to interpret it.

XLIV. When this point has been sufficiently insisted on, then it will
be advisable to do away with the effect of those things which the
adversary has been able to urge by way of objection. But such
objections will be made if the framer of the law can be absolutely
proved to have meant one thing, and written another; as in that
dispute concerning the will which we mentioned just now: or some
adventitious cause may be alleged why it was not possible or not
desirable to obey the written law minutely. If it is stated that the
framer of the law meant one thing, and wrote another, then he who
appeals to the letter of the law will say that it is our business not
to discuss the intention of a man who has left us a plain proof of
that intention, to prevent our having any doubt about it; and that
many inconveniences must ensue if the principle is laid down that we
may depart from the letter of the law. For that then those who frame
laws will not think that the laws which they are making will remain
firm; and those who are judges will have no certain principle to
follow if once they get into the habit of departing from the letter of
the law. But if the intention of the framer of the law is what is to
be looked at, then it is he, and not his adversaries, who relies on
the meaning of the lawgiver. For that that person comes much nearer to
the intention of the framer of a law who interprets it from his own
writings, than he who does not look at the meaning of the framer of
the law by that writing of his own which he has left to be as it were
an image of his meaning, but who investigates it under the guidance of
some private suspicions of his own.

If the party who stands on the meaning of the lawgiver brings forward
any reasons, then, in the first place, it will be necessary to reply
to those reasons; to urge how absurd it is for a man not to deny that
he has acted contrary to the law, but at the same time to give some
reason for having acted so. Then one will say too that all things are
turned upside down; that formerly prosecutors were in the habit of
trying to persuade the judges that the person who was being prosecuted
before them was implicated in some fault, and of alleging some reasons
which had instigated him to commit this fault; but that now the
accused person himself is giving the reasons why he has offended
against the laws. Then it will be proper to introduce this division,
each portion of which will have many lines of argument suitable to it:
in the first place, that there is no law with reference to which it
is allowable to allege any reasons contrary to the law; in the next
place, that if such a course is admissible in any law, this is such a
law that it is not admissible with respect to it; and lastly, that,
even if such reasons ever might be alleged, at all events this is not
such a reason.

XLV. The first part of the argument is confirmed by pretty nearly the
same topics as these: that the framer of the law was not deficient in
either ability, or pains, or any faculty requisite to enable him to
express plainly what his intention was; that it would not have been
either displeasing or difficult to him to insert such an exception as
that which the opposite party contends for in his law, if he thought
any exception requisite; and in fact, that those people who frame
laws often do insert clauses of exceptions. After that it is well to
enumerate some of the laws which have exceptional clauses attached to
them, and to take especial care to see whether in the law itself which
is under discussion there is any exception made in any chapter, or
whether the same man who framed this law has made exceptions in other
laws, so that it may be more naturally inferred that he would have
made exceptions in this one, if he had thought exceptions requisite;
and it will be well also to show that to admit of a reason for
violating the law is the same thing as abrogating the law, because
when once such a reason is taken into consideration it is no use to
consider it with reference to the law, inasmuch as it is not stated in
the law. And if such a principle is once laid down, then a reason for
violating the law, and a licence to do so, is given to every one, as
soon as they perceive that you as judges decide the matter in a way
which depends on the ability of the man who has violated the law, and
not with reference to the law which you have sworn to administer.
Then, too, one must point out that all principles on which judges are
to judge, and citizens are to live, will be thrown into confusion if
the laws are once departed from; for the judges will not have any
rules to follow, if they depart from what is set down in the law, and
no principles on which they can reprove others for having acted in
defiance of the law. And that all the rest of the citizens will be
ignorant what they are to do, if each of them regulates all his
actions according to his own ideas, and to whatever whim or fancy
comes into his head, and not according to the common statute law of
the state.

After that it will be suitable to ask the judges why they occupy
themselves at all with the business of other people;--why they allow
themselves to be harassed in discharging the offices of the republic,
when they might often spend the time in promoting their own ends and
private interests;--why they take an oath in a certain form;--why they
assemble at a regular time and go away at a regular time;--why no
one of them ever alleges any reason for being less frequent in his
discharge of his duty to the republic, except such as is set down in
some formal law as an exception. And one may ask, whether they think
it right that they should be bound down and exposed to so much
inconvenience by the laws, and at the same time allow our adversaries
to disregard the laws. After that it will be natural to put the
question to the judges whether, when the party accused himself
endeavours to set down in the law, as an exception, that particular
case in which he admits that he has violated the law, they will
consent to it. And to ask also, whether what he has actually done is
more scandalous and more shameless than the exception which he wishes
to insert in the law;--what indeed can be more shameless? Even if the
judges were inclined to make such an addition to the law, would the
people permit it? One might also press upon them that this is even a
more scandalous measure, when they are unable to make an alteration in
the language and letter of the law, to alter it in the actual facts,
and to give a decision contrary to it; and besides, that it is a
scandalous thing that anything should be taken from the law, or that
the law should be abrogated or changed in any part whatever, without
the people having any opportunity of knowing, or approving, or
disapproving of what is done; that such conduct is calculated to bring
the judges themselves into great odium; that it is not the proper time
nor opportunity for amending the laws; that this ought only to be
brought forward in an assembly of the people, and only to be done by
the people; that if they now do so, the speaker would like to know
who is the maker of the new law, and who are to obey it; that he
sees actions impending, and wishes to prevent them; that as all
such proceedings as these are exceedingly useless and abundantly
discreditable, the law, whatever it is like, ought, while it exists,
to be maintained by the judges, and hereafter, if it is disapproved
of, to be amended by the people. Besides this, if there were no
written law, we should take great trouble to find one; and we should
not place any confidence in that man, not even if he were in no
personal danger himself; but now, when there is a written law, it is
downright insanity to attend to what that man says who has violated
the law, rather than to the language of the law itself. By these and
similar arguments it is proved that it is not right to admit any
excuse which is contrary to the letter of the law.

XLVI. The second part is that in which it is desirable to prove that
if such a proceeding is right with respect to other laws, it is not
advisable with respect to this one. This will be shown if the
law appears to refer to matters of the greatest importance, and
usefulness, and honourableness, and sanctity; so that it is
disadvantageous, or discreditable, or impious not to obey the law as
carefully as possible in such a matter. Or the law may be proved to
have been drawn up so carefully, and such great diligence may be shown
to have been exercised in framing each separate provision of it, and
in making every exception that was allowable, that it is not at all
probable that anything proper to be inserted has been omitted in so
carefully considered a document.

The third topic is one exceedingly necessary for a man who is arguing
in defence of the letter of the law; by which it may be urged, that
even if it is decent for an excuse to be admitted contrary to
the letter of the law, still that excuse which is alleged by his
adversaries is of all others the least proper to be so alleged. And
this topic is necessary for him on this account,--because the man who
is arguing against the letter of the law ought always to have some
point of equity to allege on his side. For it is the greatest possible
impudence for a man who wishes to establish some point in opposition
to the exact letter of the law, not to attempt to fortify himself in
so doing, with the assistance of the law. If therefore the accuser in
any respect weakens the defence by this topic, he will appear in
every respect to have more justice and probability in favour of
his accusation. For all the former part of his speech has had this
object,--that the judges should feel it impossible, even if they
wished it, to avoid condemning the accused person; but this part has
for its object the making them wish to give such a decision, even if
it were not inevitable.

And that result will be obtained, if we use those topics by which
guilt may be proved not to be in the man who defends himself, by using
the topic of comparison, or by getting rid of the accusation, or by
recrimination, or by some species of confession, (concerning all which
topics we have already written with all the precision of which we were
capable,) and if we take those which the case will admit of for the
purpose of throwing discredit on the argument of our adversary;--or
if reasons and arguments are adduced to show why or with what design
those expressions were inserted in the law or will in question, so
that our side of the question may appear established by the meaning
and intention of the writer, and not only by the language which he has
employed. Or the fact may be proved by other statements and arguments.

XLVII. But any one who speaks against the letter of the law will first
of all introduce that topic by which the equity of the excuse is
proved; or he will point out with what feelings, with what design, and
on what account he did the action in question. And whatever excuse he
alleges he will defend according to some of the rules which I have
already given with respect to assumptions. And when he has dwelt on
this topic for some time, and set forth the principles of his conduct
and the equity of his cause in the most specious manner he can, he
will also add, in opposition to the arguments of his adversaries,
that it is from these topics for the most part that excuses which are
admissible ought to be drawn. He will urge that there is no law which
sanctions the doing of any disadvantageous or unjust action; that all
punishments which are enacted by the laws have been enacted for the
sake of chastising guilt and wickedness; that the very framer of the
laws, if he were alive, would approve of this conduct, and would
have done the very same thing himself if he had been in similar
circumstances. And that it is on this account that the framer of the
law appointed judges of a certain rank and age, in order that there
might be men, not capable merely of reading out what he had written,
which any boy might do, but able also to understand his thoughts and
to interpret his intentions. He will add, that that framer of the law,
if he had been intrusting the laws which he was drawing up to foolish
men and illiterate judges, would have set down everything with the
most scrupulous diligence; but, as it is, because he was aware what
sort of men were to be the judges, he did not put down many things
which appeared to him to be evident; and he expected that you would be
not mere readers of his writings, but interpreters of his intentions.
Afterwards he will proceed to ask his adversaries--"What would you
say if I had done so and so?" "What would you think if so and so had
happened?" "Suppose any one of those things had happened which would
have had a most unfailing excuse, or a most undeniable necessity,
would you then have prosecuted me?" But the law has nowhere made any
such exception. It follows, therefore, that it is not every possible
circumstance which is mentioned in the written law but that some
things which are self-evident are guarded against by unexpressed
exceptions. Then he will urge, that nothing could be carried on
properly either by the laws or by any written document whatever, or
even in daily conversation, or in the commands given in a private
household, if every one chose to keep his eyes on the exact language
of the order, and not to take into consideration the intentions of him
who uttered the order.

XLVIII. After that he will be able, by reference to the divisions
of usefulness and honour, to point out how inexpedient or how
dishonourable that would have been which the opposite party say ought
to have been done, or to be done now. And on the other hand, how
expedient and how honourable that is which we have done, or demand
should be done. In the next place, he will urge that we set a value on
our laws not on account of their wording, which is a slight and
often obscure indication of their intention, but on account of the
usefulness of those things concerning which they are written, and the
wisdom and diligence of those men who wrote them. Afterwards he will
proceed to describe what the law is, so that it shall appear to
consist of meanings, not of words; and that the judge may appear to be
obedient to the law, who follows its meaning and not its strict words.
After that he will urge how scandalous it is that he should have the
same punishment inflicted on him who has violated the law out of some
mere wickedness and audacity, as on the man who, on account of some
honourable or unavoidable reason, has departed not from the spirit of
the law, but from its letter. And by these and similar arguments
he will endeavour to prove that the excuse is admissible, and is
admissible in this law, and that the excuse which he himself is
alleging ought to be admitted.

And, as we said that this would be exceedingly useful to the man who
was relying on the letter of the law, to detract in some degree from
that equity which appeared to be on the side of the adversary; so also
it will be of the greatest advantage to the man who is speaking in
opposition to the letter of the law, to convert something of the exact
letter of the law to his own side of the argument, or else to show
that something has been expressed ambiguously. And afterwards, to
take that portion of the doubtful expression which may serve his own
purpose, and defend it; or else to introduce some definition of
a word, and to bring over the meaning of that word which seems
unfavourable to him to the advantage of his own cause, or else, from
what is set down in the law to introduce something which is not set
down by means of ratiocination, which we will speak of presently. But
in whatever matter, however little probable it may be, he defends
himself by an appeal to the exact letter of the law, even when his
case is full of equity, he will unavoidably gain a great advantage,
because if he can withdraw from the cause of the opposite party that
point on which it principally relies, he will mitigate and take off
the effect of all its violence and energy. But all the rest of the
common topics taken from the divisions of assumptive argument will
suit each side of the question. It will also be suitable for him whose
argument takes its stand on the letter of the law, to urge that laws
ought to be looked at, not with reference to the advantage of that man
who has violated them, but according to their own intrinsic value, and
that nothing ought to be considered more precious than the laws. On
the other side, the speaker will urge, that laws depend upon the
intention of the framer of them, and upon the general advantage,
not upon words, and also, how scandalous it is for equity to be
overwhelmed by a heap of letters, and defended in vain by the
intention of the man who drew up the law.

XLIX. But from contrary laws a controversy arises, when two or more
laws appear to be at variance with one another In this manner--There
is a law, "That he who has slain a tyrant shall receive the regard of
men who conquer at Olympia, and shall also ask whatever he pleases of
the magistrate, and the magistrate shall grant it to him." There is
also another law--"When a tyrant is slain, the magistrate shall also
put to death his five nearest relations." Alexander, who was the tyrant
of Pherse, a city in Thessaly, was slain by his own wife, whose name
was Thebe, at night, when he was in bed with her, she, as a reward,
demands the liberty of her son whom she had by the tyrant. Some say
that according to this law that son ought to be put to death. The
matter is referred to a court of justice. Now in a case of this
kind the same topics and the same rules will suit each side of the
question, because each party is bound to establish his own law, and
to invalidate the one contrary to it. First of all, therefore, it is
requisite to show the nature of the laws, by considering which law has
reference to more important, that is to say, to more honourable and
more necessary matters. From which it results, that if two or more,
or ever so many laws cannot all be maintained, because they are at
variance with one another, that one ought to be considered the most
desirable to be maintained, which appears to have reference to the
most important matters. Then comes the question also, which law was
passed last; for the newest law is the most important. And also, which
law enjoins anything, and which merely allows it; for that which is
enjoined is necessary, that which is allowed is optional. Also one
must consider by which law a penalty is appointed for the violation
of it; or which has the heaviest penalty attached to it; for that law
must be the most carefully maintained which is sanctioned by the most
severe penalties. Again, one must inquire which law enjoins, and which
forbids anything; for it often happens that the law which forbids
something appears by some exception as it were to amend the law which
commands something. Then, too, it is right to consider which law
comprehends the entire class of subjects to which it refers, and which
embraces only a part of the question; which may be applied generally
to many classes of questions, and which appears to have been framed to
apply to some special subject. For that which has been drawn up with
reference to some particular division of a subject, or for some
special purpose, appears to come nearer to the subject under
discussion, and to have more immediate connexion with the present
action. Then arises the question, which is the thing which according
to the law must be done immediately; which will admit of some delay or
slackness in the execution. For it is right that that should be done
first which must be done immediately. In the next place, it is well to
take pains that the law one is advocating shall appear to depend on
its own precise language; and that the law with a contrary sense
should appear to be introduced with a doubtful interpretation, or by
some ratiocination or definition, in order that that law which is
expressed in plain language may appear to be the more solemn and
efficient. After that it will be well to add the meaning of the law
which is on one's own side according to the strict letter of it; and
also to explain the opposite law so as to make it appear to have
another meaning, in order that, if possible, they may not seem to be
inconsistent with one another. And, last of all, it will be a good
thing, if the cause shall afford any opportunity for so doing, to take
care that on our principles both the laws may seem to be upheld, but
that on the principle contended for by our adversaries one of them
must be put aside. It will be well also to consider all the common
topics and those which the cause itself furnishes, and to take them
from the most highly esteemed divisions of the subjects of expediency
and honour, showing by means of amplification which law it is most
desirable to adhere to.

L. From ratiocination there arises a controversy when, from what
is written somewhere or other, one arrives at what is not written
anywhere; in this way:--"If a man is mad, let those of his family and
his next of kin have the regulation of himself and of his property."
And there is another law--"In whatever manner a head of a family has
made his will respecting his family and his property, so let it be."
And another law--"If a head of a family dies intestate, his family
and property shall belong to his relations and to his next of kin." A
certain man was convicted of having murdered his father. Immediately,
because he was not able to escape, wooden shoes were put upon his
feet, and his mouth was covered with a leathern bag, and bound fast,
then he was led away to prison, that he might remain there while a bag
was got ready for him to be put into and thrown into a river. In
the meantime some of his friends bring tablets to the prison, and
introduce witnesses also; they put down those men as his heirs whom he
himself desires; the will is sealed; the man is afterwards executed.
There is a dispute between those who are set down as his heirs in the
will, and his next of kin, about his inheritance. In this instance
there is no positive law alleged which takes away the power of making
a will from people who are in such a situation. But from other laws,
both those which inflict a punishment of this character on a man
guilty of such a crime, and those, too, which relate to a man's power
of making a will, it is possible to come by means of ratiocination to
a conclusion of this sort, that it is proper to inquire whether he had
the power of making a will.

But we think that these and such as these are the common topics
suitable to an argument of this description. In the first place, a
panegyric upon, and a confirmation of that writing which you are
producing. Then a comparison of the matter which is the subject of
discussion, with that which is a settled case, in such a manner that
the case which is under investigation may appear to resemble that
about which there are settled and notorious rules. After that, one
will express admiration, (by way of comparison), how it can happen
that a man who admits that this is fair, can deny that other thing,
which is either more equitable still, or which rests on exactly
similar principles; then, too, one will contend that the reason why
there is no precise law drawn up for such a case, is because, as there
was one in existence applicable to the other case, the framer of that
law thought that no one could possibly entertain a doubt in this case;
and afterwards it will be well to urge that there are many cases not
provided for in many laws, which beyond all question were passed over
merely because the rule as to them could be so easily collected out
of the other cases which were provided for; and last of all, it is
necessary to point out what the equity of the case requires, as is
done in a plain judicial case.

But the speaker who is arguing on the other side is bound to try and
invalidate the comparison instituted, which he will do if he can show
that that which is compared is different from that with which it is
compared in kind, in nature, in effect, in importance, in time, in
situation, in character, in the opinion entertained of it; if it is
shown also in what class that which is adduced by way of comparison
ought to stand, and in what rank that also ought to be considered, for
the sake of which the other thing is mentioned. After that, it will be
well to point out how one case differs from the other, so that it does
not seem that any one ought to have the same opinion of both of them.
And if he himself also is able to have recourse to ratiocination, he
must use the same ratiocination which has been already spoken of. If
he cannot, then he will declare that it is not proper to consider
anything except what is written; that all laws are put in danger if
comparisons are once allowed to be instituted; that there is hardly
anything which does not seem somewhat like something else; that when
there are many circumstances wholly dissimilar, still there are
separate laws for each individual case; and that all things can be
proved to be like or unlike to each other. The common topics derived
from ratiocination ought to arrive by conjecture from that which is
written to that which is not written; and one may urge that no one can
embrace every imaginable case in a written law, but that he frames a
law best who takes care to make one thing understood from another. One
may urge, too, that in opposition to a ratiocination of this sort,
conjecture is no better than a divination, and that it would be a
sign of a very stupid framer of laws not to be able to provide for
everything which he wished to.

LI. Definition is when a word is set down in a written document, whose
exact meaning is inquired into, in this manner:--There is a law,
"Whoever in a severe tempest desert their ship shall be deprived of
all their property; the ship and the cargo shall belong to those men
who remain by the ship." Two men, when they were sailing on the open
sea, and when the ship belonged to one of them and the cargo to
another, noticed a shipwrecked man swimming and holding out his hands
to them. Being moved with pity they directed the ship towards him, and
took the man into their vessel. A little afterwards the storm began to
toss them also about very violently, to such a degree that the owner
of the ship, who was also the pilot, got into a little boat, and from
that he guided the ship as well as he could by the rope by which the
boat was fastened to the ship, and so towed along; but the man to whom
the cargo belonged threw himself on his sword in despair. On this
the shipwrecked man took the helm and assisted the ship as far as he
could. But after the waves went down and the tempest abated, the ship
arrived in harbour. But the man who had fallen on his sword turned out
to be but slightly wounded, and easily recovered of his wound. And
then every one of these three men claimed the ship and cargo for his
own. Every one of them relies on the letter of the law to support
their claim, and a dispute arises as to the meaning of the words.
For they seek to ascertain by definitions what is the meaning of the
expressions "to abandon the ship," "to stand by the ship," and even
what "the ship" itself is. And the question must be dealt with with
reference to all the same topics as are employed in a statement of the
case which turns upon a definition.

Now, having explained all those argumentations which are adapted to
the judicial class of causes, we will proceed in regular order to
give topics and rules for the deliberative and demonstrative class
of arguments; not that there is any cause which is not at all times
conversant with some statement of the case or other; but because there
are nevertheless some topics peculiar to these causes, not separated
from the statement of the case, but adapted to the objects which are
more especially kept in view by these kinds of argumentation.

For it seems desirable that in the judicial kind the proper end
is equity; that is to say, some division of honesty. But in the
deliberative kind Aristotle thinks that the proper object is
expediency; we ourselves, that it is expediency and honesty combined.
In the demonstrative kind it is honesty only. Wherefore, in this kind
of cause also, some kinds of argumentation will be handled in a common
manner, and in similar ways to one another. Some will be discussed
more separately with reference to their object, which is what we must
always keep in view in every kind of speech. And we should have no
objection to give an example of each kind of statement of the case, if
we did not see that, as obscure things are made more plain by speaking
of them, so also things which are plain are sometimes made more
obscure by a speech. At present let us go on to precepts of
deliberation.

LII. Of matters to be aimed at there are three classes; and on the
other hand there is a corresponding number of things to be avoided.
For there is something which of its own intrinsic force draws us to
itself, not catching us by any idea of emolument, but alluring us by
its own dignity. Of this class are virtue, science, truth. And there
is something else which seems desirable, not on account of its own
excellence or nature, but on account of its advantage and of the
utility to be derived from it--such as money. There are also some
things formed of parts of these others in combination, which allure us
and draw us after them by their own intrinsic character and dignity,
and which also hold out some prospect of advantage to us, to induce
us to seek it more eagerly, as friendship, and a fair reputation;
and from these their opposites will easily be perceived, without our
saying anything about them.

But in order that the principle may be explained in the more simple
way, the rules which we have laid down shall be enumerated briefly.
For those which belong to the first kind of discussion are called
honourable things; those which belong to the second, are called useful
things; but this third thing, because it contains some portion of what
is honourable, and because the power of what is honourable is the more
important part, is perceived to be altogether a compound kind, made up
of a twofold division; still it derives its name from its better part,
and is called honourable. From this it follows, that there are these
parts in things which are desirable,--what is honourable, and what is
useful. And these parts in things which are to be avoided,--what is
dishonourable, and what is useless. Now to these two things there
are two other important circumstances to be added,--necessity and
affection: the one of which is considered with reference to force, the
other with reference to circumstances and persons. Hereafter we will
write more explicitly about each separately. At present we will
explain first the principles of what is honourable.

LIII. That which either wholly or in some considerable portion of it
is sought for its own sake, we call honourable: and as there are two
divisions of it, one of which is simple and the other twofold, let us
consider the simple one first. In that kind, then, virtue has embraced
all things under one meaning and one name; for virtue is a habit
of the mind, consistent with nature, and moderation, and reason.
Wherefore, when we have become acquainted with all its divisions, it
will be proper to consider the whole force of simple honesty.

It has then four divisions--prudence, justice, fortitude, and
temperance. Prudence is the knowledge of things which are good, or
bad, or neither good nor bad. Its parts are memory, intelligence,
and foresight. Memory is that faculty by which the mind recovers the
knowledge of things which have been. Intelligence is that by which it
perceives what exists at present. Foresight is that by which anything
is seen to be about to happen, before it does happen. Justice is a
habit of the mind which attributes its proper dignity to everything,
preserving a due regard to the general welfare. Its first principles
proceed from nature. Subsequently some practices became established by
universal custom, from a consideration of their utility; afterwards
the fear of the laws and religion sanctioned proceedings which
originated in nature, and had been approved of by custom.

Natural law is that which has not had its origin in the opinions of
men, but has been implanted by some innate instinct, like religion,
affection, gratitude, revenge, attention to one's superiors, truth.
Religion is that which causes men to pay attention to, and to respect
with fixed ceremonies, a certain superior nature which men call
divine nature. Affection is that feeling under the influence of which
kindness and careful attention is paid to those who are united to us
by ties of blood, or who are devoted to the service of their country.
Gratitude is that feeling in which the recollection of friendship,
and of the services which we have received from another, and the
inclination to requite those services, is contained. Revenge is that
disposition by which violence and injury, and altogether everything
which can be any injury to us, is repelled by defending oneself from
it, or by avenging it. Attention is that feeling by which men obey
when they think those who are eminent for worth or dignity, worthy of
some special respect and honour. Truth is that by which those things
which are, or which have been previously, or which are about to
happen, are spoken of without any alteration.

LIV. Conventional law is a principle which has either derived its
origin in a slight degree from nature, and then has been strengthened
by habit, like religion; or, if we see any one of those things which
we have already mentioned as proceeding from nature strengthened by
habit; or, if there is anything to which antiquity has given the
force of custom with the approbation of everybody: such as covenants,
equity, cases already decided. A covenant is that which is agreed upon
between two parties; equity is that which is equally just for every
one; a case previously decided is one which has been settled by the
authoritative decision of some person or persons entitled to pronounce
it.

Legal right is that which is contained in that written form which is
delivered to the people to be observed by them.

Fortitude is a deliberate encountering of danger and enduring of
labour. Its parts are magnificence, confidence, patience, and
perseverance. Magnificence is the consideration and management of
important and sublime matters with a certain wide-seeing and splendid
determination of mind. Confidence is that feeling by which the mind
embarks in great and honourable courses with a sure hope and trust in
itself. Patience is a voluntary and sustained endurance, for the
sake of what is honourable or advantageous, of difficult and painful
labours. Perseverance is a steady and lasting persistence in a
well-considered principle.

Temperance is the form and well-regulated dominion of reason over lust
and other improper affections of the mind. Its parts are continence,
clemency, and modesty. Continence is that by which cupidity is kept
down under the superior influence of wisdom. Clemency is that by which
the violence of the mind, when causelessly excited to entertain hatred
against some one else, is restrained by courtesy. Modesty is that
feeling by which honourable shame acquires a valuable and lasting
authority. And all these things are to be sought for themselves, even
if no advantage is to be acquired by them. And it neither concerns our
present purpose to prove this, nor is it agreeable to our object of
being concise in laying down our rules.

But the things which are to be avoided for their own sake, are not
those only which are the opposites to these; as indolence is to
courage, and injustice to justice; but those also which appear to
be near to and related to them, but which, in reality, are very far
removed from them. As, for instance, diffidence is the opposite to
confidence, and is therefore a vice; audacity is not the opposite of
confidence, but is near it and akin to it, and, nevertheless, is also
a vice. And in this manner there will be found a vice akin to every
virtue, and either already known by some particular name--as audacity,
which is akin to confidence; pertinacity, which is bordering on
perseverance; superstition, which is very near religion,--or in
some cases it has no fixed name. And all these things, as being the
opposites of what is good, we class among things to be avoided. And
enough has now been said respecting that class of honourable things
which is sought in every part of it for itself alone.

LV. At present it appears desirable to speak of that in which
advantage is combined with honour, and which still we style simply
honourable. There are many things, then, which allure us both by their
dignity and also by the advantage which may be derived from them:
such as glory, dignity, influence, friendship. Glory is the fact of
a person's being repeatedly spoken of to his praise; dignity is the
honourable authority of a person, combined with attention and honour
and worthy respect paid to him. Influence is a great abundance of
power or majesty, or of any sort of resource. Friendship is a desire
to do service to any one for the sake of the person himself to whom
one is attached, combined with a corresponding inclination on his part
towards oneself. At present, because we are speaking of civil causes,
we add the consideration of advantage to friendship, so that it
appears a thing to be sought for the sake of the advantage also:
wishing to prevent those men from blaming us who think that we are
including every kind of friendship in our definition.

But although there are some people who think that friendship is only
to be desired on account of the advantage to be derived from it; some
think it is to be desired for itself alone; and some, that it is to be
desired both for its own sake and for the sake of the advantage to be
derived from it. And which of these statements is the most true, there
will be another time for considering. At present it may be laid down,
as far as the orator is concerned, that friendship is a thing to be
desired on both accounts. But the consideration of the different
kinds of friendship, (since they are partly formed on religious
considerations, and partly not; and because some friendships are old,
and some new; and because some originated in kindness shown by our
friends to us, and some in kindness shown by ourselves to them; and
because some are more advantageous, and others less,) must have
reference partly to the dignity of the causes in which it originates,
partly to the occasion when it arises, and also to the services done,
the religious motives entertained, and its antiquity.

LVI. But the advantages consist either in the thing itself, or in
extraneous circumstances; of which, however, by far the greater
portion is referable to personal advantage; as there are some
things in the republic which, so to say, refer to the person of the
state,--as lands, harbours, money, fleets, sailors, soldiery, allies;
by all which things states preserve their safety and their liberty.
There are other things also which make a thing more noble looking,
and which still are less necessary; as the splendid decorating and
enlarging of a city, or an extraordinary amount of wealth, or a great
number of friendships and alliances. And the effect of all these
things is not merely to make states safe and free from injury, but
also noble and powerful. So that there appears to be two divisions of
usefulness,--safety and power. Safety is the secure and unimpaired
preservation of a sound state. Power is a possession of things
suitable to preserving what is one's own, and to acquiring what
belongs to another. And in all those things which have been already
mentioned, it is proper to consider what is difficult to be done, and
what can be done with ease. We call that a thing easy to be done,
which can be done without great labour, or expense, or annoyance, or
perhaps without any labour, expense, or annoyance at all, and in the
shortest possible time. But that we call difficult to be done which,
although it requires labour, expense, trouble and time, and has every
possible characteristic of difficulty about it, or, at all events, the
most numerous and most important ones, still, when these difficulties
are encountered, can be completed and brought to an end.

Since, then, we have now discussed what is honourable and what is
useful, it remains for us to say a little of those things which we
have said are attached to these other things; namely, affection and
necessity.

LVII. I think, then, that necessity means that which cannot be
resisted by any power; that which cannot be softened nor altered. And
that this may be made more plain, let us examine into the meaning of
it by the light of examples, so as to see what its character and how
great its power is. "It is necessary that anything made of wood must
be capable of being burnt with fire. It is necessary that a mortal
body should at some time or other die." And it is so necessary, that
that power of necessity which we were just now describing requires it;
which cannot by any force whatever be either resisted, or weakened,
or altered. Necessities of this kind, when they occur in oratory, are
properly called necessities; but if any difficult circumstances arise,
then we shall consider in the previous examination whether it, the
thing in question, be possible to be done. And it seems to me, that
I perceive that there are some kinds of necessity which admit of
additions, and some which are simple and perfect in themselves. For
we say in very different senses:--"It is necessary for the people of
Casilinum to surrender themselves to Hannibal;" and, "It is necessary
that Casilinum should come into the power of Hannibal." In the one
case, that is, in the first case, there is this addition to the
proposition:--"Unless they prefer perishing by hunger." For if they
prefer that, then it is not necessary for them to surrender. But in
the latter proposition such an addition has no place; because whether
the people of Casilinum choose to surrender, or prefer enduring hunger
and perishing in that manner, still it is necessary that Casilinum
must come into the power of Hannibal. What then can be effected by
this division of necessity? I might almost say, a great deal, when the
topic of necessity appears such as may be easily introduced. For when
the necessity is a simple one, there will be no reason for our making
long speeches, as we shall not be able by any means to weaken it; but
when a thing is only necessary provided we wish to avoid or to obtain
something, then it will be necessary to state what advantage or what
honour is contained in that addition. For if you will take notice,
while inquiring what this contributes to the advantage of the state,
you will find that there is nothing which it is necessary to do,
except for the sake of some cause which we call the adjunct. And,
in like manner, you will find that there are many circumstances of
necessity to which a similar addition cannot be made; of such sort
are these:--"It is necessary that mortal men should die;" without
any addition:--"It is not necessary for men to take food;" with this
exception,--"Unless they have an objection to dying of hunger."

Therefore, as I said before, it will be always proper to take into
consideration the character of that exception which is added to the
original proposition. For it will at all times have this influence,
that either the necessity must be explained with reference to what is
honourable, in this manner:--"It is necessary, if we wish to live
with honour;" or with reference to safety, in this manner:--"It is
necessary, if we wish to be safe;" or with reference to convenience,
in this manner:--"It is necessary, if we are desirous to live without
annoyance."

LVIII. And the greatest necessity of all appears to be that which
arises from what is honourable; the next to it is that which arises
from considerations of safety; the third and least important is that
which has ideas of convenience involved in it. But this last can
never be put in comparison with the two former. But it is often
indispensable to compare these together; so that although honour is
more precious than safety, there is still room to deliberate which one
is to consult in the greatest degree. And as to this point, it appears
possible to give a settled rule which may be of lasting application.
For in whatever circumstances it can happen by any possibility that
while we are consulting our safety, that slight diminution of honesty
which is caused by our conduct may be hereafter repaired by virtue and
industry, then it seems proper to have a regard for our safety. But
when that does not appear possible, then we must think of nothing but
what is honourable. And so in a case of that sort when we appear to be
consulting our safety, we shall be able to say with truth that we
are also keeping our eyes fixed on what is honourable, since without
safety we can never attain to that end. And in these circumstances it
will be desirable to yield to another, or to put oneself in another's
place, or to keep quiet at present and wait for another opportunity.
But when we are considering convenience, it is necessary to consider
this point also,--whether the cause, as far as it has reference to
usefulness, appears of sufficient importance to justify us in taking
anything from splendour or honour. And while speaking on this topic,
that appears to me to be the main thing, that we should inquire what
that is which, whether we are desirous of obtaining or avoiding it,
is something necessary; that is to say, what is the character of the
addition; in order that, according as the matter is found to be, so we
may exert ourselves, and consider the most important circumstances as
being also the most necessary.

Affection is a certain way of looking at circumstances either with
reference to the time, or to the result, or management of affairs, or
to the desires of men, so that they no longer appear to be such as
they were considered previously, or as they are generally in the habit
of being considered. "It appears a base thing to go over to the enemy;
but not with the view which Ulysses had when he went over. And it is a
useless act to throw money into the sea; but not with the design
which Aristippus had when he did so." There are, therefore, some
circumstances which may be estimated with reference to the time at
which and the intention with which they are done; and not according to
their own intrinsic nature. In all which cases we must consider what
the times require, or what is worthy of the persons concerned; and we
must not think merely what is done, but with what intention, with what
companions, and at what time, it is done. And from these divisions of
the subject, we think that topics ought to be taken for delivering
one's opinion.

LIX. But praise and blame must be derived from those topics which
can be employed with respect to persons, and which we have already
discussed. But if any one wishes to consider them in a more separate
manner, he may divide them into the intention, and the person of the
doer, and extraneous circumstances. The virtue of the mind is that
concerning the parts of which we have lately spoken; the virtues
of the body are health, dignity, strength, swiftness. Extraneous
circumstances are honour, money, relationship, family, friends,
country, power, and other things which are understood to be of a
similar kind. And in all these, that which is of universal validity
ought to prevail here; and the opposites will be easily understood as
to their description and character.

But in praising and blaming, it will be desirable to consider not
so much the personal character of, or the extraneous circumstances
affecting the person of whom one is speaking, as how he has availed
himself of his advantages. For to praise his good fortune is folly,
and to blame it is arrogance; but the praise of a man's natural
disposition is honourable, and the blame of it is a serious thing.

Now, since the principles of argumentation in every kind of cause have
been set forth, it appears that enough has been said about invention,
which is the first and most important part of rhetoric. Wherefore,
since one portion of my work has been brought down to its end from the
former book; and since this book has already run to a great length,
what remains shall be discussed in subsequent books.

[_The two remaining books are lost_.]




THE ORATOR OF M.T. CICERO. ADDRESSED TO MARCUS BRUTUS.


This work was composed by Cicero soon after the battle of Pharsalia,
and it was intended by him to contain the plan of what he himself
considered to be the most perfect style of eloquence. In his Epistles
to his Friends (vi. 18.) he tells Lepta that he firmly believed that
he had condensed all his knowledge of the art of oratory in what he
had set forth in this book.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

VII. Now, whoever have by themselves arrived at any power in each of
these styles of oratory, have gained a great name among orators; but
we must inquire whether they have sufficiently effected what we want.
For we see that there have been some men who have been ornate and
dignified speakers, being at the same time shrewd and subtle arguers.
And I wish that we were able to find a model of such an orator among
the Latins. It would be a fine thing not to be forced to have recourse
to foreign instances, but to be content with those of our own country.
But though in that discourse of mine which I have published in the
Brutus, I have attributed much credit to the Latins,--partly
to encourage others, and partly out of affection for my own
countrymen,--I still recollect that I by far prefer Demosthenes to all
other men, inasmuch as he adapted his energy to that eloquence which
I myself feel to be such, and not to that which I have ever had any
experience of in any actual instance. He was an orator than whom
there has never existed one more dignified, nor more wise, nor more
temperate. And therefore it is well that we should warn those men
whose ignorant conversation is getting to have some notoriety and
weight, who wish either to be called Attic speakers, or who really
wish to speak in the Attic style, to fix their admiration on this man
above all others, than whom I do not think Athens itself more Attic.
For by so doing they may learn what Attic means, and may measure
eloquence by his power and not by their own weakness; for at present
every one praises just that which he thinks that he himself is able
to imitate. But still I think it not foreign to my present subject to
remind those who are endowed with but a weak judgment, what is the
peculiar merit of the Attic writers.

VIII. The prudence of the hearers has always been the regulator of
the eloquence of the orators. For all men who wish to be approved of,
regard the inclination of those men who are their hearers, and form
and adapt themselves entirely which of the Greek rhetoricians
ever drew any of his rules from Thucydides? Oh, but he is praised
universally. I admit that, but it is on the ground that he is a wise,
conscientious, dignified relater of facts, not that he was pleading
causes before tribunals, but that he was relating wars in a history.
Therefore, he was never accounted an orator; nor, indeed, should we
have ever heard of his name if he had not written a history, though he
was a man of eminently high character and of noble birth. But no one
ever imitates the dignity of his language or of his sentiments, but
when they have used some disjointed and unconnected expressions, which
they might have done without any teacher at all, then they think that
they are akin to Thucydides. I have met men too who were anxious to
resemble Xenophon, whose style is, indeed, sweeter than honey, but as
unlike as possible to the noisy style of the forum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

XXVIII. The third kind of orator is the sublime, copious, dignified,
ornate speaker, in whom there is the greatest amount of grace. For he
it is, out of admiration for whose ornamented style and copiousness of
language nations have allowed eloquence to obtain so much influence
in states; but it was only this eloquence, which is borne along in an
impetuous course, and with a mighty noise, which all men looked up
to, and admired, and had no idea that they themselves could possibly
attain to. It belongs to this eloquence to deal with men's minds, and
to influence them in every imaginable way. This is the style which
sometimes forces its way into and sometimes steals into the senses;
which implants new opinions in men, and eradicates others which have
been long established. But there is a vast difference between this
kind of orator and the preceding ones. A man who has laboured at the
subtle and acute style, in order to be able to speak cunningly and
cleverly, and who has had no higher aim, if he has entirely attained
his object, is a great orator, if not a very great one; he is far from
standing on slippery ground, and if he once gets a firm footing, is
in no danger of falling. But the middle kind of orator, whom I have
called moderate and temperate, if he has only arranged all his own
forces to his satisfaction, will have no fear of any doubtful or
uncertain chances of oratory; and even if at any time he should not be
completely successful, which may often be the case, still he will be
in no great danger, for he cannot fall far. But this orator of ours,
whom we consider the first of orators, dignified, vehement, and
earnest, if this is the only thing for which he appears born, or if
this is the only kind of oratory to which he applies himself, and if
he does not combine his copiousness of diction with those other two
kinds of oratory, is very much to be despised. For the one who speaks
simply, inasmuch as he speaks with shrewdness and sense, is a wise
man; the one who employs the middle style is agreeable; but this
most copious speaker, if he is nothing else, appears scarcely in his
senses. For a man who can say nothing with calmness, nothing with
gentleness; who seems ignorant of all arrangement and definition and
distinctness, and regardless of wit, especially when some of his
causes require to be treated in that matter entirely, and others in a
great degree; if he does not prepare the ears of his hearers before he
begins to work up the case in an inflammatory style, he seems like a
madman among people in their senses, or like a drunken man among sober
men.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


XXXII. I think, then, that it belongs to a perfectly eloquent man, not
only to have the ability, which is his peculiar province, of speaking
copiously and with the assertion of large principles, but also to
possess its neighbouring and contiguous science of dialectics:
although an oration appears one thing and a discussion another; nor is
talking the same thing as speaking; though each belongs to discussing.
Let then the system of discussing and talking belong to the logicians;
but let the province of the orators be to speak and to embellish their
speeches. Zeno, that great man, who founded the school of the Stoics,
was in the habit of showing with his hand what was the difference
between these arts; for when he had compressed his fingers and made a
fist, he said that dialectics were like that; but when he had opened
his fingers and expanded his hand, he said that eloquence was like
his open palm. And even before him Aristotle, in the beginning of
his Rhetoric, said, that the art of eloquence in one portion of it
corresponded to dialectics; so that they differ from one another in
this, that the system of speaking is more wide, that of talking more
contracted. I wish, then, that this consummate orator should be
acquainted with the entire system of talking, as far as it can be
applied to speaking; and that (as indeed you, who have a thorough
acquaintance with these arts, are well aware) has a twofold method of
teaching. For Aristotle himself has given many rules for arguing:
and those who followed him, and who are called dialecticians, have
delivered many very difficult rules. Therefore I think, that the man
who is tempted by the glory of eloquence, is not utterly ignorant
of those things; but that he has been brought up either in that old
school, or in the school of Chrysippus. Let him first acquaint himself
with the meaning and nature and classes of words, both single and
combined; then let him learn in how many ways each word is used; then
how it is decided, whether a thing is false or true; then what
results from each proposition; then to what argument each result is
a consequence, and to what it is contrary; and, as many things are
stated in an ambiguous manner, he must also learn how each of them
ought to be distinguished and explained. This is what must be acquired
by an orator; for those things are constantly occurring; but, because
they are in their own nature less attractive, it is desirable to
employ some brilliancy of eloquence in explaining them.

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

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

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

XXXIV. I am speaking at present concerning the subject matter of a
speech, not about the kind of speaking requisite. For I would rather
that an orator should first have a subject to speak of worthy of
learned ears, before he considers in what words or in what manner he
is to speak of everything; and, in order to make him grander, and in
some sense loftier (as I have said above about Pericles,) I should
wish him not to be utterly ignorant of physical science; and then,
when he descends again from heavenly matters to human affairs, he will
have all his words and sentiments of a more sublime and magnificent
character: and while he is acquainted with those divine laws, I do not
wish him to be ignorant of those of men. He must be a master of civil
law, which forensic debates are in daily need of. For what is more
shameful than for a man to undertake the conduct of legal and civil
disputes, while ignorant of the statutes and of civil law? He must be
acquainted also with the history of past ages and the chronology of
old time, especially, indeed, as far as our own state is concerned;
but also he must know the history of despotic governments and of
illustrious monarchs; and that toil is made easier for us by the
labours of our friend Atticus, who has preserved and made known the
history of former times in such a way as to pass over nothing worth
knowing, and yet to comprise the annals of seven hundred years in one
book. For not to know what happened before one was born, is to be
a boy all one's life. For what is the life of a man unless by a
recollection of bygone transactions it is united to the times of
his predecessors? But the mention of antiquity and the citation of
examples give authority and credit to a speech, combined with the
greatest pleasure to the hearers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

XXXVII. There are two things, which, when well handled by an orator,
make eloquence admirable. One of which is, that which the Greeks call
[Greek: haethikon], adapted to men's natures, and manners, and to
all their habits of life; the other is, that which they call [Greek:
pathaetikon], by which men's minds are agitated and excited, which
is the especial province of oratory. The former one is courteous,
agreeable, suited to conciliate good-will; the latter is violent,
energetic, impetuous, by which causes are snatched out of the fire,
and when it is hurried on rapidly it cannot by any means be withstood.
And by the use of this kind of oratory we, who are but moderate
orators, or even less than that, but who have at all times displayed
great energy, have often driven our adversaries from every part of
their case. That most consummate orator, Hortensius, was unable to
reply to me, on behalf of one of his intimate friends; that most
audacious of men, Catiline, was dumb when impeached in the senate by
me. When Curio, the father, attempted in a private cause of grave
importance to reply to me, he suddenly sat down, and said, that he was
deprived of his memory by poison. Why need I speak of the topics used
to excite pity? which I have employed to the greater extent, because,
even if there were many of us employed in one cause, still all men at
all times yielded me the task of summing up; and it was owing not so
much to my ability as to my sensibility, that I appeared to excel so
much in that part. And those qualities of mine, of whatever sort they
are, and I am ashamed that they are not of a higher class, appear in
my speeches: although my books are without that energy, on account
of which those same speeches appear more excellent when they are
delivered than when they are read.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"To fear to own the art he practises,"

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

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

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


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


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

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

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

And again--

"Quam nunquam vobis Graii atque Barbari."

But Ennius does so only once--

"Scipio invicte."

And we too have written,--

"Hinc motu radiantis Etesiae in vada ponti."

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


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


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

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

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

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

and,

"Texitur: exitiûm examen rapit," for exitiorum,

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

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

And again he says,--

"Namque aesculapi liberorum...."

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

"Cives, antiqui amici majorum meûm,"

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

"Consiliûm, auguriûm, atque extûm interpretes."

And again he goes on--

"Postquam prodigiûm horriferûm, putentfûm pavos,"

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

"Nihilne ad te de judicio armûm accidit?"

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

And Attius said--

"Video sepulchra dua duorum corporam."

And at another time he has said,--

"Mulier una duûm virûm."

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

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

"Eho, tu cognatum tuum non nôras?"

And afterwards he has,--

"Stilphonem, inquam, noveras?"

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


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


Nor should I find fault with

"Scripsere alii rem."

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

"Idem campus habet,"

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

"In templis îsdem;"

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

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

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

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

"Vi patefecerunt Bruges;"

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

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

and--

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

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

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

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

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

"Qua ponto a Helles"

is an extravagant expression; but

"Auratua aries Colehorum"

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

"Frugifera et ferta arva Asiae tenet."

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

"Quâ tempestate Paris Helenam,"

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


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


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

"Eam, quam nihil accusas, damnas."

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


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


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

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

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

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

This sort of rhythm then must be well understood.

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

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

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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LIX. But people often ask, whether in every portion of a paragraph it
is necessary to have a regard to rhythm, or whether it is sufficient
to do so at the beginning and end of a sentence. For many people think
that it is sufficient for a sentence to end and be wound up in a
rhythmical manner. But although that is the main point, it is not the
only one; for the sounding of the periods is only to be laid aside,
not to be thrown away. And therefore, as men's ears are always on the
watch for the end of a sentence, and are greatly influenced by that,
that certainly ought never to be devoid of rhythm; but harmony ought
to pervade the whole sentence from beginning to end; and the whole
ought to proceed from the beginning so naturally that the end shall be
consistent with every previous part. But that will not be difficult
to men who have been trained in a good school, who have written many
things, and who have made also all the speeches which they have
delivered without written papers like written speeches. For the
sentence is first composed in the mind; and then words come
immediately: and then they are immediately sent forth by the mind,
than which nothing is more rapid in its movements; so that each falls
into its proper place. And then their regular order is settled by
different terminations in different sentences; and all the expressions
at the beginning and in the middle of the sentence ought to be
composed with reference to the end. For sometimes the torrent of an
oration is rapid; sometimes its progress is moderate; so that from the
very beginning one can see how one wishes to come to the end. Nor is
it in rhythm more than in the other embellishments of a speech that we
behave exactly as poets do; though still, in an oration, we avoid all
resemblance to a poem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"O Maree Druse, patrem appello."

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

"Tu dicere solebas, sacram esse rempublicam."

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

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

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

"Patris dictum sapiens, temeritas filii comprobavit."

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

"Comprobavit filii temeritas:"

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

LXIV. But there are many little clauses which sound rhythmically and
agreeably. For there is the cretic, which consists of a long syllable,
then a short one, then a long; and there is its equivalent the paeon;
which is equal in time, but longer by one syllable; and which is
considered a very convenient foot to be used in prose, as it is of two
kinds. For it consists either of one long syllable and three short
ones, which rhythm is admirable at the beginning of a sentence, but
languid at the end; or of three short syllables and then the long one,
which the ancients consider the most musical foot of the two: I do not
object to it; though there are other feet which I prefer. Even the
spondee is not utterly to be repudiated; although, because it consists
of two long syllables, it appears somewhat dull and slow; still it
has a certain steady march not devoid of dignity; but much more is it
valuable in short clauses and periods; for then it makes up for the
fewness of the feet by its dignified slowness. But when I am speaking
of these feet as occurring in clauses, I do not speak of the one
foot which occurs at the end; I add (which however is not of much
consequence) the preceding foot, and very often even the foot before
that. Even the iambic, which consists of one short and one long
syllable; or that foot which is equal to the choreus, having three
short syllables, being therefore equal in time though not in the
number of syllables; or the dactyl, which consists of one long and two
short syllables, if it is next to the last foot, joins that foot very
trippingly, if it is a choreus or a spondee. For it never makes any
difference which of these two is the last foot of a sentence. But
these same three feet end a sentence very badly if one of them is
placed at the end, unless the dactyl comes at the end instead of a
cretic; for it does not signify whether the dactyl or the cretic comes
at the end, because it does not signify even in verse whether the last
syllable of all is long or short. Wherefore, whoever said that that
paeon was more suitable in which the last syllable was long, made a
great mistake; since it has nothing to do with the matter whether the
last syllable is long or not. And indeed the paeon, as having more
syllables than three, is considered by some people as a rhythm, and
not a foot at all. It is, as is agreed upon by all the ancients,
Aristotle, Theophrastus, Theodectes, and Ephorus, the most suitable
of all for an oration, either at the beginning or in the middle; they
think that it is very suitable for it at the end also; in which place
the cretic appears to me to be better. But a dochmiac consists of
five syllables, one short, two long, one short, and one long; as
thus:--_[)A]m[=i]c[=o]s t[)e]n[=e]s_; and is suitable for any part
of the speech, as long as it is used only once. If repeated or often
renewed it then makes the rhythm conspicuous and too remarkable. If
we use these changes, numerous and varied as they are, it will not be
seen how much of our rhythm is the result of study, and we shall avoid
wearying our hearers.

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

"Nam ubi libido dominatur innocentiae leve praesidium est."

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

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

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

"Missos faciant patronos; ipsi prodeant."

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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Testes dare volumus."

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

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

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

LXVIII. For speaking beautifully and like an orator is, O Brutus,
nothing else (as you, indeed, know better than any one) except
speaking with the most excellent sentiments and in the most carefully
selected language. And there is no sentiment which produces any fruit
to an orator, unless it is expressed in a suitable and polished
manner. Nor is there any brilliancy of words visible unless they
are carefully arranged; and rhythm it is which sets off both these
excellences. But rhythm (for it is well to repeat this frequently) is
not only not formed in a poetical manner, but even avoids poetry, and
is as unlike it as possible. Not but that rhythm is the same thing,
not only in the writings of orators and poets, but even in the
conversation of every one who speaks, and in every imaginable sound
which we can measure with our ears. But it is the order of the feet
which makes that which is uttered appear like an oration or like
a poem. And this, whether you choose to call it composition, or
perfection, or rhythm, must be employed if a man wishes to speak
elegantly, not only (as Aristotle and Theophrastus say) that the
discourse may not run on interminably like a river, but that it may
come to a stop as it ought, not because the speaker wants to take
breath, or because the copyist puts down a stop, but because it is
compelled to do so by the restrictions of rhythm, and also because a
compact style has much greater force than a loose one. For as we see
athletes, and in a similar manner gladiators, act cautiously, neither
avoiding nor aiming at anything with too much vehemence, (for
over-vehement motions can have no rule;) so that whatever they do in
a manner advantageous for their contest, may also have a graceful and
pleasing appearance; in like manner oratory does not strike a heavy
blow, unless the aim was a well-directed one; nor does it avoid the
attack of the adversary successfully, unless even when turning aside
the blow it is aware of what is becoming. And therefore the speeches
of those men who do not end their sentences rhythmically seem to me
like the motions of those whom the Greeks call [hapalaistrous]. And it
is so far from being the case, (as those men say who, either from a
want of proper instructors, or from the slowness of their intellect,
or from an unwillingness to exert due industry, have not arrived at
this skill,) that oratory is enervated by too much attention to the
arrangement of words, that without it there can be no energy and no
force.

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

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

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

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

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

"Multi superârunt mercatores venalitiique,"

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

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

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

"Vicerunt eunuchi e Syriâ aegyptoque."

Take this third sentence:--

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

Place the words thus:--

"Potuisse superari ab aliquo Syro aut Deliaco."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




THE TREATISE OF M. T. CICERO ON TOPICS,

DEDICATED TO CAIUS TREBATIUS.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE ARGUMENT.


This treatise was written a short time before the events which gave
rise to the first Philippic. Cicero obtained an honorary lieutenancy,
with the intention of visiting his son at Athens; on his way towards
Rhegium he spent an evening at Velia with Trebatius, where he began
this treatise, which he finished at sea, before he arrived in Greece.
It is little more than an abstract of what had been written by
Aristotle on the same subject, and which Trebatius had begged him to
explain to him; and Middleton says, that as he had not Aristotle's
essay with him, he drew this up from memory, and he appears to have
finished it in a week, as it was the nineteenth of July that he was
at Velia, and he sent this work to Trebatius from Rhegium on the
twenty-seventh. He himself apologizes to Trebatius in the letter which
accompanied it, (Ep. Fam. vii. 19,) for its obscurity, which however,
he says, was unavoidably caused by the nature of the subject.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

VI. There are also other kinds of definitions, but they have no
connexion with the subject of this book; we have only got to say what
is the manner of expressing a definition. This, then, is what the
ancients prescribe: that when you have taken those things which are
common to the thing which you wish to define with other things, you
must pursue them till you make out of them altogether some peculiar
property which cannot be transferred to anything else. As this: "An
inheritance is money." Up to this point the definition is common, for
there are many kinds of money. Add what follows: "which by somebody's
death comes to some one else." It is not yet a definition, for
money belonging to the dead can be possessed in many ways without
inheritance. Add one word, "lawfully." By this time the matter will
appear distinguished from general terms, so that the definition may
stand thus:--"An inheritance is money which by somebody's death has
lawfully come to some one else." It is not enough yet. Add, "without
being either bequeathed by will, or held as some one else's property."
The definition is complete. Again, take this:--"Those are _gentiles_
who are of the same name as one another." That is insufficient. "And
who are born of noble blood." Even that is not enough. "Who have never
had any ancestor in the condition of a slave." Something is still
wanting. "Who have never parted with their franchise." This, perhaps,
may do. For I am not aware that Scaevola, the pontiff, added anything
to this definition. And this principle holds good in each kind of
definition, whether the thing to be defined is something which exists,
or something which is understood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

XII. But I gave a little while ago an instance drawn from adjuncts;
showing that many things are added as accessories, which ought to
be admitted, if we decided that possession ought to be given by the
praetor's edict, in compliance with the will which that person made
who had no right whatever to make a will. But this topic has more
influence in conjectural causes, which are frequent in courts, of
justice, when we are inquiring either what is, or what has been, or
what is likely to be, or what possibly may happen. And the form of the
topic itself is as follows. But this topic reminds us to inquire what
happened before the transaction of which we are speaking, or at the
same time with the transaction, or after the transaction. "This has
nothing to do with the law, you had better apply to Cicero," our
friend Gallus used to say, if any one brought him any cause which
required an inquiry into matters of fact. But you will prefer that no
topic of the art which I have begun to treat of should be omitted
by me, lest if you should think that nothing was to be written here
except what had reference to yourself, you should seem to be too
selfish. This then is for the most part an oratorical topic; not only
not much suited to lawyers, but not even to philosophers. For the
circumstances which happened before the matter in question are
inquired into, such as any preparation, any conferences, any place,
any prearranged convivial meeting. And the circumstances which
happened at the same time with the matter in question, are the noise
of footfalls, the noise of men, the shadow of a body, or anything of
that sort. The circumstances subsequent to the matter in question are,
blushing, paleness, trepidation, or any other tokens of agitation
or consciousness; and besides these, any such fact as a fire
extinguished, a bloody sword, or any circumstance which can excite a
suspicion of such an act.

XIII. The next topic is one peculiar to dialecticians; derived from
consequents, and antecedents, and inconsistencies; and this one is
very different from that drawn from differences. For adjuncts, of
which we were speaking just now, do not always exist, but consequents
do invariably. I call those things consequents which follow an
action of necessity. And the same rule holds as to antecedents and
inconsistencies; for whatever precedes each thing, that of necessity
coheres with that theme; and whatever is inconsistent with it is of
such a nature that it can never cohere with it. As then this topic is
distributed in three divisions, into consequence, antecession, and
inconsistency, there is one single topic to help us find the argument,
but a threefold way of dealing with it. For what difference does it
make, when you have once assumed that the ready money is due to the
woman to whom all the money has been bequeathed, whether you conclude
your argument in this way:--"If coined money is money, it has been
bequeathed to the woman; but coined money is money; therefore it has
been bequeathed to her;"--or in this way: "If ready money has not been
bequeathed to her, then ready money is not money; but ready money is
money; therefore it has been bequeathed to her;"--or in this way: "The
cases of money not having been bequeathed, and of ready money not
having been bequeathed, are identical; but money was bequeathed
to her; therefore ready money was bequeathed to her?" But the
dialecticians call that conclusion of the argument in which, when you
have first made an assumption, that which is connected with it follows
as a consequence of the assumption, the first mood of the conclusion;
and when, because you have denied the consequence, it follows that
that also to which it was a consequence must be denied also, that is
the second mood. But when you deny some things in combination, (and
then another negation is added to them,) and from these things you
assume something, so that what remains is also done away with, that is
called the third mood of the conclusion. From this are derived those
results of the rhetoricians drawn from contraries, which they call
enthymemes. Not that every sentence may not be legitimately called
an enthymeme; but, as Homer on account of his preeminence has
appropriated the general name of poet to himself as his own among all
the Greeks; so, though every sentence is an enthymeme, still, because
that which is made up of contraries appears the most acute argument of
the kind, that alone has possessed itself of the general name as its
own peculiar distinction. Its kinds are these:--"Can you fear this
man, and not fear that one?"--"You condemn this woman, against whom
you bring no accusation; and do you say that this other one deserves
punishment, whom you believe to deserve reward?"--"That which you do
know is no good; that which you do not know is a great hindrance to
you."

XIV. This kind of disputing is very closely connected with the mode
of discussion adopted by you lawyers in reply, and still more closely
with that adopted by philosophers, as they share with the orators
in the employment of that general conclusion which is drawn from
inconsistent sentences, which is called by dialecticians the third
mood, and by rhetoricians an enthymeme. There are many other
moods used by the rhetoricians, which consist of disjunctive
propositions:--"Either this or that is the case; but this is the case;
then that is not the case." And again:--"Either this or that is the
case; but this is not the case; then that is the case." And these
conclusions are valid, because in a disjunctive proposition only one
alternative can be true. And from those conclusions which I have
mentioned above, the former is called by the dialecticians the
fourth mood, and the latter the fifth. Then they add a negation of
conjunctive propositions; as, "It is not both this and that; but it is
this; therefore it is not that." This is the sixth mood. The seventh
is, "It is not both this and that; but it is not this; therefore it is
that." From these moods innumerable conclusions are derived, in which
nearly the whole science of dialectics consists. But even those which
I have now explained are not necessary for this present discussion.

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

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

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


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


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

"The fork'd and fiery bolt of Jove"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

XXV. The arguments proper to these excuses, being derived from the
topics which we have already set forth, have been explained in our
oratorical rules. But the refutation of an accusation, in which there
is a repelling of a charge, which is called in Greek [Greek: stasis],
is in Latin called _status_. On which there is founded, in the first
place, such a defence as may effectually resist the attack. And also,
in the deliberations and panegyrics the same refutations often have
place. For it is often denied that those things are likely to happen
which have been stated by some or other in his speech as sure to take
place; if it can be shown either that they are actually impossible, or
that they cannot be brought about without extreme difficulty. And in
this kind of argumentation the conjectural refutation takes place. But
when there is any discussion about utility, or honour, or equity, and
about those things which are contrary to one another, then come in
denials, either of the law or of the name of the action. And the same
is the case in panegyrics. For one may either deny that that has been
done which the person is praised for; or else that it ought to bear
that name which the praiser has conferred on it, or else one may
altogether deny that it deserves any praise at all, as not having been
done rightly or lawfully. And Caesar employed all these different kinds
of denial with exceeding impudence when speaking against my friend
Cato. But the contest which arises from a denial is called by the
Greeks [Greek: krinomenon]; I, while writing to you, prefer calling it
"the precise point in dispute." But for the parts within which this
discussion on the point in dispute is contained, they may be called
the containing parts; being as it were the foundations of the defence;
and if they are taken away there would be no defence at all. But since
in arguing controversies there ought to be nothing which has more
weight than the law itself, we must take pains to have the law as our
assistant and witness. And in this there are, as it were, other new
denials, which are called legitimate subjects of discussion. For then
it is urged in defence, that the law does not say what the adversary
states it to say, but something else. And that happens when the terms
of the law are ambiguous, so that they can be understood in two
different senses. Then the intention of the framer is opposed to the
letter of the law; so that the question is, whether the words or the
intention ought to have the greatest validity? Then again, another law
is adduced contrary to this law. So there are three kinds of doubts
which can give rise to a dispute with respect to every written
document; ambiguity of expression, discrepancy between the expression
and the intention, and also written documents opposed to the one in
question. For this is evident; that these kinds of disputes are no
more incidental to laws than to wills, or covenants, or to anything
else which is contained in writing. And the way to treat these topics
is explained in other books.

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *




A DIALOGUE CONCERNING ORATORICAL PARTITIONS.

BY MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO.

       *       *       *       *       *


The persons introduced in this dialogue are Cicero and his son. It is
not known when, or under what circumstances it was written.


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

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

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

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

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

_C. P._ Into three.

_C. F._ What are they?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_C. F._ What is an argument?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_C. F._ In what manner?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_C. P._ You are quite right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_C. F._ Certainly, I do please.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

XXV. But if we were able always to preserve what is best, we should
not have much need of deliberation, since that is usually very
evident. But because it often happens on account of some peculiarity
in the times, which has great weight, that expediency is at variance
with what is honourable, and since the comparison of the two
principles gives rise to deliberation, lest we should either pass over
what is seasonable, on account of some considerations of dignity, or
what is honourable on account of some idea of expediency, we may give
examples to guide us in explaining this difficulty. And since an
oration must be adapted not only to truth, but also to the opinions of
the hearers, let us first consider this, that there are two kinds of
men: one of them unlettered and rustic, always preferring what is
expedient to what is honourable; the other, accomplished and polite,
preferring dignity to everything. Therefore, the one class sets its
heart upon, praise, honour, glory, good faith, justice, and every
virtue; but the other regards only gain, emolument, and profit. And
even pleasure, which is above all things hostile to virtue, and which
adulterates the nature of what is good by a treacherous imitation of
it, which all men of grosser ideas eagerly follow, and which prefers
that spurious copy, not only to what is honourable, but even to what
is necessary, must often be praised in a speech aiming at persuasion,
when you are giving counsel to men of that sort.

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

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

XXVII. And on this point of the subject we must consider with whom,
and against whom, and at what time, and in what place we are to do
such and such a thing, also what means of arms, money, allies, or
those other things which relate to the doing of any particular thing
we have it in our power to employ. Nor must we consider only
those means which we have, but those circumstances also which
are unfavourable to us. And if in the comparison the advantages
preponderate, then we must persuade our hearers, not only that what we
are advising can be effected, but we must also take care that it shall
appear easy, manageable, and agreeable. But if we are dissuading from
any particular course, then we must either disparage the utility of
it, or we must make the most of the difficulties of doing it, not
having recourse to other rules, but to the same topics as are
used when trying to persuade our hearers to anything. And whether
persuading or dissuading, the speaker must have a store of precedents,
either modern, which will be the best known, or ancient, which will
perhaps have the most weight. And in this kind of discourse he must
consider how he may be able often to make what is useful or necessary
appear superior to what is honourable, or _vice versâ_. But sentiments
of this kind will have great weight in influencing men's minds, (if it
is desirable to make an impression on them,) which relate either to
the gratification of people's desires, or to the glutting of hatred,
or to the avenging of injury. But if the object is to repress the
feelings of the hearers, then they must be reminded of the uncertainty
of fortune, of the doubtfulness of future events, and of the risk
there may be of retaining their existing fortune, if it is good; and
on the other hand, of the danger of its lasting if it is bad. And
these are topics for a peroration. But in expressing one's opinions,
the opening ought to be short, for the orator does not come forth as a
suppliant, as if he were speaking before a judge, but as an exhorter
and adviser. Wherefore, he ought to settle beforehand with what
intention he is going to speak, what his object is, what the subject
of his discourse is to be, and he ought to exhort his hearers to
listen to him while he detains them but a short time. And the whole of
his oration ought to be simple, and dignified, and embellished rather
by its sentiments than by its expressions.

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

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

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

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

XXX. But from the meeting and conflict, as it were, of the reasons
and of the corroborative proofs, a question arises, which I call a
dispute, in which the question is, what is the question before the
court, and what the dispute is about. For the first point which
the adversaries contend for implies an inquiry of large extent in
conjecture: as "Whether Decius has received the money;" in definition,
as "Whether Norbanus has committed treason against the people;" in
justice, as "Whether Opimius slew Gracchus lawfully." These questions
which come into conflict first by arguing and resisting, are, as I
have said, of wide extent and doubtful meaning. The comparison of the
arguments and corroborative proofs narrows the question in dispute. In
conjecture there is no dispute at all. For no one either can, or ought
to, or is accustomed to, give a reason for an act which he asserts
never took place. Therefore, in these causes the original question and
the ultimate dispute are one and the same thing. But in them, when the
assertion is advanced, "He did not commit treason in proceeding to
violent measures in respect to Caepio; for it was the first indignation
of the Roman people that prompted that violent conduct, and not the
conduct of the tribune: and the majesty, since it is identical
with the greatness of the Roman people, was rather increased than
diminished by retaining that man in power and office." And when the
reply is, "Majesty consists of the dignity of the empire and name of
the Roman people, which that man impairs, who excites sedition by
appealing to the violent passions of the multitude;" then comes the
dispute, Whether his conduct was calculated to impair that majesty,
who acted upon the inclinations of the roman people, so as to do a
thing which was both just and acceptable to them by means of violence.
But in such causes as these, when it is alleged in defence of the
accused party that something has been rightly done, or when it must be
admitted that it has been done, while the principle of the act is open
to discussion: as in the case of Opimius, "I did it lawfully, for the
sake of preserving the general safety and the republic;" and when
Decius replies, "You had no power or right to slay even the wickedest
of the citizens without a trial." Then arises the dispute, "Had
Opimius lawfully the power, for the sake of the safety of the
republic, to put to death a citizen who was overturning the republic,
without his being condemned?" And so those disputes which arise in
these controversies which are marked out by certain persons and times
become gradually infinite, and after the times and persons are put out
of the question, are again reduced to the form and rules under which
their merits can be discussed.

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

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

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

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

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

XXXIII. _C.P._ They are certain consequential signs of what is past,
certain traces of what has been done, deeply imprinted, which have a
great tendency to engender suspicion, and are, as it were, a silent
evidence of crimes, and so much the more weighty because all causes
appear as a general rule to be able to give ground for accusations,
and to show for whose advantage anything was; and these arguments have
an especial propriety of reference to those who are accused, such as a
weapon, a footstep, blood, the detection of anything which appears to
have been carried off or taken away; or any reply inconsistent with
the truth, or any hesitation, or trepidation, or the fact of the
accused person having been seen with any one whose character is such
as to give rise to suspicion; or of his having been seen himself in
that very place in which the action was done; or paleness, or tremor,
or any writing, or anything having been sealed up or deposited
anywhere. For these are circumstances of such a nature as to make the
charge full of suspicion, either in connexion with the act itself, or
with the time previous or subsequent to it. And if they are not so,
still it will be proper to rely on the causes themselves, and on the
means which the accused person had of doing the action, with the
addition of that general argument, that he was not so insane as to be
unable to avoid or conceal any indications of the action, so as to be
discovered and to give ground for an accusation. On the other hand,
there is that common topic, that audacity is joined to rashness, not
to prudence. Besides, there comes the topic suited to amplification,
that we are not to wait for his confessing; that offences are proved
by arguments; and here, too, precedents will be adduced. And thus much
about arguments.

XXXIV. But if there is also a sufficiency of witnesses, the first
thing will be to praise the party accused, and to say that he himself
has taken care not to be convicted by argument; that he could not
escape from witnesses: then each of the witnesses must be praised,
(and we have stated already what are the things for which people
can be praised;) and in the next place, it must be urged that it is
possible for it to be quite justifiable not to yield to a specious
argument, (inasmuch as such an one is often false,) but quite
impossible to refuse belief to a good and trusty man, unless there is
some fault in the judge. And then, too, if the witnesses are obscure
or insignificant, we must say that a man's credit is not to be
estimated by his fortune, but that those are the most trustworthy
witnesses on every point who have the easiest means of knowing the
truth of the matter under discussion. If the fact of an examination of
slaves under torture having taken place, or a demand that such should
take place, will assist the cause, then in the first place the general
character of such examinations must be extolled: we must speak of
the power of bodily pain; of the opinion of our ancestors, who would
certainly have abolished the whole system if they had not approved of
it; of the customs of the Athenians and Rhodians, very wise men, among
whom (and that is a most terrible thing) even freemen and citizens
are tortured; of the principles also of the most prudent of our own
countrymen, who though they are unwilling to allow slaves to be
examined against their masters, still did allow of such examination in
the case of incest and conspiracy,--and in fact such an examination
took place in my consulship. That declamation which men are in the
habit of using to throw discredit on such examinations must be laughed
out of court, and called studied and childish. Then a belief must be
inculcated that the examination has been conducted with care, and
without any partiality; and the answers given in the examination must
be weighed by arguments and by conjecture. And these are for the most
part the divisions of an accusation.

XXXV. But the first division of a defence is the invalidating of the
motives alleged for the action,--either as having no real existence,
or as not having been so important, or as not having been likely to
influence any one but the person accused; or we may urge that he could
have attained the same object more easily; or that he is not a man
of such habits, or of such a character; or that he was not so much a
slave to sudden impulses, or at all events not to such trifling ones.
And the advocate for the defence will disparage the means alleged
to be in the power of the accused person, if he shows that either
strength, or courage, or power, or resources were wanting to him; or
that the time was unfavourable, or the place unsuitable; or that there
were many witnesses, not one of whom he would have chosen to trust; or
that he was not such a fool as to undertake a deed which he could not
conceal; nor so senseless as to despise the penalties of the law and
the courts of justice. And he will do away with the effect of the
consequences alleged, by explaining that those things are not certain
proofs of an act which might have happened even if the act had never
been done; and he will dwell on the details, and urge that they belong
as much to what he himself alleges was the fact, as to that which is
at present the ground of accusation: or if he agrees with the accuser
on those points, still he will say that ought to be of avail rather as
a defence to himself against danger, than as an engine for injuring
his safety; and he will run down the whole body of witnesses and
examinations under torture, generally, and also in detail as far as
he can, by the use of the topics of reprehension which have been
explained already. The openings of these causes which are intended to
excite suspicion by their bitterness will be thus laid down by the
accuser; and the general danger of all intrigues will be denounced;
and men's minds will be excited so as to listen attentively. But the
person who is being accused will bring forward complaints of charges
having been trumped up against him, and suspicions ferreted out from
all quarters; and he will speak of the intrigues of the accuser, and
also of the common danger of all citizens from such proceedings: and
so he will try to move the minds of the judges to pity, and to excite
their good-will in some degree. But the narration of the accuser will
be a separate count, as it were, which will contain an explanation
of every sort of transaction liable to suspicion, with every kind
of argument scattered over it, and all the topics for the defence
discredited. But the speaker for the defence must pass over or
discredit all the arguments employed to raise suspicion, and will
limit himself to a narration of the actual facts and events which have
taken place. But in the corroboration of our own arguments, and in the
invalidation of those of our adversaries, it will be often the object
of the accuser to rouse the feelings of the minds of his hearers, and
of the advocate for the defence to pacify them. And this will be the
course of both of them especially in the peroration. The one must
have recourse to a reiteration of his arguments, and to a general
accumulation of them together; the other, when he has once clearly
explained his own cause, refuting the statements of his adversary,
must have recourse to enumeration; and, when he has effaced every
unfavourable impression, then at the end he will endeavour to move the
pity of his judges.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




THE TREATISE OF M. T. CICERO ON THE BEST STYLE OF ORATORS.


This little piece was composed by Cicero as a sort of preface to his
translation of the Orations of Demosthenes and Aeschines de Corona; the
translations themselves have not come down to us.

I. There are said to be classes of orators as there are of poets. But
it is not so; for of poets there are a great many divisions; for of
tragic, comic, epic, lyric, and also of dithyrambic poetry, which has
been more cultivated by the Latins, each kind is very different from
the rest. Therefore in tragedy anything comic is a defect, and in
comedy anything tragic is out of place. And in the other kinds of
poetry each has its own appropriate note, and a tone well known to
those who understand the subject. But if any one were to enumerate
many classes of orators, describing some as grand, and dignified,
and copious, others as thin, or subtle, or concise, and others as
something between the two and in the middle as it were, he would be
saying something of the men, but very little of the matter. For as to
the matter, we seek to know what is the best; but as to the man, we
state what is the real case. Therefore if any one likes, he has a
right to call Ennius a consummate epic poet, and Pacuvius an excellent
tragic poet, and Caecilius perhaps a perfect comic poet. But I do not
divide the orator as to class in this way. For I am seeking a perfect
one. And of perfection there is only one kind; and those who fall
short of it do not differ in kind, as Attius does from Terentius; but
they are of the same kind, only of unequal merit. For he is the best
orator who by speaking both teaches, and delights, and moves the
minds of his hearers. To teach them is his duty, to delight them is
creditable to him, to move them is indispensable. It must be granted
that one person succeeds better in this than another; but that is not
a difference of kind but of degree. Perfection is one thing; that
is next to it which is most like it; from which consideration it is
evident that that which is most unlike perfection is the worst.

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

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

III. I have stated these things with greater brevity than the subject
deserves; but still, with reference to my present object, it was
not worth while being more prolix. For as there is but one kind of
eloquence, what we are seeking to ascertain is what kind it is. And it
is such as flourished at Athens; and in which the genius of the Attic
orators is hardly comprehended by us, though their glory is known to
us. For many have perceived this fact, that there is nothing faulty
in them: few have discerned the other point; namely, how much in them
there is that is praiseworthy. For it is a fault in a sentence if
anything is absurd, or foreign to the subject, or stupid, or trivial;
and it is a fault of language if any thing is gross, or abject, or
unsuitable, or harsh, or far-fetched. Nearly all those men who are
either considered Attic orators or who speak in the Attic manner have
avoided these faults. But if that is all their merit, then they may
deserve to be regarded as sound and healthy, as if we were regarding
athletes, to such an extent as to be allowed to exercise in the
palaestra, but not to be entitled to the crown at the Olympic games.
For the athletes, who are free from defects, are not content as it
were with good health, but seek to produce strength and muscles and
blood, and a certain agreeableness of complexion; let us imitate them,
if we can; and if we cannot do so wholly, at least let us select as
our models those who enjoy unimpaired health, (which is peculiar to
the Attic orators,) rather than those whose abundance is vicious, of
whom Asia has produced numbers. And in doing this (if at least we can
manage even this, for it is a mighty undertaking) let us imitate, if
we can, Lysias, and especially his simplicity of style: for in many
places he rises to grandeur. But because he wrote speeches for many
private causes, and those too for others, and on very trifling
subjects, he appears to be somewhat simple, because he has designedly
filed himself down to the standard of the inconsiderable causes which
he was pleading.

IV. And a man who acts in this way, even if he be not able to turn out
a vigorous speaker as he wishes, may still deserve to be accounted an
orator, though an inferior one; but even a great orator must often
also speak in the same manner in causes of that kind. And in this way
it happens that Demosthenes is at times able to speak with simplicity,
though perhaps Lysias may not be able to arrive at grandeur. But if
men think that, when an army was marshalled in the forum and in all
the temples round the forum, it was possible to speak in defence of
Milo, as if we had been speaking in a private cause before a single
judge, they measure the power of eloquence by their own estimate of
their own ability, and not by the nature of the case. Wherefore, since
some people have got into a way of repeating that they themselves do
speak in an Attic manner, and others that none of us do so; the one
class we may neglect, for the facts themselves are a sufficient answer
to these men, since they are either not employed in causes, or when
they are employed they are laughed at; for if the laughter which
they excite were in approbation of them, that very fact would be a
characteristic of Attic speakers. But those who will not admit that we
speak in the Attic manner, but yet profess that they themselves are
not orators; if they have good ears and an intelligent judgment, may
still be consulted by us, as one respecting the character of a picture
would take the opinion of men who were incapable of making a picture,
though not devoid of acuteness in judging of one. But if they place
all their intelligence in a certain fastidiousness of ear, and if
nothing lofty or magnificent ever pleases them, then let them say that
they want something subtle and highly polished, and that they despise
what is dignified and ornamented; but let them cease to assert that
those men alone speak in the Attic manner, that is to say, in a
sound and correct one. But to speak with dignity and elegance and
copiousness is a characteristic of Attic orators. Need I say more? Is
there any doubt whether we wish our oration to be tolerable only, or
also admirable? For we are not asking now what sort of speaking is
Attic: but what sort is best. And from this it is understood, since
those who were Athenians were the best of the Greek orators, and since
Demosthenes was beyond all comparison the best of them, that if any
one imitates them he will speak in the Attic manner, and in the
best manner, so that since the Attic orators are proposed to us for
imitation, to speak well is to speak Attically.

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

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

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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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




END OF THE TREATISE.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: Dolabella had been married to Cicero's daughter Tullia,
but was divorced from her.]

[Footnote 2: The name was given them early. Juvenal, who wrote within
a hundred years of Cicero's time, calls them "divina Philippica."]

[Footnote 3: This meeting took place on the third day after Caesar's
death.]

[Footnote 4: [Greek: Mae mnaesikakin].]

[Footnote 5: The hook was to drag his carcass along the streets to
throw it into the Tiber. So Juvenal says--

    "Sejanus ducitur unco
    Spectandus."--x. 66.]

[Footnote 6: This refers to a pillar that was raised in the forum
in honour of Caesar, with the inscription, "To the Father of his
Country."]

[Footnote 7: _See_ Philippic 2.]

[Footnote 8: This was the name of a legion raised by Caesar in Gaul,
and called so, probably, from the ornament worn on their helmet.]

[Footnote 9: He meant to insinuate that Antonius had been forging
Caesar's handwriting and signature]

[Footnote 10: Fulvia, who had been the wife of Clodius, and afterwards
of Curio, was now the wife of Antonius.]

[Footnote 11: These were the names of slaves.]

[Footnote 12: Ityra was a town at the foot of Mount Taurus.]

[Footnote 13: Brutus was the Praetor urbanus this year, and that
officer's duty confined him to the city; and he was forbidden by law
to be absent more than ten days at a time during his year of office.]

[Footnote 14: I have translated _jugerum_ "an acre," because it
is usually so translated, but in point of fact it was not quite
two-thirds of an English acre. At the same time it was nearly three
times as large as the Greek [Greek: plethros] such by the fault of
fortune and not by his own. You assumed the manly gown, which you soon
made a womanly one: at first a public prostitute, with a regular price
for your wickedness, and that not a low one. But very soon Curio
stepped in, who carried you off from your public trade, and, as if he
had bestowed a matron's robe upon you, settled you in a steady and
durable wedlock. No boy bought for the gratification of passion was
ever so wholly in the power of his master as you were in Curio's. How
often has his father turned you out of his house? How often has he
placed guards to prevent you from entering? while you, with night
for your accomplice, lust for your encourager, and wages for your
compeller, were let down through the roof. That house could no longer
endure your wickedness. Do you not know that I am speaking of matters
with which I am thoroughly acquainted? Remember that time when Curio,
the father, lay weeping in his bed; his son throwing himself at my
feet with tears recommended to me you; he entreated me to defend you
against his own father, if he demanded six millions of sesterces of
you; for that he had been bail for you to that amount. And he himself,
burning with love, declared positively that because he was unable
to bear the misery of being separated from you, he should go into
banishment. And at that time what misery of that most nourishing
family did I allay, or rather did I remove! I persuaded the father to
pay the son's debts; to release the young man, endowed as he was with
great promise of courage and ability, by the sacrifice of part of his
family estate; and to use his privileges and authority as a father
to prohibit him not only from all intimacy with, but from every
opportunity of meeting you. When you recollected that all this was
done by me, would you have dared to provoke me by abuse if you had not
been trusting to those swords which we behold?]

[Footnote 15: Sisapo was a town in Spain, celebrated for some mines of
vermilion, which were farmed by a company.]

[Footnote 16: She was a courtesan who had been enfranchised by her
master Volumnius. The name of Volumnia was dear to the Romans as that
of the wife of Coriolanus, to whose entreaties he had yielded when he
drew off his army from the neighbourhood of Rome.]

[Footnote 17: This is a play on the name Hippia, as derived from
[Greek: hippos], a horse.]

[Footnote 18: The custom of erecting a spear wherever an auction
was held is well known, it is said to have arisen from the ancient
practice of selling under a spear the booty acquired in war.]

[Footnote 19: There seems some corruption here. Orellius apparently
thinks the case hopeless.]

[Footnote 20: The Latin is, "non solum de die, sed etiam in diem,
vivere;" which the commentators explain, "_De die_ is to feast every
day and all day. Banquets _de die_ are those which begin before the
regular hour." (Like Horace's _Partem solido demere de die_.) "To
live _in diem_ is to live so as to have no thought for the
future."--Graevius.]

[Footnote 21: This accidental resemblance to the incident in the
"Forty Thieves" in the "Arabian Nights" is curious.]

[Footnote 22: The _septemviri,_ at full length _septemviri epulones_
or _epulonum_, were originally triumviri. They were first created BC.
198, to attend to the _epulum Jovis_, and the banquets given in
honour of the other gods, which duty had originally belonged to the
_pontifices_. Julius Caesar added three more, but that alteration did
not last. They formed a _collegium_, and were one of the four
great religious corporations at Rome with the _pontifices_, the
_augures_, and the _quindecemviri_. Smith, Diet, Ant. v. _Epulones_.]

[Footnote 23: It had been explained before that Fulvia had been the
widow of Clodius and of Curio, before she married Antonius.]

[Footnote 24: Riddle (Dict. Lat. in voce) says, that this was
the regular punishment for deserters, and was inflicted by their
comrades.]

[Footnote 25: Cnaeus Octavius, the real father of Octavius Caesar, had
been praetor and governor of Macedonia, and was intending to stand for
the consulship when he died.]

[Footnote 26: Bambalio is derived from the Greek word [Greek: bambala]
to lisp.]

[Footnote 27: Julia, the mother of Antonius and sister of Lucius
Caesar, was also a native of Aricia.]

[Footnote 28: He had intended to propose to the senate to declare
Octavius a public enemy. We must recollect that in these orations
Cicero, even when he speaks of Caius Caesar, means Octavius.]

[Footnote 29: It is quite impossible to give a proper idea of
Cicero's meaning here. He is arguing on the word _dignus_, from which
_dignitas_ is derived. But we have no means of keeping up the play on
the words in English.]

[Footnote 30: The general proceeding on such occasions being to ask
each senator's opinion separately, which gave those who chose an
opportunity for pronouncing some encomium on the person honoured.]

[Footnote 31: Spartacus was the general of the gladiators and slaves
in the Servile war.]

[Footnote 32: Lepidus had not in reality done any particular service
to the republic (he was afterwards one of the triumviri), but he was
at the head of the best army in the empire, and so was able to be of
the most important service to either party, and, therefore, Cicero
hoped to attach him to his side by this compliment.]

[Footnote 33: It has been already explained that this was the name of
one legion.]

[Footnote 34: The mirmillo was the gladiator who fought with the
retiarius; he wore a Gallic helmet with a fish for a crest.]

[Footnote 35: The English reader must recollect that what is called
Gaul in these orations, is Cisalpine Gaul containing what we now call
the North of Italy, coming down as far south as Modena and Ravenna.]

[Footnote 36: After the year B.C. 403 there were two classes of Roman
knights, one of which received a horse from the state, and were
included in the eighteen centuries of service, the other class, first
mentioned by Livy (v. 7) in the account of the siege of Veii, served
with their own horses, and instead of having a horse found them,
received a certain pay, (three times that of the infantry) and were
not included in the eighteen centuries of service. The original
knights, to distinguish them from these latter, are often called
_equites equo publico_, sometimes also ficus vanes or _trossuli_
_Vide_ Smith, Dict. Ant. P. 394-396, v. _Equites_]

[Footnote 37: He had been one of the septemvirs appointed to preside
over the distribution of the lands.]

[Footnote 38: Janus was the name of a street near the temple of Janus,
especially frequented by bankers and usurers. It was divided into
_summus, nedus_ and _imus_ Horace says--


  Hase Janus summus ab imo
  Edocet [lacuna]
  Postquam omms res mea Janum
  Ad medium fracta cat.


]

[Footnote 39: _I.e. tumultus_, as if it were _tumor multus_]

[Footnote 40: These were the names of officers devoted to Antonius.]

[Footnote 41: The province between the Alps and the Rubicon was called
Gallia _Citerior_, or _Oisalpina_, from its situation, also _Togata_,
from the inhabitants wearing the Roman toga. The other was called
_Ulterior_, and by Cicero often _Ultima_, or _Transalpina_, and also
_Comata_, from the fashion of the inhabitants wearing long hair]

[Footnote 42: Sulpicius was of about the same age as Cicero, and an
early friend of his, and he enjoyed the reputation of being the first
lawyer of his time, or of all who ever had studied law as a profession
in Rome.]

[Footnote 43: There is some corruption of the text here.]

[Footnote 44: Brutus had been adopted by his maternal uncle Quintus
Servilius Caepio, so that his legal designation was what is given in
the text now, as Cicero is proposing a formal vote--though at all
other times we see that he calls him Marcus Brutus]

[Footnote 45: The Latin is _Samiarius_, or as some read it _Samarius_.
Orellius says, "perhaps it means some sort of trade, for I doubt
its having been a Roman proper name." Nizollius says, "Samarius
exul--_proverbium_." Facciolatti calls him a man whose business it was
to clean the arms of the guards, &c. with Samian chalk.]

[Footnote 46: Vopiscus is another name of Bestia.]

[Footnote 47: It is impossible to give the force of the original here,
which plays on the word _tabula_. The Latin is, "vindicem enim novarum
tabularum novam tabulam vidimus," _novae tabulae_ meaning as is well
known a law for the abolition of debts, _nova tabula_ in the singular
an advertisement of (Trebellius's) property being to be sold.]

[Footnote 48: Here too is a succession of puns. Lysidicus is derived
from the Greek [Greek: lyo] to loosen and [Greek: dikae], justice.
_Cimber_ is a proper name, and also means one of the nation of the
Cimbri, _Germanus_ is a German, and _germanus_ a brother, and he means
here to impute to Caius Cimber that he had murdered his brother.]

[Footnote 49: Compare St Paul,--"For if the trumpet give an uncertain
sound, who shall prepare himself to the battle?" 1 Cor. xiv 8.]

[Footnote 50: That is, without being crucified like a slave.]

[Footnote 51: The Latin here is "Itaque Caesaris munera
rosit,"--playing on the name mus, mouse; but Orellius thinks the whole
passage corrupt, and indeed there is evident corruption in the text
here in many places.]

[Footnote 52: He means Lucius Aemilius Paullus, and Caius Claudius
Marcellus, who were consuls the year after Servius Sulpicius and
Marcus Claudius Marcellus, A.U.C. 704.]

[Footnote 53: These two were tribunes of the people, who had been
dispossessed of their offices by Julius Caesar.]

[Footnote 54: There is some difficulty here. Many editors propose to
read "offen lerint" which Orellius thinks would hardly be Latin. He
says, "Antonius is here speaking of those veterans who had deserted
him indeed but who, at the time of his writing this letter, had not
acted against him". Therefore, he says it is open to them to become
reconciled to him again (wishing to conciliate them, and to alarm his
enemies). On the other hand, Cicero replies, Nothing is so open to
them now as to do what their duty to the republic requires. That is to
say, openly to attack you, whose party they have already abandoned.]

[Footnote 55: There were two wine feasts, Vinalia, at Rome: the
vinalia urbano, celebrated on the twenty-third of April; and the
vinalia rustica, on the nineteenth of October. This was the urbana
vinalia; on which occasion the wine casks which had been filled in the
autumn were tasted for the first time.]

[Footnote 56: There is much dispute as to who is meant here. Some say
Cicero refers to Amphion, some to Orpheus, and some to Mercury; the
Romans certainly did attribute the civilization of men to Mercury, as
Horace says--

    Qui feros cultus hominum recenti
    Voce formâsti catus I. 9, 2.]

[Footnote 57: This is very frequently quoted by Cicero; the Latin
lines being the opening of the Medea of Ennius, translated from the
first lines of the Medea of Euripides.]

[Footnote 58: The Talysus was a hunter at Rhodes, of whom Protogenes
had made an admirable picture, which was afterwards brought to Rome,
and placed in the temple of Peace.]

[Footnote 59: Brutus was at present propraetor in Gaul.]

[Footnote 60: Theophrastus's real name was Tyrtamus, but Aristotle,
whose pupil he was, surnamed him Theophrastus, from the Greek words
[Greek: Theos], God and [Greek: phrazo], to speak.]

[Footnote 61: He refers to the Menexenus.]

[Footnote 62: Cape si vis.]

[Footnote 63: "Assiduus. Prop, sitting down, seated, and so, well to
do in the world, rich. The derivation _ab assis duendis_ is therefore
to be rejected. Servius Tullius divided the Roman people into two
classes, _assidui, i. e._ the rich, who could sit down and take their
ease, and _proletarii_, or _capite censi_, the poor."--Riddle, in voc.
_Assiduus_, quoting this passage. One does not see, however, why aelius
and Cicero should not understand the meaning and derivation of a
Latin word. Smith's Dict. Ant. takes no notice of the word at all.]

[Footnote 64: See chap. x.]








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