Section I.

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THE WORKS OF CORNELIUS TACITUS;

WITH

AN ESSAY ON HIS LIFE AND GENIUS,

NOTES, SUPPLEMENTS, &c.

BY

ARTHUR MURPHY, ESQ.

Præcipuum munus annalium reor, ne virtutes sileantur, utque pravis

dictis factisque ex posteritate et infamiâ metus sit.

TACITUS, Annales, iii. s. 65.

A NEW EDITION,

WITH THE AUTHOR'S LAST CORRECTIONS.

IN EIGHT VOLUMES.

VOL. VIII.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR JOHN STOCKDALE; F.C. AND J. RIVINGTON; J. WALKER;

R. LEA; LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN; CADELL AND DAVIES; J.

MAWMAN; J. MURRAY; J. RICHARDSON; R. BALDWIN; AND J. FAULDER.

1811.

A DIALOGUE CONCERNING ORATORY,

OR THE CAUSES OF CORRUPT ELOQUENCE.

VOL. VIII.

CONTENTS.

I. General introduction, with the reasons for writing an account of

the following discourse.

II. The persons engaged in the dialogue; at first, Curiatius Maternus,

Julius Secundus, and Marcus Aper.

III. Secundus endeavours to dissuade Maternus from thinking any more

of dramatic composition.

IV. Maternus gives his reasons for persisting.

V. Aper condemns his resolution, and, in point of utility, real

happiness, fame and dignity, contends that the oratorical profession

is preferable to the poetical.

VIII. He cites the example of Eprius Marcellus and Crispus Vibius, who

raised themselves by their eloquence to the highest honours.

IX. Poetical fame brings with it no advantage.

X. He exhorts Maternus to relinquish the muses, and devote his whole

to eloquence and the business of the bar.

XI. Maternus defends his favourite studies; the pleasures arising from

poetry are in their nature innocent and sublime; the fame is extensive

and immortal. The poet enjoys the most delightful intercourse with his

friends, whereas the life of the public orator is a state of warfare

and anxiety.

XIV. Vipstanius Messala enters the room. He finds his friends engaged

in a controversy, and being an admirer of ancient eloquence, he

advises Aper to adopt the model of the ancients in preference to the

plan of the modern rhetoricians.

XV. Hence a difference of opinion concerning the merit of the ancients

and the moderns. Messala, Secundus, and Maternus, profess themselves

admirers of the oratory that flourished in the time of the republic.

Aper launches out against the ancients, and gives the preference to

the advocates of his own time. He desires to know who are to be

accounted ancients.

XVIII. Eloquence has various modes, all changing with the conjuncture

of the times. But it is the nature of men to praise the past, and

censure the present. The period when Cassius Severus flourished, is

stated to be the point of time at which men cease to be ancients;

Cassius with good reason deviated from the ancient manner.

XX. Defects of ancient eloquence: the modern style more refined and

elegant.

XXI. The character of Calvus, Cælius, Cæsar and Brutus, and also of

Asinius Pollio, and Messala Corvinus.

XXII. The praise and censure of Cicero.

XXIII. The true rhetorical art consists in blending the virtues of

ancient oratory with the beauties of the modern style.

XXIV. Maternus observes that there can be no dispute about the

superior reputation of the ancient orators: he therefore calls upon

Messala to take that point for granted, and proceed to an enquiry into

the causes that produced so great an alteration.

XXV. After some observations on the eloquence of Calvus, Asinius

Pollio, Cæsar, Cicero, and others, Messala praises Gracchus and Lucius

Crassus, but censures Mæcenas, Gallio, and Cassius Severus.

XXVII. Maternus reminds Messala of the true point in question; Messala

proceeds to assign the causes which occasioned the decay of eloquence,

such as the dissipation of the young men, the inattention of their

parents, the ignorance of rhetorical professors, and the total neglect

of ancient discipline.

XXXIV. He proceeds to explain the plan of study, and the institutions,

customs, and various arts, by which orators were formed in the time of

the republic.

XXXV. The defects and vices in the new system of education. In this

part of the dialogue, the sequel of Messala's discourse is lost, with

the whole of what was said by Secundus, and the beginning of Maternus:

the supplement goes on from this place, distinguished by inverted

commas [transcriber's note: not used], and the sections marked with

numerical figures.

1. Messala describes the presumption of the young advocates on their

first appearance at the bar; their want of legal knowledge, and the

absurd habits which they contracted in the schools of the

rhetoricians.

2. Eloquence totally ruined by the preceptors. Messala concludes with

desiring Secundus and Maternus to assign the reasons which have

occurred to them.

4. Secundus gives his opinion. The change of government produced a new

mode of eloquence. The orators under the emperors endeavoured to be

ingenious rather than natural. Seneca the first who introduced a false

taste, which still prevailed in the reign of Vespasian.

8. Licinius Largus taught the advocates of his time the disgraceful

art of hiring applauders by profession. This was the bane of all true

oratory, and, for that reason, Maternus was right in renouncing the

forum altogether.

10. Maternus acknowledges that he was disgusted by the shameful

practices that prevailed at the bar, and therefore resolved to devote

the rest of his time to poetry and the muses.

11. An apology for the rhetoricians. The praise of Quintilian. True

eloquence died with Cicero.

13. The loss of liberty was the ruin of genuine oratory. Demosthenes

flourished under a free government. The original goes on from this

place to the end of the dialogue.

XXXVI. Eloquence flourishes most in times of public tumult. The crimes

of turbulent citizens supply the orator with his best materials.

XXXVII. In the time of the republic, oratorical talents were necessary

qualifications, and without them no man was deemed worthy of being

advanced to the magistracy.

XXXVIII. The Roman orators were not confined in point of time; they

might extend their speeches to what length they thought proper, and

could even adjourn. Pompey abridged the liberty of speech, and limited

the time.

XXXIX. The very dress of the advocates under the emperors was

prejudicial to eloquence.

XL. True eloquence springs from the vices of men, and never was known

to exist under a calm and settled government.

XLI. Eloquence changes with the times. Every age has its own peculiar

advantages, and invidious comparisons are unnecessary.

XLII. Conclusion of the dialogue.

The time of this dialogue was the sixth of Vespasian's reign.

Year of Rome--Of Christ Consuls.

828 75 Vespasian, 6th time; Titus his son,

4th time.

A DIALOGUE CONCERNING ORATORY, OR THE CAUSES OF CORRUPT ELOQUENCE.

I. You have often enquired of me, my good friend, Justus Fabius [a],

how and from what causes it has proceeded, that while ancient times

display a race of great and splendid orators, the present age,

dispirited, and without any claim to the praise of eloquence, has

scarcely retained the name of an orator. By that appellation we now

distinguish none but those who flourished in a former period. To the

eminent of the present day, we give the title of speakers, pleaders,

advocates, patrons, in short, every thing but orators.

The enquiry is in its nature delicate; tending, if we are not able to

contend with antiquity, to impeach our genius, and if we are not

willing, to arraign our judgement. An answer to so nice a question is

more than I should venture to undertake, were I to rely altogether

upon myself: but it happens, that I am able to state the sentiments of

men distinguished by their eloquence, such as it is in modern times;

having, in the early part of my life, been present at their

conversation on the very subject now before us. What I have to offer,

will not be the result of my own thinking: it is the work of memory

only; a mere recital of what fell from the most celebrated orators of

their time: a set of men, who thought with subtilty, and expressed

themselves with energy and precision; each, in his turn, assigning

different but probable causes, at times insisting on the same, and, in

the course of the debate, maintaining his own proper character, and

the peculiar cast of his mind. What they said upon the occasion, I

shall relate, as nearly as may be, in the style and manner of the

several speakers, observing always the regular course and order of the

controversy. For a controversy it certainly was, where the speakers of

the present age did not want an advocate, who supported their cause

with zeal, and, after treating antiquity with sufficient freedom, and

even derision, assigned the palm of eloquence to the practisers of

modern times.

II. Curiatius Maternus [a] gave a public reading of his tragedy of

Cato. On the following day a report prevailed, that the piece had

given umbrage to the men in power. The author, it was said, had

laboured to display his favourite character in the brightest colours;

anxious for the fame of his hero, but regardless of himself. This soon

became the topic of public conversation. Maternus received a visit

from Marcus Aper [b] and Julius Secundus [c], both men of genius, and

the first ornaments of the forum. I was, at that time, a constant

attendant on those eminent men. I heard them, not only in their scenes

of public business, but, feeling an inclination to the same studies, I

followed them with all the ardour of youthful emulation. I was

admitted to their private parties; I heard their debates, and the

amusement of their social hours: I treasured up their wit, and their

sentiments on the various topics which they had discussed in

conversation. Respected as they were, it must, however, be

acknowledged that they did not escape the malignity of criticism. It

was objected to Secundus, that he had no command of words, no flow of

language; and to Aper, that he was indebted for his fame, not to art

or literature, but to the natural powers of a vigorous understanding.

The truth is, the style of the former was remarkable for its purity;

concise, yet free and copious; and the latter was sufficiently versed

in all branches of general erudition. It might be said of him, that he

despised literature, not that he wanted it. He thought, perhaps, that,

by scorning the aid of letters, and by drawing altogether from his own

fund, his fame would stand on a more solid foundation.

III. We went together to pay our visit to Maternus. Upon entering his

study, we found him with the tragedy, which he had read on the

preceding day, lying before him. Secundus began: And are you then so

little affected by the censure of malignant critics, as to persist in

cherishing a tragedy which has given so much offence? Perhaps you are

revising the piece, and, after retrenching certain passages, intend to

send your Cato into the world, I will not say improved, but certainly

less obnoxious. There lies the poem, said Maternus; you may, if you

think proper, peruse it with all its imperfections on its head. If

Cato has omitted any thing, Thyestes [a], at my next reading, shall

atone for all deficiencies. I have formed the fable of a tragedy on

that subject: the plan is warm in my imagination, and, that I may give

my whole time to it, I now am eager to dispatch an edition of Cato.

Marcus Aper interposed: And are you, indeed, so enamoured of your

dramatic muse, as to renounce your oratorical character, and the

honours of your profession, in order to sacrifice your time, I think

it was lately to Medea, and now to Thyestes? Your friends, in the mean

time, expect your patronage; the colonies [b] invoke your aid, and the

municipal cities invite you to the bar. And surely the weight of so

many causes may be deemed sufficient, without this new solicitude

imposed upon you by Domitius [c] or Cato. And must you thus waste all

your time, amusing yourself for ever with scenes of fictitious

distress, and still labouring to add to the fables of Greece the

incidents and characters of the Roman story?

IV. The sharpness of that reproof, replied Maternus, would, perhaps,

have disconcerted me, if, by frequent repetition, it had not lost its

sting. To differ on this subject is grown familiar to us both. Poetry,

it seems, is to expect no quarter: you wage an incessant war against

the followers of that pleasing art; and I, who am charged with

deserting my clients, have yet every day the cause of poetry to

defend. But we have now a fair opportunity, and I embrace it with

pleasure, since we have a person present, of ability to decide between

us; a judge, who will either lay me under an injunction to write no

more verses, or, as I rather hope, encourage me, by his authority, to

renounce for ever the dry employment of forensic causes (in which I

have had my share of drudgery), that I may, for the future, be at

leisure to cultivate the sublime and sacred eloquence of the tragic

muse.

V. Secundus desired to be heard: I am aware, he said, that Aper may

refuse me as an umpire. Before he states his objections, let me follow

the example of all fair and upright judges, who, in particular cases,

when they feel a partiality for one of the contending parties, desire

to be excused from hearing the cause. The friendship and habitual

intercourse, which I have ever cultivated with Saleius Bassus [a],

that excellent man, and no less excellent poet, are well known: and

let me add, if poetry is to be arraigned, I know no client that can

offer such handsome bribes.

My business, replied Aper, is not with Saleius Bassus: let him, and

all of his description, who, without talents for the bar, devote their

time to the muses, pursue their favourite amusement without

interruption. But Maternus must not think to escape in the crowd. I

single him out from the rest, and since we are now before a competent

judge, I call upon him to answer, how it happens, that a man of his

talents, formed by nature to reach the heights of manly eloquence, can

think of renouncing a profession, which not only serves to multiply

friendships, but to support them with reputation: a profession, which

enables us to conciliate the esteem of foreign nations, and (if we

regard our own interest) lays open the road to the first honours of

the state; a profession, which, besides the celebrity that it gives

within the walls of Rome, spreads an illustrious name throughout this

wide extent of the empire.

If it be wisdom to make the ornament and happiness of life the end and

aim of our actions, what can be more advisable than to embrace an art,

by which we are enabled to protect our friends; to defend the cause of

strangers; and succour the distressed? Nor is this all: the eminent

orator is a terror to his enemies: envy and malice tremble, while they

hate him. Secure in his own strength, he knows how to ward off every

danger. His own genius is his protection; a perpetual guard, that

watches him; an invincible power, that shields him from his enemies.

In the calm seasons of life, the true use of oratory consists in the

assistance which it affords to our fellow-citizens. We then behold the

triumph of eloquence. Have we reason to be alarmed for ourselves, the

sword and breast-plate are not a better defence in the heat of battle.

It is at once a buckler to cover yourself [b] and a weapon to brandish

against your enemy. Armed with this, you may appear with courage

before the tribunals of justice, in the senate, and even in the

presence of the prince. We lately saw [c] Eprius Marcellus arraigned

before the fathers: in that moment, when the minds of the whole

assembly were inflamed against him, what had he to oppose to the

vehemence of his enemies, but that nervous eloquence which he

possessed in so eminent a degree? Collected in himself, and looking

terror to his enemies, he was more than a match for Helvidius Priscus;

a man, no doubt, of consummate wisdom, but without that flow of

eloquence, which springs from practice, and that skill in argument,

which is necessary to manage a public debate. Such is the advantage of

oratory: to enlarge upon it were superfluous. My friend Maternus will

not dispute the point.

VI. I proceed to the pleasure arising from the exercise of eloquence;

a pleasure which does not consist in the mere sensation of the moment,

but is felt through life, repeated every day, and almost every hour.

For let me ask, to a man of an ingenuous and liberal mind, who knows

the relish of elegant enjoyments, what can yield such true delight, as

a concourse of the most respectable characters crowding to his levee?

How must it enhance his pleasure, when he reflects, that the visit is

not paid to him because he is rich, and wants an heir [a], or is in

possession of a public office, but purely as a compliment to superior

talents, a mark of respect to a great and accomplished orator! The

rich who have no issue, and the men in high rank and power, are his

followers. Though he is still young, and probably destitute of

fortune, all concur in paying their court to solicit his patronage for

themselves, or to recommend their friends to his protection. In the

most splendid fortune, in all the dignity and pride of power, is there

any thing that can equal the heartfelt satisfaction of the able

advocate, when he sees the most illustrious citizens, men respected

for their years, and flourishing in the opinion of the public, yet

paying their court to a rising genius, and, in the midst of wealth and

grandeur, fairly owning, that they still want something superior to

all their possessions? What shall be said of the attendants, that

follow the young orator from the bar, and watch his motions to his own

house? With what importance does he appear to the multitude! in the

courts of judicature, with what veneration! When he rises to speak,

the audience is hushed in mute attention; every eye is fixed on him

alone; the crowd presses round him; he is master of their passions;

they are swayed, impelled, directed, as he thinks proper. These are

the fruits of eloquence, well known to all, and palpable to every

common observer.

There are other pleasures more refined and secret, felt only by the

initiated. When the orator, upon some great occasion, comes with a

well-digested speech, conscious of his matter, and animated by his

subject, his breast expands, and heaves with emotions unfelt before.

In his joy there is a dignity suited to the weight and energy of the

composition which he has prepared. Does he rise to hazard himself [b]

in a sudden debate; he is alarmed for himself, but in that very alarm

there is a mingle of pleasure, which predominates, till distress

itself becomes delightful. The mind exults in the prompt exertion of

its powers, and even glories in its rashness. The productions of

genius, and those of the field, have this resemblance: many things are

sown, and brought to maturity with toil and care; yet that, which

grows from the wild vigour of nature, has the most grateful flavour.

VII. As to myself, if I may allude to my own feelings, the day on

which I put on the manly gown [a], and even the days that followed,

when, as a new man at Rome, born in a city that did not favour my

pretensions [b], I rose in succession to the offices of quæstor,

tribune, and prætor; those days, I say, did not awaken in my breast

such exalted rapture, as when, in the course of my profession, I was

called forth, with such talents as have fallen to my share, to defend

the accused; to argue a question of law before the centumviri [c], or,

in the presence of the prince, to plead for his freedmen, and the

procurators appointed by himself. Upon those occasions I towered above

all places of profit, and all preferment; I looked down on the

dignities of tribune, prætor, and consul; I felt within myself, what

neither the favour of the great, nor the wills and codicils [d] of the

rich, can give, a vigour of mind, an inward energy, that springs from

no external cause, but is altogether your own.

Look through the circle of the fine arts, survey the whole compass of

the sciences, and tell me in what branch can the professors acquire a

name to vie with the celebrity of a great and powerful orator. His

fame does not depend on the opinion of thinking men, who attend to

business and watch the administration of affairs; he is applauded by

the youth of Rome, at least by such of them as are of a well-turned

disposition, and hope to rise by honourable means. The eminent orator

is the model which every parent recommends to his children. Even the

common people [e] stand at gaze, as he passes by; they pronounce his

name with pleasure, and point at him as the object of their

admiration. The provinces resound with his praise. The strangers, who

arrive from all parts, have heard of his genius; they wish to behold

the man, and their curiosity is never at rest, till they have seen his

person, and perused his countenance.

VIII. I have already mentioned Eprius Marcellus and Crispus Vibius

[a]. I cite living examples, in preference to the names of a former

day. Those two illustrious persons, I will be bold to say, are not

less known in the remotest parts of the empire, than they are at

Capua, or Vercellæ [b], where, we are told, they both were born. And

to what is their extensive fame to be attributed? Not surely to their

immoderate riches. Three hundred thousand sesterces cannot give the

fame of genius. Their eloquence may be said to have built up their

fortunes; and, indeed, such is the power, I might say the inspiration,

of eloquence, that in every age we have examples of men, who by their

talents raised themselves to the summit of their ambition.

But I waive all former instances. The two, whom I have mentioned, are

not recorded in history, nor are we to glean an imperfect knowledge of

them from tradition; they are every day before our eyes. They have

risen from low beginnings; but the more abject their origin, and the

more sordid the poverty, in which they set out, their success rises in

proportion, and affords a striking proof of what I have advanced;

since it is apparent, that, without birth or fortune, neither of them

recommended by his moral character, and one of them deformed in his

person, they have, notwithstanding all disadvantages, made themselves,

for a series of years, the first men in the state. They began their

career in the forum, and, as long as they chose to pursue that road of

ambition, they flourished in the highest reputation; they are now at

the head of the commonwealth, the ministers who direct and govern, and

so high in favour with the prince, that the respect, with which he

receives them, is little short of veneration.

The truth is, Vespasian [c], now in the vale of years, but always open

to the voice of truth, clearly sees that the rest of his favourites

derive all their lustre from the favours, which his munificence has

bestowed; but with Marcellus and Crispus the case is different: they

carry into the cabinet, what no prince can give, and no subject can

receive. Compared with the advantages which those men possess, what

are family-pictures, statues, busts, and titles of honour? They are

things of a perishable nature, yet not without their value. Marcellus

and Vibius know how to estimate them, as they do wealth and honours;

and wealth and honours are advantages against which you will easily

find men that declaim, but none that in their hearts despise them.

Hence it is, that in the houses of all who have distinguished

themselves in the career of eloquence, we see titles, statues, and

splendid ornaments, the reward of talents, and, at all times, the

decorations of the great and powerful orator.

IX. But to come to the point, from which we started: poetry, to which

my friend Maternus wishes to dedicate all his time, has none of these

advantages. It confers no dignity, nor does it serve any useful

purpose. It is attended with some pleasure, but it is the pleasure of

a moment, springing from vain applause, and bringing with it no solid

advantage. What I have said, and am going to add, may probably, my

good friend Maternus, be unwelcome to your ear; and yet I must take

the liberty to ask you, if Agamemnon [a] or Jason speaks in your piece

with dignity of language, what useful consequence follows from it?

What client has been defended? Who confesses an obligation? In that

whole audience, who returns to his own house with a grateful heart?

Our friend Saleius Bassus [b] is, beyond all question, a poet of

eminence, or, to use a warmer expression, he has the god within him:

but who attends his levee? who seeks his patronage, or follows in his

train? Should he himself, or his intimate friend, or his near

relation, happen to be involved in a troublesome litigation, what

course do you imagine he would take? He would, most probably, apply to

his friend, Secundus; or to you, Maternus; not because you are a poet,

nor yet to obtain a copy of verses from you; of those he has a

sufficient stock at home, elegant, it must be owned, and exquisite in

the kind. But after all his labour and waste of genius, what is his

reward?

When in the course of a year, after toiling day and night, he has

brought a single poem to perfection, he is obliged to solicit his

friends and exert his interest, in order to bring together an audience

[c], so obliging as to hear a recital of the piece. Nor can this be

done without expence. A room must be hired, a stage or pulpit must be

erected; benches must be arranged, and hand-bills distributed

throughout the city. What if the reading succeeds to the height of his

wishes? Pass but a day or two, and the whole harvest of praise and

admiration fades away, like a flower that withers in its bloom, and

never ripens into fruit. By the event, however flattering, he gains no

friend, he obtains no patronage, nor does a single person go away

impressed with the idea of an obligation conferred upon him. The poet

has been heard with applause; he has been received with acclamations;

and he has enjoyed a short-lived transport.

Bassus, it is true, has lately received from Vespasian a present of

fifty thousand sesterces. Upon that occasion, we all admired the

generosity of the prince. To deserve so distinguished a proof of the

sovereign's esteem is, no doubt, highly honourable; but is it not

still more honourable, if your circumstances require it, to serve

yourself by your talents? to cultivate your genius, for your own

advantage? and to owe every thing to your own industry, indebted to

the bounty of no man whatever? It must not be forgotten, that the

poet, who would produce any thing truly excellent in the kind, must

bid farewell to the conversation of his friends; he must renounce, not

only the pleasures of Rome, but also the duties of social life; he

must retire from the world; as the poets say, "to groves and grottos

every muse's son." In other words, he must condemn himself to a

sequestered life in the gloom of solitude.

X. The love of fame, it seems, is the passion that inspires the poet's

genius: but even in this respect, is he so amply paid as to rival in

any degree the professors of the persuasive arts? As to the

indifferent poet, men leave him to his own [a] mediocrity: the real

genius moves in a narrow circle. Let there be a reading of a poem by

the ablest master of his art: will the fame of his performance reach

all quarters, I will not say of the empire, but of Rome only? Among

the strangers who arrive from Spain, from Asia, or from Gaul, who

enquires [b] after Saleius Bassus? Should it happen that there is one,

who thinks, of him; his curiosity is soon satisfied; he passes on,

content with a transient view, as if he had seen a picture or a

statue.

In what I have advanced, let me not be misunderstood: I do not mean to

deter such as are not blessed with the gift of oratory, from the

practice of their favourite art, if it serves to fill up their time,

and gain a degree of reputation. I am an admirer of eloquence [c]; I

hold it venerable, and even sacred, in all its shapes, and every mode

of composition. The pathetic of tragedy, of which you, Maternus, are

so great a master; the majesty of the epic, the gaiety of the lyric

muse; the wanton elegy, the keen iambic, and the pointed epigram; all

have their charms; and Eloquence, whatever may be the subject which

she chooses to adorn, is with me the sublimest faculty, the queen of

all the arts and sciences. But this, Maternus, is no apology for you,

whose conduct is so extraordinary, that, though formed by nature to

reach the summit of perfection [d], you choose to wander into devious

paths, and rest contented with an humble station in the vale beneath.

Were you a native of Greece, where to exhibit in the public games [e]

is an honourable employment; and if the gods had bestowed upon you the

force and sinew of the athletic Nicostratus [f]; do you imagine that I

could look tamely on, and see that amazing vigour waste itself away in

nothing better than the frivolous art of darting the javelin, or

throwing the coit? To drop the allusion, I summon you from the theatre

and public recitals to the business of the forum, to the tribunals of

justice, to scenes of real contention, to a conflict worthy of your

abilities. You cannot decline the challenge, for you are left without

an excuse. You cannot say, with a number of others, that the

profession of poetry is safer than that of the public orator; since

you have ventured, in a tragedy written with spirit, to display the

ardour of a bold and towering genius.

And for whom have you provoked so many enemies? Not for a friend; that

would have had alleviating circumstances. You undertook the cause of

Cato, and for him committed yourself. You cannot plead, by way of

apology, the duty of an advocate, or the sudden effusion of sentiment

in the heat and hurry of an unpremeditated speech. Your plan was

settled; a great historical personage was your hero, and you chose

him, because what falls from so distinguished a character, falls from

a height that gives it additional weight. I am aware of your answer:

you will say, it was that very circumstance that ensured the success

of your piece; the sentiments were received with sympathetic rapture:

the room echoed with applause, and hence your fame throughout the city

of Rome. Then let us hear no more of your love of quiet and a state of

security: you have voluntarily courted danger. For myself, I am

content with controversies of a private nature, and the incidents of

the present day. If, hurried beyond the bounds of prudence, I should

happen, on any occasion, to grate the ears of men in power, the zeal

of an advocate, in the service of his client, will excuse the honest

freedom of speech, and, perhaps, be deemed a proof of integrity.

XI. Aper went through his argument, according to his custom, with

warmth and vehemence. He delivered the whole with a peremptory tone

and an eager eye. As soon as he finished, I am prepared, said Maternus

smiling, to exhibit a charge against the professors of oratory, which

may, perhaps, counterbalance the praise so lavishly bestowed upon them

by my friend. In the course of what he said, I was not surprised to

see him going out of his way, to lay poor poetry prostrate at his

feet. He has, indeed, shewn some kindness to such as are not blessed

with oratorical talents. He has passed an act of indulgence in their

favour, and they, it seems, are allowed to pursue their favourite

studies. For my part, I will not say that I think myself wholly

unqualified for the eloquence of the bar. It may be true, that I have

some kind of talent for that profession; but the tragic muse affords

superior pleasure. My first attempt was in the reign of Nero, in

opposition to the extravagant claims of the prince [a], and in

defiance of the domineering spirit of Vatinius [b], that pernicious

favourite, by whose coarse buffoonery the muses were every day

disgraced, I might say, most impiously prophaned. The portion of fame,

whatever it be, that I have acquired since that time, is to be

attributed, not to the speeches which I made in the forum, but to the

power of dramatic composition. I have, therefore, resolved to take my

leave of the bar for ever. The homage of visitors, the train of

attendants, and the multitude of clients, which glitter so much in the

eyes of my friend, have no attraction for me. I regard them as I do

pictures, and busts, and statues of brass; things, which indeed are in

my family, but they came unlooked for, without my stir, or so much as

a wish on my part. In my humble station, I find that innocence is a

better shield than oratory. For the last I shall have no occasion,

unless I find it necessary, on some future occasion, to exert myself

in the just defence of an injured friend.

XII. But woods, and groves [a], and solitary places, have not escaped

the satyrical vein of my friend. To me they afford sensations of a

pure delight. It is there I enjoy the pleasures of a poetic

imagination; and among those pleasures it is not the least, that they

are pursued far from the noise and bustle of the world, without a

client to besiege my doors, and not a criminal to distress me with the

tears of affliction. Free from those distractions, the poet retires to

scenes of solitude, where peace and innocence reside. In those haunts

of contemplation, he has his pleasing visions. He treads on

consecrated ground. It was there that Eloquence first grew up, and

there she reared her temple. In those retreats she first adorned

herself with those graces, which have made mankind enamoured of her

charms; and there she filled the hearts of the wise and good with joy

and inspiration. Oracles first spoke in woods and sacred groves. As to

the species of oratory, which practises for lucre, or with views of

ambition; that sanguinary eloquence [b] now so much in vogue: it is of

modern growth, the offspring of corrupt manners, and degenerate times;

or rather, as my friend _Aper_ expressed it, it is a _weapon_ in the

hands of ill-designing men.

The early and more happy period of the world, or, as we poets call it,

the golden age, was the æra of true eloquence. Crimes and orators were

then unknown. Poetry spoke in harmonious numbers, not to varnish evil

deeds, but to praise the virtuous, and celebrate the friends of human

kind. This was the poet's office. The inspired train enjoyed the

highest honours; they held commerce with the gods; they partook of the

ambrosial feast: they were at once the messengers and interpreters of

the supreme command. They ranked on earth with legislators, heroes,

and demigods. In that bright assembly we find no orator, no pleader of

causes. We read of Orpheus [c], of Linus, and, if we choose to mount

still higher, we can add the name of Apollo himself. This may seem a

flight of fancy. Aper will treat it as mere romance, and fabulous

history: but he will not deny, that the veneration paid to Homer, with

the consent of posterity, is at least equal to the honours obtained by

Demosthenes. He must likewise admit, that the fame of Sophocles and

Euripides is not confined within narrower limits than that of Lysias

[d] or Hyperides. To come home to our own country, there are at this

day more who dispute the excellence of Cicero than of Virgil. Among

the orations of Asinius or Messala [e], is there one that can vie with

the Medea of Ovid, or the Thyestes of Varius?

XIII. If we now consider the happy condition of the true poet, and

that easy commerce in which he passes his time, need we fear to

compare his situation with that of the boasted orator, who leads a

life of anxiety, oppressed by business, and overwhelmed with care? But

it is said, his contention, his toil and danger, are steps to the

consulship. How much more eligible was the soft retreat in which

Virgil [a] passed his days, loved by the prince, and honoured by the

people! To prove this the letters of Augustus are still extant; and

the people, we know, hearing in the theatre some verses of that divine

poet [b], when he himself was present, rose in a body, and paid him

every mark of homage, with a degree of veneration nothing short of

what they usually offered to the emperor.

Even in our own times, will any man say, that Secundus Pomponius [c],

in point of dignity or extent of fame, is inferior to Domitius Afer

[d]? But Vibius and Marcellus have been cited as bright examples: and

yet, in their elevation what is there to be coveted? Is it to be

deemed an advantage to those ministers, that they are feared by

numbers, and live in fear themselves? They are courted for their

favours, and the men, who obtain their suit, retire with ingratitude,

pleased with their success, yet hating to be obliged. Can we suppose

that the man is happy, who by his artifices has wriggled himself into

favour, and yet is never thought by his master sufficiently pliant,

nor by the people sufficiently free? And after all, what is the amount

of all his boasted power? The emperor's freedmen have enjoyed the

same. But as Virgil sweetly sings, Me let the sacred muses lead to

their soft retreats, their living fountains, and melodious groves,

where I may dwell remote from care, master of myself, and under no

necessity of doing every day what my heart condemns. Let me no more be

seen at the wrangling bar, a pale and anxious candidate for precarious

fame; and let neither the tumult of visitors crowding to my levee, nor

the eager haste of officious freedmen, disturb my morning rest. Let me

live free from solicitude, a stranger to the art of promising legacies

[e], in order to buy the friendship of the great; and when nature

shall give the signal to retire, may I possess no more than may be

safely bequeathed to such friends as I shall think proper. At my

funeral let no token of sorrow be seen, no pompous mockery of woe.

Crown [f] me with chaplets; strew flowers on my grave, and let my

friends erect no vain memorial, to tell where my remains are lodged.

XIV. Maternus finished with an air of enthusiasm, that seemed to lift

him above himself. In that moment [a], Vipstanius Messala entered the

room. From the attention that appeared in every countenance, he

concluded that some important business was the subject of debate. I am

afraid, said he, that I break in upon you at an unseasonable time. You

have some secret to discuss, or, perhaps, a consultation upon your

hands. Far from it, replied Secundus; I wish you had come sooner. You

would have had the pleasure of hearing an eloquent discourse from our

friend Aper, who has been endeavouring to persuade Maternus to

dedicate all his time to the business of the bar, and to give the

whole man to his profession. The answer of Maternus would have

entertained you: he has been defending his art, and but this moment

closed an animated speech, that held more of the poetical than the

oratorical character.

I should have been happy, replied Messala, to have heard both my

friends. It is, however, some compensation for the loss, that I find

men of their talents, instead of giving all their time to the little

subtleties and knotty points of the forum, extending their views to

liberal science, and those questions of taste, which enlarge the mind,

and furnish it with ideas drawn from the treasures of polite

erudition. Enquiries of this kind afford improvement not only to those

who enter into the discussion, but to all who have the happiness of

being present at the debate. It is in consequence of this refined and

elegant way of thinking, that you, Secundus, have gained so much

applause, by the life of Julius Asiaticus [b], with which you have

lately obliged the world. From that specimen, we are taught to expect

other productions of equal beauty from the same hand. In like manner,

I see with pleasure, that our friend Aper loves to enliven his

imagination with topics of controversy, and still lays out his leisure

in questions of the schools [c], not, indeed, in imitation of the

ancient orators, but in the true taste of our modern rhetoricians.

XV. I am not surprised, returned Aper, at that stroke of raillery. It

is not enough for Messala, that the oratory of ancient times engrosses

all his admiration; he must have his fling at the moderns. Our talents

and our studies are sure to feel the sallies of his pleasantry [a]. I

have often heard you, my friend Messala, in the same humour. According

to you, the present age has not a single orator to boast of, though

your own eloquence, and that of your brother, are sufficient to refute

the charge. But you assert roundly, and maintain your proposition with

an air of confidence. You know how high you stand, and while in your

general censure of the age you include yourself, the smallest tincture

of malignity cannot be supposed to mingle in a decision, which denies

to your own genius, what by common consent is allowed to be your

undoubted right.

I have as yet, replied Messala, seen no reason to make me retract my

opinion; nor do I believe, that my two friends here, or even you

yourself (though you sometimes affect a different tone), can seriously

maintain the opposite doctrine. The decline of eloquence is too

apparent. The causes which have contributed to it, merit a serious

enquiry. I shall be obliged to you, my friends, for a fair solution of

the question. I have often reflected upon the subject; but what seems

to others a full answer, with me serves only to increase the

difficulty. What has happened at Rome, I perceive to have been the

case in Greece. The modern orators of that country, such as the priest

[b] Nicetes, and others who, like him, stun the schools of Mytelene

and Ephesus [c], are fallen to a greater distance from Æschines and

Demosthenes, than Afer and Africanus [d], or you, my friends, from

Tully or Asinius Pollio.

XVI. You have started an important question, said Secundus, and who so

able to discuss it as yourself? Your talents are equal to the

difficulty; your acquisitions in literature are known to be extensive,

and you have considered the subject. I have no objection, replied

Messala: my ideas are at your service, upon condition that, as I go

on, you will assist me with the lights of your understanding. For two

of us I can venture to answer, said Maternus: whatever you omit, or

rather, what you leave for us to glean after you, we shall be ready to

add to your observations. As to our friend Aper, you have told us,

that he is apt to differ from you upon this point, and even now I see

him preparing to give battle. He will not tamely bear to see us joined

in a league in favour of antiquity.

Certainly not, replied Aper, nor shall the present age, unheard and

undefended, be degraded by a conspiracy. But before you sound to arms,

I wish to know, who are to be reckoned among the ancients? At what

point of time [a] do you fix your favourite æra? When you talk to me

of antiquity, I carry my view to the first ages of the world, and see

before me Ulysses and Nestor, who flourished little less than [b]

thirteen hundred years ago. Your retrospect, it seems, goes no farther

back than to Demosthenes and Hyperides; men who lived in the times of

Philip and Alexander, and indeed survived them both. The interval,

between Demosthenes and the present age, is little more than [c] four

hundred years; a space of time, which, with a view to the duration of

human life, may be called long; but, as a portion of that immense

tract of time which includes the different ages of the world, it

shrinks into nothing, and seems to be but yesterday. For if it be

true, as Cicero says in his treatise called Hortensius, that the great

and genuine year is that period in which the heavenly bodies revolve

to the station from which their source began; and if this grand

rotation of the whole planetary system requires no less than twelve

thousand nine hundred and fifty-four years [d] of our computation, it

follows that Demosthenes, your boasted ancient, becomes a modern, and

even our contemporary; nay, that he lived in the same year with

ourselves; I had almost said, in the same month [e].

XVII. But I am in haste to pass to our Roman orators. Menenius Agrippa

[a] may fairly be deemed an ancient. I take it, however, that he is

not the person, whom you mean to oppose to the professors of modern

eloquence. The æra, which you have in view, is that of [b] Cicero and

Cæsar; of Cælius [c] and Calvus; of Brutus [d], Asinius, and Messala.

Those are the men, whom you place in the front of hour line; but for

what reason they are to be classed with the ancients, and not, as I

think they ought to be, with the moderns, I am still to learn. To

begin with Cicero; he, according to the account of Tiro, his freedman,

was put to death on the seventh of the ides of December, during the

consulship of Hirtius and Pansa [e], who, we know, were both cut off

in the course of the year, and left their office vacant for Augustus

and Quintus Pedius. Count from that time six and fifty years to

complete the reign of Augustus; three and twenty for that of Tiberius,

four for Caligula, eight and twenty for Claudius and Nero, one for

Galba, Otho, and Vitellius, and finally six from the accession of

Vespasian to the present year of our felicity, we shall have from the

death of Cicero a period of about [f] one hundred and twenty years,

which may be considered as the term allotted to the life of man. I

myself remember to have seen in Britain a soldier far advanced in

years, who averred that he carried arms in that very battle [g] in

which his countrymen sought to drive Julius Cæsar back from their

coast. If this veteran, who served in the defence of his country

against Cæsar's invasion, had been brought a prisoner to Rome; or, if

his own inclination, or any other accident in the course of things,

had conducted him thither, he might have heard, not only Cæsar and

Cicero, but even ourselves in some of our public speeches.

In the late public largess [h] you will acknowledge that you saw

several old men, who assured us that they had received more than once,

the like distribution from Augustus himself. If that be so, might not

those persons have heard Corvinus [i] and Asinius? Corvinus, we all

know, lived through half the reign of Augustus, and Asinius almost to

the end. How then are we to ascertain the just boundaries of a

century? They are not to be varied at pleasure, so as to place some

orators in a remote, and others in a recent period, while people are

still living, who heard them all, and may, therefore, with good reason

rank them as contemporaries.

XVIII. From what I have said, I assume it as a clear position, that

the glory, whatever it be, that accrued to the age in which those

orators lived, is not confined to that particular period, but reaches

down to the present time, and may more properly be said to belong to

us, than to Servius Galba [a], or to Carbo [b], and others of the same

or more ancient date. Of that whole race of orators, I may freely say,

that their manner cannot now be relished. Their language is coarse,

and their composition rough, uncouth, and harsh; and yet your Calvus

[c], your Cælius, and even your favourite Cicero, condescend to follow

that inelegant style. It were to be wished that they had not thought

such models worthy of imitation. I mean to speak my mind with freedom;

but before I proceed, it will be necessary to make a preliminary

observation, and it is this: Eloquence has no settled form: at

different times it puts on a new garb, and changes with the manners

and the taste of the age. Thus we find, that Gracchus [d], compared

with the elder Cato [e], is full and copious; but, in his turn, yields

to Crassus [f], an orator more polished, more correct, and florid.

Cicero rises superior to both; more animated, more harmonious and

sublime. He is followed by Corvinus [g], who has all the softer

graces; a sweet flexibility in his style, and a curious felicity in

the choice of his words. Which was the greatest orator, is not the

question.

The use I make of these examples, is to prove that eloquence does not

always wear the same dress, but, even among your celebrated ancients,

has its different modes of persuasion. And be it remembered, that what

differs is not always the worst. Yet such is the malignity of the

human mind, that what has the sanction of antiquity is always admired;

what is present, is sure to be condemned. Can we doubt that there have

been critics, who were better pleased with Appius Cæcus [h] than with

Cato? Cicero had his adversaries [i]: it was objected to him, that his

style was redundant, turgid, never compressed, void of precision, and

destitute of Attic elegance. We all have read the letters of Calvus

and Brutus to your famous orator. In the course of that

correspondence, we plainly see what was Cicero's opinion of those

eminent men. The former [k] appeared to him cold and languid; the

latter [l], disjointed, loose, and negligent. On the other hand, we

know what they thought in return: Calvus did not hesitate to say, that

Cicero was diffuse luxuriant to a fault, and florid without vigour.

Brutus, in express terms, says, he was weakened into length, and

wanted sinew. If you ask my opinion, each of them had reason on his

side. I shall hereafter examine them separately. My business at

present, is not in the detail: I speak of them in general terms.

XIX. The æra of ancient oratory is, I think, extended by its admirers

no farther back than the time of Cassius Severus [a]. He, they tell

us, was the first who dared to deviate from the plain and simple style

of his predecessors. I admit the fact. He departed from the

established forms, not through want of genius, or of learning, but

guided by his own good sense and superior judgement. He saw that the

public ear was formed to a new manner; and eloquence, he knew, was to

find new approaches to the heart. In the early periods of the

commonwealth, a rough unpolished people might well be satisfied with

the tedious length of unskilful speeches, at a time when to make an

harangue that took up the whole day, was the orator's highest praise.

The prolix exordium, wasting itself in feeble preparation; the

circumstantial narration, the ostentatious division of the argument

under different heads, and the thousand proofs and logical

distinctions, with whatever else is contained in the dry precepts of

Hermagoras [b] and Apollodorus, were in that rude period received with

universal applause. To finish the picture, if your ancient orator

could glean a little from the common places of philosophy, and

interweave a few shreds and patches with the thread of his discourse,

he was extolled to the very skies. Nor can this be matter of wonder:

the maxims of the schools had not been divulged; they came with an air

of novelty. Even among the orators themselves, there were but few who

had any tincture of philosophy. Nor had they learned the rules of art

from the teachers of eloquence.

In the present age, the tenets of philosophy and the precepts of

rhetoric are no longer a secret. The lowest of our popular assemblies

are now, I will not say fully instructed, but certainly acquainted

with the elements of literature. The orator, by consequence, finds

himself obliged to seek new avenues to the heart, and new graces to

embellish his discourse, that he may not offend fastidious ears,

especially before a tribunal where the judge is no longer bound by

precedent, but determines according to his will and pleasure; not, as

formerly, observing the measure of time allowed to the advocate, but

taking upon himself to prescribe the limits. Nor is this all: the

judge, at present, will not condescend to wait till the orator, in his

own way, opens his case; but, of his own authority, reminds him of the

point in question, and, if he wanders, calls him back from his

digression, not without a hint that the court wishes to dispatch.

XX. Who, at this time, would bear to hear an advocate introducing

himself with a tedious preface about the infirmities of his

constitution? Yet that is the threadbare exordium of Corvinus. We have

five books against Verres [a]. Who can endure that vast redundance?

Who can listen to those endless arguments upon points of form, and

cavilling exceptions [b], which we find in the orations of the same

celebrated advocate for Marcus Tullius [c] and Aulus Cæcina? Our

modern judges are able to anticipate the argument. Their quickness

goes before the speaker. If not struck with the vivacity of his

manner, the elegance of his sentiments, and the glowing colours of his

descriptions, they soon grow weary of the flat insipid discourse. Even

in the lowest class of life, there is now a relish for rich and

splendid ornament. Their taste requires the gay, the florid, and the

brilliant. The unpolished style of antiquity would now succeed as ill

at the bar, as the modern actor who should attempt to copy the

deportment of Roscius [d], or Ambivius Turpio. Even the young men who

are preparing for the career of eloquence, and, for that purpose,

attend the forum and the tribunals of justice, have now a nice

discriminating taste. They expect to have their imaginations pleased.

They wish to carry home some bright illustration, some splendid

passage, that deserves to be remembered. What has struck their fancy,

they communicate to each other: and in their letters, the glittering

thought, given with sententious brevity, the poetical allusion that

enlivened the discourse, and the dazzling imagery, are sure to be

transmitted to their respective colonies and provinces. The ornaments

of poetic diction are now required, not, indeed, copied from the rude

obsolete style of Accius [e] and Pacuvius, but embellished with the

graces of Horace, Virgil, and [f] Lucan. The public judgement has

raised a demand for harmonious periods, and, in compliance with the

taste of the age, our orators grow every day more polished and

adorned. Let it not be said that what we gain in refinement, we lose

in strength. Are the temples, raised by our modern architects, of a

weaker structure, because they are not formed with shapeless stones,

but with the magnificence of polished marble, and decorations of the

richest gilding?

XXI. Shall I fairly own to you the impression which I generally

receive from the ancient orators? They make me laugh, or lull me to

sleep. Nor is this the case only, when I read the orations of Canutus

[a], Arrius, Furnius, Toranius and others of the same school, or

rather, the same infirmary [b]; an emaciated sickly race of orators;

without sinew, colour, or proportion. But what shall be said of your

admired Calvus [c]? He, I think, has left no less than one and twenty

volumes: in the whole collection, there is not more than one or two

short orations, that can pretend to perfection in the kind. Upon this

point there is no difference of opinion. Who now reads his

declamations against Asitius or Drusus? His speeches against Vatinius

are in the hands of the curious, particularly the second, which must

be allowed to be a masterpiece. The language is elegant; the

sentiments are striking, and the ear is satisfied with the roundness

of the periods. In this specimen we see that he had an idea of just

composition, but his genius was not equal to his judgement. The

orations of Cælius, though upon the whole defective, are not without

their beauties. Some passages are highly finished. In those we

acknowledge, the nice touches of modern elegance. In general, however,

the coarse expression, the halting period, and the vulgarity of the

sentiments, have too much of the leaven of antiquity.

If Cælius [d] is still admired, it is not, I believe, in any of those

parts that bear the mark of a rude illiterate age. With regard to

Julius Cæsar [e], engaged as he was in projects of vast ambition, we

may forgive him the want of that perfection which might, otherwise, be

expected from so sublime a genius. Brutus, in like manner, may be

excused on account of his philosophical speculations. Both he and

Cæsar, in their oratorical attempts, fell short of themselves. Their

warmest admirers acknowledge the fact, nor is there an instance to the

contrary, unless we except Cæsar's speech for Decius the Samnite [f],

and that of Brutus for king [g] Dejotarus. But are those performances,

and some others of the same lukewarm temper, to be received as works

of genius? He who admires those productions, may be left to admire

their verses also. For verses they both made, and sent them into the

world, I will not say, with more success than Cicero, but certainly

more to their advantage; for their poetry had the good fortune to be

little known.

Asinius lived near our own times [h]. He, seems to have studied in the

old school of Menenius and Appius. He composed tragedies as well as

orations, but in a style so harsh and ragged, that one would think him

the disciple of Accius and Pacuvius. He mistook the nature of

eloquence, which may then be said to have attained its true beauty,

when the parts unite with smoothness, strength, and proportion. As in

the human body the veins should not swell too high, nor the bones and

sinews appear too prominent; but its form is then most graceful, when

a pure and temperate blood gives animation [i] to the whole frame;

when the muscles have their proper play, and the colour of health is

diffused over the several parts. I am not willing to disturb the

memory of Corvinus Messala [k]. If he did not reach the graces of

modern composition, the defect does not seem to have sprung from

choice. The vigour of his genius was not equal to his judgement.

XXII. I now proceed to Cicero, who, we find, had often upon his hands

the very controversy, that engages us at present. It was the fashion

with his contemporaries to admire the ancients, while he, on the

contrary, contended for the eloquence of his own time. Were I to

mention the quality that placed him at the head of his rivals I should

say it was the solidity of his judgement. It was he that first shewed

a taste for polished and graceful oratory. He was happy in his choice

of words, and he had the art of giving weight and harmony to his

composition. We find in many passages a warm imagination, and luminous

sentences. In his later speeches, he has lively sallies of wit and

fancy. Experience had then matured his judgement, and after long

practice, he found the true oratorical style. In his earlier

productions we see the rough cast of antiquity. The exordium is

tedious; the narration is drawn into length; luxuriant passages are

not retouched with care; he is not easily affected, and he rarely

takes fire; his sentiments are not always happily expressed [a], nor

are the periods closed with energy. There is nothing so highly

finished, as to tempt you to avail yourself of a borrowed beauty. In

short, his speeches are like a rude building, which is strong and

durable, but wants that grace and consonance of parts which give

symmetry and perfection to the whole.

In oratory, as in architecture, I require ornament as well as use.

From the man of ample fortune, who undertakes to build, we expect

elegance and proportion. It is not enough that his house will keep out

the wind and the rain; it must strike the eye, and present a pleasing

object. Nor will it suffice that the furniture may answer all domestic

purposes; it should be rich, fashionable, elegant; it should have gold

and gems so curiously wrought, that they will bear examination, often

viewed, and always admired. The common utensils, which are either mean

or sordid, should be carefully removed out of sight. In like manner,

the true orator should avoid the trite and vulgar. Let him reject the

antiquated phrase, and whatever is covered with the rust of time; let

his sentiments be expressed with spirit, not in careless,

ill-constructed, languid periods, like a dull writer of annals; let

him banish low scurrility, and, in short, let him know how to

diversify his style, that he may not fatigue the ear with a monotony,

ending for ever with the same unvaried cadence [b].

XXIII. I shall say nothing of the false wit, and insipid play upon

words, which we find in Cicero's orations. His pleasant conceits about

the _wheel of fortune_ [a], and the arch raillery on the equivocal

meaning of the word _verres_ [b], do not merit a moment's attention. I

omit the perpetual recurrence of the phrase, _esse videatur_ [c],

which chimes in our ears at the close of so many sentences, sounding

big, but signifying nothing. These are petty blemishes; I mention them

with reluctance. I say nothing of other defects equally improper: and

yet those very defects are the delight of such as affect to call

themselves ancient orators. I need not single them out by name: the

men are sufficiently known; it is enough to allude, in general terms,

to the whole class.

We all are sensible that there is a set of critics now existing, who

prefer Lucilius [d] to Horace, and Lucretius [e] to Virgil; who

despise the eloquence of Aufidius Bassus [f] and Servilius Nonianus,

and yet admire Varro and [g] Sisenna. By these pretenders to taste,

the works of our modern rhetoricians are thrown by with neglect, and

even fastidious disdain; while those of Calvus are held in the highest

esteem. We see these men prosing in their ancient style before the

judges; but we see them left without an audience, deserted by the

people, and hardly endured by their clients. The truth is, their cold

and spiritless manner has no attraction. They call it sound oratory,

but it is want of vigour; like that precarious state of health which

weak constitutions preserve by abstinence. What physician will

pronounce that a strong habit of body, which requires constant care

and anxiety of mind? To say barely, that we are not ill, is surely not

enough. True health consists in vigour, a generous warmth, and a

certain alacrity in the whole frame. He who is only not indisposed, is

little distant from actual illness.

With you, my friends, the case is different: proceed, as you well can,

and in fact, as you do, to adorn our age with all the grace and

splendour of true oratory. It is with pleasure, Messala, that I see

you selecting for imitation the liveliest models of the ancient

school. You too, Maternus, and you, my friend, Secundus [h], you both

possess the happy art of adding to weight of sentiment all the dignity

of language. To a copious invention you unite the judgement that knows

how to distinguish the specific qualities of different authors. The

beauty of order is yours. When the occasion demands it, you can expand

and amplify with strength and majesty; and you know when to be concise

with energy. Your periods flow with ease, and your composition has

every grace of style and sentiment. You command the passions with

resistless sway, while in yourselves you beget a temperance so truly

dignified, that, though, perhaps, envy and the malignity of the times

may be unwilling to proclaim your merit, posterity will do you ample

justice [i].

XXIV. As soon as Aper concluded, You see, said Maternus, the zeal and

ardour of our friend: in the cause of the moderns, what a torrent of

eloquence! against the ancients, what a fund of invective! With great

spirit, and a vast compass of learning, he has employed against his

masters the arts for which he is indebted to them. And yet all this

vehemence must not deter you, Messala, from the performance of your

promise. A formal defence of the ancients is by no means necessary. We

do not presume to vie with that illustrious race. We have been praised

by Aper, but we know our inferiority. He himself is aware of it,

though, in imitation of the ancient manner [a], he has thought proper,

for the sake of a philosophical debate, to take the wrong side of the

question. In answer to his argument, we do not desire you to expatiate

in praise of the ancients: their fame wants no addition. What we

request is, an investigation of the causes which have produced so

rapid a decline from the flourishing state of genuine eloquence. I

call it rapid, since, according to Aper's own chronology, the period

from the death of Cicero does not exceed one hundred and twenty years

[b].

XXV. I am willing, said Messala, to pursue the plan which you have

recommended. The question, whether the men who flourished above one

hundred years ago, are to be accounted ancients, has been started by

my friend Aper, and, I believe, it is of the first impression. But it

is a mere dispute about words. The discussion of it is of no moment,

provided it be granted, whether we call them ancients, or our

predecessors, or give them any other appellation, that the eloquence

of those times was superior to that of the present age. When Aper

tells us, that different periods of time have produced new modes of

oratory, I see nothing to object; nor shall I deny, that in one and

the same period the style and manners have greatly varied. But this I

assume, that among the orators of Greece, Demosthenes holds the first

rank, and after him [a] Æschynes, Hyperides, Lysias, and Lycurgus, in

regular succession. That age, by common consent, is allowed to be the

flourishing period of Attic eloquence.

In like manner, Cicero stands at the head of our Roman orators, while

Calvus, Asinius, and Cæsar, Cælius and Brutus, follow him at a

distance; all of them superior, not only to every former age, but to

the whole race that came after them. Nor is it material that they

differ in the mode, since they all agree in the kind. Calvus is close

and nervous; Asinius more open and harmonious; Cæsar is distinguished

[b] by the splendour of his diction; Cælius by a caustic severity; and

gravity is the characteristic of Brutus. Cicero is more luxuriant in

amplification, and he has strength and vehemence. They all, however,

agree in this: their eloquence is manly, sound, and vigorous. Examine

their works, and you will see the energy of congenial minds, a

family-likeness in their genius, however it may take a distinct colour

from the specific qualities of the men. True, they detracted from each

other's merit. In their letters, which are still extant, we find some

strokes of mutual hostility. But this littleness does not impeach

their eloquence: their jealousy was the infirmity of human nature.

Calvus, Asinius, and Cicero, might have their fits of animosity, and,

no doubt, were liable to envy, malice, and other degrading passions:

they were great orators, but they were men.

Brutus is the only one of the set, who may be thought superior to

petty contentions. He spoke his mind with freedom, and, I believe,

without a tincture of malice. He did not envy Cæsar himself, and can

it be imagined that he envied Cicero? As to Galba [c], Lælius, and

others of a remote period, against whom we have heard Aper's

declamation, I need not undertake their defence, since I am willing to

acknowledge, that in their style and manner we perceive those defects

and blemishes which it is natural to expect, while art, as yet in its

infancy, has made no advances towards perfection.

XXVI. After all, if the best form of eloquence must be abandoned, and

some, new-fangled style must grow into fashion, give me the rapidity

of Gracchus [a], or the more solemn manner of Crassus [b], with all

their imperfections, rather than the effeminate delicacy of [c]

Mæcenas, or the tinkling cymbal [d] of Gallio. The most homely dress

is preferable to gawdy colours and meretricious ornaments. The style

in vogue at present, is an innovation, against every thing just and

natural; it is not even manly. The luxuriant phrase, the inanity of

tuneful periods, and the wanton levity of the whole composition, are

fit for nothing but the histrionic art, as if they were written for

the stage. To the disgrace of the age (however astonishing it may

appear), it is the boast, the pride, the glory of our present orators,

that their periods are musical enough either for the dancer's heel

[e], or the warbler's throat. Hence it is, that by a frequent, but

preposterous, metaphor, the orator is said to speak in melodious

cadence, and the dancer to move with expression. In this view of

things, even [f] Cassius Severus (the only modern whom Aper has

ventured to name), if we compare him with the race that followed, may

be fairly pronounced a legitimate orator, though it must be

acknowledged, that in what remains of his compositing, he is clumsy

without strength, and violent without spirit. He was the first that

deviated from the great masters of his art. He despised all method and

regular arrangement; indelicate in his choice of words, he paid no

regard to decency; eager to attack, he left himself unguarded; he

brandished his weapons without skill or address; and, to speak

plainly, he wrangled, but did not argue. And yet, notwithstanding

these defects, he was, as I have already said, superior to all that

came after him, whether we regard the variety of his learning, the

urbanity of his wit, or the vigour of his mind. I expected that Aper,

after naming this orator, would have drawn up the rest of his forces

in regular order. He has fallen, indeed, upon Asinius, Cælius, and

Calvus; but where are his champions to enter the lists with them? I

imagined that he had a phalanx in reserve, and that we should have

seen them man by man giving battle to Cicero, Cæsar, and the rest in

succession. He has singled out some of the ancients, but has brought

none of his moderns into the field. He thought it enough to give them

a good character in their absence. In this, perhaps, he acted with

prudence: he was afraid, if he selected a few, that the rest of the

tribe would take offence. For among the rhetoricians of the present

day, is there one to be found, who does not, in his own opinion, tower

above Cicero, though he has the modesty to yield to Gabinianus [g]?

XXVII. What Aper has omitted, I intend to perform. I shall produce his

moderns by name, to the end that, by placing the example before our

eyes, we may be able, more distinctly, to trace the steps by which the

vigour of ancient eloquence has fallen to decay. Maternus interrupted

him. I wish, he said, that you would come at once to the point: we

claim your promise. The superiority of the ancients is not in

question. We want no proof of it. Upon that point my opinion is

decided. But the causes of our rapid decline from ancient excellence

remain to be unfolded. We know that you have turned your thoughts to

this subject, and we expected from you a calm disquisition, had not

the violent attack which Aper made upon your favourite orators, roused

your spirit, and, perhaps, given you some offence. Far from it,

replied Messala; he has given me no offence; nor must you, my friends,

take umbrage, if at any time a word should fall from me, not quite

agreeable to your way of thinking. We are engaged in a free enquiry,

and you know, that, in this kind of debate, the established law allows

every man to speak his mind without reserve. That is the law, replied

Maternus; you may proceed in perfect security. When you speak of the

ancients, speak of them with ancient freedom, which, I fear, is at a

lower ebb than even the genius of those eminent men.

XXVIII. Messala resumed his discourse: The causes of the decay of

eloquence are by no means difficult to be traced. They are, I believe,

well known to you, Maternus, and also to Secundus, not excepting my

friend Aper. It seems, however, that I am now, at your request, to

unravel the business. But there is no mystery in it. We know that

eloquence, with the rest of the polite arts, has lost its former

lustre: and yet, it is not a dearth of men, or a decay of talents,

that has produced this fatal effect. The true causes are, the

dissipation of our young men, the inattention of parents, the

ignorance of those who pretend to give instruction, and the total

neglect of ancient discipline. The mischief began at Rome, it has

over-run all Italy, and is now, with rapid strides, spreading through

the provinces. The effects, however, are more visible at home, and

therefore I shall confine myself to the reigning vices of the capital;

vices that wither every virtue in the bud, and continue their baleful

influence through every season of life.

But before I enter on the subject, it will not be useless to look back

to the system of education that prevailed in former times, and to the

strict discipline of our ancestors, in a point of so much moment as

the formation of youth. In the times to which I now refer, the son of

every family was the legitimate offspring of a virtuous mother. The

infant, as soon as born, was not consigned to the mean dwelling of a

hireling nurse [a], but was reared and cherished in the bosom of a

tender parent. To regulate all household affairs, and attend to her

infant race, was, at that time, the glory of the female character. A

matron, related to the family, and distinguished by the purity of her

life, was chosen to watch the progress of the tender mind. In her

presence not one indecent word was uttered; nothing was done against

propriety and good manners. The hours of study and serious employment

were settled by her direction; and not only so, but even the

diversions of the children were conducted with modest reserve and

sanctity of manners. Thus it was that Cornelia [b], the mother of the

Gracchi, superintended the education of her illustrious issue. It was

thus that Aurelia [c] trained up Julius Cæsar; and thus Atia [d]

formed the mind of Augustus. The consequence of this regular

discipline was, that the young mind grew up in innocence, unstained by

vice, unwarped by irregular passions, and, under that culture,

received the seeds of science. Whatever was the peculiar bias, whether

to the military art, the study of the laws, or the profession of

eloquence, that engrossed the whole attention, and the youth, thus

directed, embraced the entire compass of one favourite science.

XXIX. In the present age, what is our practice? The infant is

committed to a Greek chambermaid, and a slave or two, chosen for the

purpose, generally the worst of the whole household train; all utter

strangers to every liberal notion. In that worshipful society [a] the

youth grows up, imbibing folly and vulgar error. Throughout the house,

not one servant cares what he says or does [b] in the presence of his

young master: and indeed how should it be otherwise? The parents

themselves are the first to give their children the worst examples of

vice and luxury. The stripling consequently loses all sense of shame,

and soon forgets the respect he owes to others as well as to himself.

A passion for horses, players, and gladiators [c], seems to be the

epidemic folly of the times. The child receives it in his mother's

womb; he brings it with him into the world; and in a mind so

possessed, what room for science, or any generous purpose?

In our houses, at our tables, sports and interludes are the topics of

conversation. Enter the places of academical lectures, and who talks

of any other subject? The preceptors themselves have caught the

contagion. Nor can this be wondered at. To establish a strict and

regular discipline, and to succeed by giving proofs of their genius,

is not the plan of our modern rhetoricians. They pay their court to

the great, and, by servile adulation, increase the number of their

pupils. Need I mention the manner of conveying the first elements of

school learning? No care is taken to give the student a taste for the

best authors [d]; the page of history lies neglected; the study of men

and manners is no part of their system; and every branch of useful

knowledge is left uncultivated. A preceptor is called in, and

education is then thought to be in a fair way. But I shall have

occasion hereafter to speak more fully of that class of men, called

rhetoricians. It will then be seen, at what period that profession

first made its appearance at Rome, and what reception it met with from

our ancestors.

XXX. Before I proceed, let us advert for a moment to the plan of

ancient discipline. The unwearied diligence of the ancient orators,

their habits of meditation, and their daily exercise in the whole

circle of arts and sciences, are amply displayed in the books which

they have transmitted to us. The treatise of Cicero, entitled Brutus

[a], is in all our hands. In that work, after commemorating the

orators of a former day, he closes the account with the particulars of

his own progress in science, and the method he took in educating

himself to the profession of oratory. He studied the civil law under

[b] Mucius Scævola; he was instructed in the various systems of

philosophy, by Philo [c] of the academic school, and by Diodorus the

stoic; and though Rome, at that time, abounded with the best

professors, he made a voyage to Greece [d], and thence to Asia, in

order to enrich his mind with every branch of learning. Hence that

store of knowledge which appears in all his writings. Geometry, music,

grammar, and every useful art, were familiar to him. He embraced the

whole science of logic [e] and ethics. He studied the operations of

nature. His diligence of enquiry opened to him the long chain of

causes and effects, and, in short, the whole system of physiology was

his own. From a mind thus replenished, it is no wonder, my good

friends, that we see in the compositions of that extraordinary man

that affluence of ideas, and that prodigious flow of eloquence. In

fact, it is not with oratory as with the other arts, which are

confined to certain objects, and circumscribed within their own

peculiar limits. He alone deserves the name of an orator, who can

speak in a copious style, with ease or dignity, as the subject

requires; who can find language to decorate his argument; who through

the passions can command the understanding; and, while he serves

mankind, knows how to delight the judgement and the imagination of his

audience.

XXXI. Such was, in ancient times, the idea of an orator. To form that

illustrious character, it was not thought necessary to declaim in the

schools of rhetoricians [a], or to make a vain parade in fictitious

controversies, which were not only void of all reality, but even of a

shadow of probability. Our ancestors pursued a different plan: they

stored their minds with just ideas of moral good and evil; with the

rules of right and wrong, and the fair and foul in human transactions.

These, on every controverted point, are the orator's province. In

courts of law, just and unjust undergo his discussion; in political

debate, between what is expedient and honourable, it is his to draw

the line; and those questions are so blended in their nature, that

they enter into every cause. On such important topics, who can hope to

bring variety of matter, and to dignify that matter with style and

sentiment, if he has not, beforehand, enlarged his mind with the

knowledge of human nature? with the laws of moral obligation? the

deformity of vice, the beauty of virtue, and other points which do not

immediately belong to the theory of ethics?

The orator, who has enriched his mind with these materials, may be

truly said to have acquired the powers of persuasion. He who knows the

nature of indignation, will be able to kindle or allay that passion in

the breast of the judge; and the advocate who has considered the

effect of compassion, and from what secret springs it flows, will best

know how to soften the mind, and melt it into tenderness. It is by

these secrets of his art that the orator gains his influence. Whether

he has to do with the prejudiced, the angry, the envious, the

melancholy, or the timid, he can bridle their various passions, and

hold the reins in his own hand. According to the disposition of his

audience, he will know when to check the workings of the heart, and

when to raise them to their full tumult of emotion.

Some critics are chiefly pleased with that close mode of oratory,

which in a laconic manner states the facts, and forms an immediate

conclusion: in that case, it is obvious how necessary it is to be a

complete master of the rules of logic. Others delight in a more open,

free, and copious style, where the arguments are drawn from topics of

general knowledge; for this purpose, the peripatetic school [b] will

supply the orator with ample materials. The academic philosopher [c]

will inspire him with warmth and energy; Plato will give the sublime,

and Xenophon that equal flow which charms us in that amiable writer.

The rhetorical figure, which is called exclamation, so frequent with

Epicurus [d] and Metrodorus, will add to a discourse those sudden

breaks of passion, which give motion, strength, and vehemence.

It is not for the stoic school, nor for their imaginary wise man, that

I am laying down rules. I am forming an orator, whose business it is,

not to adhere to one sect, but to go the round of all the arts and

sciences. Accordingly we find, that the great master of ancient

eloquence laid their foundation in a thorough study of the civil law,

and to that fund they added grammar, music, and geometry. The fact is,

in most of the causes that occur, perhaps in every cause, a due

knowledge of the whole system of jurisprudence is an indispensable

requisite. There are likewise many subjects of litigation, in which an

acquaintance with other sciences is of the highest use.

XXXII. Am I to be told, that to gain some slight information on

particular subjects, as occasion may require, will sufficiently answer

the purposes of an orator? In answer to this, let it be observed, that

the application of what we draw from our own fund, is very different

from the use we make of what we borrow. Whether we speak from digested

knowledge, or the mere suggestion of others, the effect is soon

perceived. Add to this, that conflux of ideas with which the different

sciences enrich the mind, gives an air of dignity to whatever we say,

even in cases where that depth of knowledge is not required. Science

adorns the speaker at all times, and, where it is least expected,

confers a grace that charms every hearer; the man of erudition feels

it, and the unlettered part of the audience acknowledge the effect

without knowing the cause. A murmur of applause ensues; the speaker is

allowed to have laid in a store of knowledge; he possesses all the

powers of persuasion, and then is called an orator indeed.

I take the liberty to add, if we aspire to that honourable

appellation, that there is no way but that which I have chalked out.

No man was ever yet a complete orator, and, I affirm, never can be,

unless, like the soldier marching to the field of battle, he enters

the forum armed at all points with the sciences and the liberal arts.

Is that the case in these our modern times? The style which we hear

every day, abounds with colloquial barbarisms, and vulgar phraseology:

no knowledge of the laws is heard; our municipal policy is wholly

neglected, and even the decrees of the senate are treated with

contempt and derision. Moral philosophy is discarded, and the maxims

of ancient wisdom are unworthy of their notice. In this manner,

eloquence is dethroned; she is banished from her rightful dominions,

and obliged to dwell in the cold regions of antithesis, forced

conceit, and pointed sentences. The consequence is, that she, who was

once the sovereign mistress of the sciences, and led them as handmaids

in her train, is now deprived of her attendants, reduced,

impoverished, and, stripped of her usual honours (I might say of her

genius), compelled to exercise a mere plebeian art.

And now, my friends, I think I have laid open the efficient cause of

the decline of eloquence. Need I call witnesses to support my opinion?

I name Demosthenes among the Greeks. He, we are assured, constantly

attended [a] the lectures of Plato. I name Cicero among the Romans: he

tells us (I believe I can repeat his words), that if he attained any

degree of excellence, he owed it, not so much to the precepts of

rhetoricians, as to his meditations in the walks of the academic

school. I am aware that other causes of our present degeneracy may be

added; but that task I leave to my friends, since I now may flatter

myself that I have performed my promise. In doing it, I fear, that, as

often happens to me, I have incurred the danger of giving offence.

Were a certain class of men to hear the principles which I have

advanced in favour of legal knowledge and sound philosophy, I should

expect to be told that I have been all the time commending my own

visionary schemes.

XXXIII. You will excuse me, replied Maternus, if I take the liberty to

say that you have by no means finished your part of our enquiry. You

seem to have spread your canvas, and to have touched the outlines of

your plan; but there are other parts that still require the colouring

of so masterly a hand. The stores of knowledge, with which the

ancients enlarged their minds, you have fairly explained, and, in

contrast to that pleasing picture, you have given us a true draught of

modern ignorance. But we now wish to know, what were the exercises,

and what the discipline, by which the youth of former times prepared

themselves for the honours of their profession. It will not, I

believe, be contended, that theory, and systems of art, are of

themselves sufficient to form a genuine orator. It is by practice, and

by constant exertion, that the faculty of speech improves, till the

genius of the man expands, and flourishes in its full vigour. This, I

think, you will not deny, and my two friends, if I may judge by their

looks, seem to give their assent. Aper and Secundus agreed without

hesitation.

Messala proceeded as follows: Having, as I conceive, shewn the

seed-plots of ancient eloquence, and the fountains of science, from

which they drew such copious streams; it remains now to give some idea

of the labour, the assiduity, and the exercises, by which they trained

themselves to their profession. I need not observe, that in the

pursuit of science, method and constant exercise are indispensable:

for who can hope, without regular attention, to master abstract

schemes of philosophy, and embrace the whole compass of the sciences?

Knowledge must be grafted in the mind by frequent meditation [a]; to

that must be added the faculty of conveying our ideas; and, to make

sure of our impression, we must be able to adorn our thoughts with the

colours of true eloquence. Hence it is evident that the same arts, by

which the mind lays in its stock of knowledge, must be still pursued,

in order to attain a clear and graceful manner of conveying that

knowledge to others. This may be thought refined and too abstruse. If,

however, we are still to be told that science and elocution are things

in themselves distinct and unrelated; this, at least, may be assumed,

that he, who, with a fund of previous knowledge, undertakes the

province of oratory, will bring with him a mind well seasoned, and

duly prepared for the study and exercise of real eloquence.

XXXIV. The practice of our ancestors was agreeable to this theory. The

youth, who was intended for public declamation, went forth, under the

care of his father, or some near relation, with all the advantages of

home-discipline; his mind was expanded by the fine arts, and

impregnated with science. He was conducted to the most eminent orator

of the time. Under that illustrious patronage he visited the forum; he

attended his patron upon all occasions; he listened with attention to

his pleadings in the tribunals of justice, and his public harangues

before the people; he heard him in the warmth of argument; he noted

his sudden replies, and thus, in the field of battle, if I may so

express myself, he learned the first rudiments of rhetorical warfare.

The advantages of this method are obvious: the young candidate gained

courage, and improved his judgement; he studied in open day, amidst

the heat of the conflict, where nothing weak or idle could be said

with impunity; where every thing absurd was instantly rebuked by the

judge, exposed to ridicule by the adversary, and condemned by the

whole bar.

In this manner the student was initiated in the rules of sound and

manly eloquence; and, though it be true, that he placed himself under

the auspices of one orator only, he heard the rest in their turn, and

in that diversity of tastes which always prevails in mixed assemblies,

he was enabled to distinguish what was excellent or defective in the

kind. The orator in actual business was the best preceptor: the

instructions which he gave, were living eloquence, the substance, and

not the shadow. He was himself a real combatant, engaged with a

zealous antagonist, both in earnest, and not like gladiators, in a

mock contest, fighting for prizes. It was a struggle for victory,

before an audience always changing, yet always full; where the speaker

had his enemies as well as his admirers; and between both, what was

brilliant met with applause; what was defective, was sure to be

condemned. In this clash of opinions, the genuine orator flourished,

and acquired that lasting fame, which, we all know, does not depend on

the voice of friends only, but must rebound from the benches filled

with your enemies. Extorted applause is the best suffrage.

In that school, the youth of expectation, such as I have delineated,

was reared and educated by the most eminent genius of the times. In

the forum, he was enlightened by the experience of others; he was

instructed in the knowledge of the laws, accustomed to the eye of the

judges, habituated to the looks of a numerous audience, and acquainted

with the popular taste. After this preparation, he was called forth to

conduct a prosecution, or to take upon himself the whole weight of the

defence. The fruit of his application was then seen at once. He was

equal, in his first outset, to the most arduous business. Thus it was

that Crassus, at the age of nineteen [a], stood forth the accuser of

Papirius Carbo: thus Julius Cæsar, at one and twenty, arraigned

Dolabella; Asinius Pollio, about the same age, attacked Caius Cato;

and Calvus, but a little older, flamed out against Vatinius. Their

several speeches are still extant, and we all read them with

admiration.

XXXV. In opposition to this system of education, what is our modern

practice? Our young men are led [a] to academical prolusions in the

school of vain professors, who call themselves rhetoricians; a race of

impostors, who made their first appearance at Rome, not long before

the days of Cicero. That they were unwelcome visitors, is evident from

the circumstance of their being silenced by the two censors [b],

Crassus and Domitius. They were ordered, says Cicero, to shut up their

school of impudence. Those scenes, however, are open at present, and

there our young students listen to mountebank oratory. I am at a loss

how to determine which is most fatal to all true genius, the place

itself, the company that frequent it, or the plan of study universally

adopted. Can the place impress the mind with awe and respect, where

none are ever seen but the raw, the unskilful, and the ignorant? In

such an assembly what advantage can arise? Boys harangue before boys,

and young men exhibit before their fellows. The speaker is pleased

with his declamation, and the hearer with his judgement. The very

subjects on which they display their talents, tend to no useful

purpose. They are of two sorts, persuasive or controversial. The

first, supposed to be of the lighter kind, are usually assigned to the

youngest scholars: the last are reserved for students of longer

practice and riper judgement. But, gracious powers! what are the

compositions produced on these occasions?

The subject is remote from truth, and even probability, unlike any

thing that ever happened in human life: and no wonder if the

superstructure perfectly agrees with the foundation. It is to these

scenic exercises that we owe a number of frivolous topics, such as the

reward due to the slayer of a tyrant; the election to be made by [c]

violated virgins; the rites and ceremonies proper to be used during a

raging pestilence; the loose behaviour of married women; with other

fictitious subjects, hackneyed in the schools, and seldom or never

heard of in our courts of justice. These imaginary questions are

treated with gaudy flourishes, and all the tumor of unnatural

language. But after all this mighty parade, call these striplings from

their schools of rhetoric, into the presence of the judges, and to the

real business of the bar [d]:

1. What figure will they make before that solemn judicature? Trained

up in chimerical exercises, strangers to the municipal laws,

unacquainted with the principles of natural justice and the rights of

nations, they will bring with them that false taste which they have

been for years acquiring, but nothing worthy of the public ear,

nothing useful to their clients. They have succeeded in nothing but

the art of making themselves ridiculous. The peculiar quality of the

teacher [a], whatever it be, is sure to transfuse itself into the

performance of the pupil. Is the master haughty, fierce, and arrogant;

the scholar swells with confidence; his eye threatens prodigious

things, and his harangue is an ostentatious display of the

common-places of school oratory, dressed up with dazzling splendour,

and thundered forth with emphasis. On the other hand, does the master

value himself for the delicacy of his taste, for the foppery of

glittering conceits and tinsel ornament; the youth who has been

educated under him, sets out with the same artificial prettiness, the

same foppery of style and manner. A simper plays on his countenance;

his elocution is soft and delicate; his action pathetic; his sentences

entangled in a maze of sweet perplexity; he plays off the whole of his

theatrical skill, and hopes to elevate and surprise.

2. This love of finery, this ambition to shine and glitter, has

destroyed all true eloquence. Oratory is not the child of hireling

teachers; it springs from another source, from a love of liberty, from

a mind replete with moral science, and a thorough knowledge of the

laws; from a due respect for the best examples, from profound

meditation [a], and a style formed by constant practice. While these

were thought essential requisites, eloquence flourished. But the true

beauties of language fell into disuse, and oratory went to ruin. The

spirit evaporated; I fear, to revive no more. I wish I may prove a

false prophet, but we know the progress of art in every age and

country. Rude at first, it rises from low beginnings, and goes on

improving, till it reaches the highest perfection in the kind. But at

that point it is never stationary: it soon declines, and from the

corruption of what is good, it is not in the nature of man, nor in the

power of human faculties, to rise again to the same degree of

excellence.

3. Messala closed with a degree of vehemence, and then turning to

Maternus and Secundus [a], It is yours, he said, to pursue this train

of argument; or if any cause of the decay of eloquence lies still

deeper, you will oblige us by bringing it to light. Maternus, I

presume, will find no difficulty: a poetic genius holds commerce with

the gods, and to him nothing will remain a secret. As for Secundus, he

has been long a shining ornament of the forum, and by his own

experience knows how to distinguish genuine eloquence from the corrupt

and vicious. Maternus heard this sally of his friend's good humour

with a smile. The task, he said, which you have imposed upon us, we

will endeavour to execute. But though I am the interpreter of the

gods, I must notwithstanding request that Secundus may take the lead.

He is master of the subject, and, in questions of this kind,

experience is better than inspiration.

4. Secundus [a] complied with his friend's request. I yield, he said,

the more willingly, as I shall hazard no new opinion, but rather

confirm what has been urged by Messala. It is certain, that, as

painters are formed by painters, and poets by the example of poets, so

the young orator must learn his art from orators only. In the schools

of rhetoricians [b], who think themselves the fountain-head of

eloquence, every thing is false and vitiated. The true principles of

the persuasive art are never known to the professor, or if at any time

there may be found a preceptor of superior genius, can it be expected

that he shall be able to transfuse into the mind of his pupil all his

own conceptions, pure, unmixed, and free from error? The sensibility

of the master, since we have allowed him genius, will be an

impediment: the uniformity of the same dull tedious round will give

him disgust, and the student will turn from it with aversion. And yet

I am inclined to think, that the decay of eloquence would not have

been so rapid, if other causes, more fatal than the corruption of the

schools, had not co-operated. When the worst models became the objects

of imitation, and not only the young men of the age, but even the

whole body of the people, admired the new way of speaking, eloquence

fell at once into that state of degeneracy, from which nothing can

recover it. We, who came afterwards, found ourselves in a hopeless

situation: we were driven to wretched expedients, to forced conceits,

and the glitter of frivolous sentences; we were obliged to hunt after

wit, when we could be no longer eloquent. By what pernicious examples

this was accomplished, has been explained by our friend Messala.

5. We are none of us strangers to those unhappy times, when Rome,

grown weary of her vast renown in arms, began to think of striking

into new paths of fame, no longer willing to depend on the glory of

our ancestors. The whole power of the state was centred in a single

ruler, and by the policy of the prince, men were taught to think no

more of ancient honour. Invention was on the stretch for novelty, and

all looked for something better than perfection; something rare,

far-fetched, and exquisite. New modes of pleasure were devised. In

that period of luxury and dissipation, when the rage for new

inventions was grown epidemic, Seneca arose. His talents were of a

peculiar sort, acute, refined and polished; but polished to a degree

that made him prefer affectation and wit to truth and nature. The

predominance of his genius was great, and, by consequence, he gave the

mortal stab to all true eloquence [a]. When I say this, let me not be

suspected of that low malignity which would tarnish the fame of a

great character. I admire the man, and the philosopher. The undaunted

firmness with which he braved the tyrant's frown, will do immortal

honour to his memory. But the fact is (and why should I disguise it?),

the virtues of the writer have undone his country.

6. To bring about this unhappy revolution, no man was so eminently

qualified [a]. His understanding was large and comprehensive; his

genius rich and powerful; his way of thinking ingenious, elegant, and

even charming. His researches in moral philosophy excited the

admiration of all; and moral philosophy is never so highly praised, as

when the manners are in a state of degeneracy. Seneca knew the taste

of the times. He had the art to gratify the public ear. His style is

neat, yet animated; concise, yet clear; familiar, yet seldom

inelegant. Free from redundancy, his periods are often abrupt, but

they surprise by their vivacity. He shines in pointed sentences; and

that unceasing persecution of vice, which is kept up with uncommon

ardour, spreads a lustre over all his writings. His brilliant style

charmed by its novelty. Every page sparkles with wit, with gay

allusions, and sentiments of virtue. No wonder that the graceful ease,

and sometimes the dignity of his expression, made their way into the

forum. What pleased universally, soon found a number of imitators. Add

to this the advantages of rank and honours. He mixed in the splendour,

and perhaps in the vices, of the court. The resentment of Caligula,

and the acts of oppression which soon after followed, served only to

adorn his name. To crown all, Nero was his pupil, and his murderer.

Hence the character and genius of the man rose to the highest

eminence. What was admired, was imitated, and true oratory was heard

no more. The love of novelty prevailed, and for the dignified

simplicity of ancient eloquence no taste remained. The art itself, and

all its necessary discipline, became ridiculous. In that black period,

when vice triumphed at large, and virtue had every thing to fear, the

temper of the times was propitious to the corruptors of taste and

liberal science. The dignity of composition was no longer of use. It

had no power to stop the torrent of vice which deluged the city of

Rome, and virtue found it a feeble protection. In such a conjuncture

it was not safe to speak the sentiments of the heart. To be obscure,

abrupt, and dark, was the best expedient. Then it was that the

affected sententious brevity came into vogue. To speak concisely, and

with an air of precipitation, was the general practice. To work the

ruin of a person accused, a single sentence, or a splendid phrase, was

sufficient. Men defended themselves in a short brilliant expression;

and if that did not protect them, they died with a lively apophthegm,

and their last words were wit. This was the fashion introduced by

Seneca. The peculiar, but agreeable vices of his style, wrought the

downfall of eloquence. The solid was exchanged for the brilliant, and

they, who ceased to be orators, studied to be ingenious.

7. Of late, indeed, we have seen the dawn of better times. In the

course of the last six years Vespasian has revived our hopes [a]. The

friend of regular manners, and the encourager of ancient virtue, by

which Rome was raised to the highest pinnacle of glory, he has

restored the public peace, and with it the blessings of liberty. Under

his propitious influence, the arts and sciences begin once more to

flourish, and genius has been honoured with his munificence. The

example of his sons [b] has helped to kindle a spirit of emulation. We

beheld, with pleasure, the two princes adding to the dignity of their

rank, and their fame in arms, all the grace and elegance of polite

literature. But it is fatally true, that when the public taste is once

corrupted, the mind which has been warped, seldom recovers its former

tone. This difficulty was rendered still more insurmountable by the

licentious spirit of our young men, and the popular applause, that

encouraged the false taste of the times. I need not, in this company,

call to mind the unbridled presumption, with which, as soon as genuine

eloquence expired, the young men of the age took possession of the

forum. Of modest worth and ancient manners nothing remained. We know

that in former times the youthful candidate was introduced in the

forum by a person of consular rank [c], and by him set forward in his

road to fame. That laudable custom being at an end, all fences were

thrown down: no sense of shame remained, no respect for the tribunals

of justice. The aspiring genius wanted no patronage; he scorned the

usual forms of a regular introduction; and, with full confidence in

his own powers, he obtruded himself on the court. Neither the

solemnity of the place, nor the sanctity of laws, nor the importance

of the oratorical character, could restrain the impetuosity of young

ambition. Unconscious of the importance of the undertaking, and less

sensible of his own incapacity, the bold adventurer rushed at once

into the most arduous business. Arrogance supplied the place of

talents.

8. To oppose the torrent, that bore down every thing, the danger of

losing all fair and honest fame was the only circumstance that could

afford a ray of hope. But even that slender fence was soon removed by

the arts of [a] Largius Licinius. He was the first that opened a new

road to ambition. He intrigued for fame, and filled the benches with

an audience suborned to applaud his declamations. He had his circle

round him, and shouts of approbation followed. It was upon that

occasion that Domitius Afer [b] emphatically said, Eloquence is now at

the last gasp. It had, indeed, at that time shewn manifest symptoms of

decay, but its total ruin may be dated from the introduction of a

mercenary band [c] to flatter and applaud. If we except a chosen few,

whose superior genius has not as yet been seduced from truth and

nature, the rest are followed by their partisans, like actors on the

stage, subsisting altogether on the bought suffrages of mean and

prostitute hirelings. Nor is this sordid traffic carried on with

secrecy: we see the bargain made in the face of the court; the bribe

is distributed with as little ceremony as if they were in a private

party at the orator's own house. Having sold their voices, this venal

crew rush forward from one tribunal to another, the distributors of

fame, and the sole judges of literary merit. The practice is, no

doubt, disgraceful. To brand it with infamy, two new terms have been

invented [d], one in the Greek language, importing the venders of

praise, and the other in the Latin idiom, signifying the parasites who

sell their applause for a supper. But sarcastic expressions have not

been able to cure the mischief: the applauders by profession have

taken courage, and the name, which was intended as a stroke of

ridicule, is now become an honourable appellation.

9. This infamous practice rages at present with increasing violence.

The party no longer consists of freeborn citizens; our very slaves are

hired. Even before they arrive at full age, we see them distributing

the rewards of eloquence. Without attending to what is said, and

without sense enough to understand, they are sure to crowd the courts

of justice, whenever a raw young man, stung with the love of fame, but

without talents to deserve it, obtrudes himself in the character of an

advocate. The hall resounds with acclamations, or rather with a kind

of bellowing; for I know not by what term to express that savage

uproar, which would disgrace a theatre.

Upon the whole, when I consider these infamous practices, which have

brought so much dishonour upon a liberal profession, I am far from

wondering that you, Maternus, judged it time to sound your retreat.

When you could no longer attend with honour, you did well, my friend,

to devote yourself entirely to the muses. And now, since you are to

close the debate, permit me to request, that, besides unfolding the

causes of corrupt eloquence, you will fairly tell us, whether you

entertain any hopes of better times, and, if you do, by what means a

reformation may be accomplished.

10. It is true [a], said Maternus, that seeing the forum deluged by an

inundation of vices, I was glad, as my friend expressed it, to sound

my retreat. I saw corruption rushing on with hasty strides, too

shameful to be defended, and too powerful to be resisted. And yet,

though urged by all those motives, I should hardly have renounced the

business of the bar, if the bias of my nature had not inclined me to

other studies. I balanced, however, for some time. It was, at first,

my fixed resolution to stand to the last a poor remnant of that

integrity and manly eloquence, which still lingered at the bar, and

shewed some signs of life. It was my intention to emulate, not,

indeed, with equal powers, but certainly with equal firmness, the

bright models of ancient times, and, in that course of practice, to

defend the fortunes, the dignity, and the innocence of my

fellow-citizens. But the strong impulse of inclination was not to be

resisted. I laid down my arms, and deserted to the safe and tranquil

camp of the muses. But though a deserter, I have not quite forgot the

service in which I was enlisted. I honour the professors of real

eloquence, and that sentiment, I hope, will be always warm in my

heart.

11. In my solitary walks, and moments of meditation, it often happens,

that I fall into a train of thinking on the flourishing state of

ancient eloquence, and the abject condition to which it is reduced in

modern times. The result of my reflections I shall venture to unfold,

not with a spirit of controversy, nor yet dogmatically to enforce my

own opinion. I may differ in some points, but from a collision of

sentiments it is possible that some new light may be struck out. My

friend Aper will, therefore, excuse me, if I do not, with him, prefer

the false glitter of the moderns to the solid vigour of ancient

genius. At the same time, it is not my intention to disparage his

friends. Messala too, whom you, Secundus, have closely followed, will

forgive me, if I do not, in every thing, coincide with his opinion.

The vices of the forum, which you have both, as becomes men of

integrity, attacked with vehemence, will not have me for their

apologist. But still I may be allowed to ask, have not you been too

much exasperated against the rhetoricians?

I will not say in their favour, that I think them equal to the task of

reviving the honours of eloquence; but I have known among them, men of

unblemished morals, of regular discipline, great erudition, and

talents every way fit to form the minds of youth to a just taste for

science and the persuasive arts. In this number one in particular [a]

has lately shone forth with superior lustre. From his abilities, all

that is in the power of man may fairly be expected. A genius like his

would have been the ornament of better times. Posterity will admire

and honour him. And yet I would not have Secundus amuse himself with

ill-grounded hopes: neither the learning of that most excellent man,

nor the industry of such as may follow him, will be able to promote

the interests of Eloquence, or to establish her former glory. It is a

lost cause. Before the vices, which have been so ably described, had

spread a general infection, all true oratory was at an end. The

revolutions in our government, and the violence of the times, began

the mischief, and, in the end, gave the fatal blow.

12. Nor are we to wonder at this event. In the course of human affairs

there is no stability, nothing secure or permanent. It is with our

minds as with our bodies: the latter, as soon as they have attained

their full growth, and seem to flourish in the vigour of health,

begin, from that moment, to feel the gradual approaches of decay. Our

intellectual powers proceed in the same manner; they gain strength by

degrees, they arrive at maturity, and, when they can no longer

improve, they languish, droop, and fade away. This is the law of

nature, to which every age, and every nation, of which we have any

historical records, have been obliged to submit. There is besides

another general law, hard perhaps, but wonderfully ordained, and it is

this: nature, whose operations are always simple and uniform, never

suffers in any age or country, more than one great example of

perfection in the kind [a]. This was the case in Greece, that prolific

parent of genius and of science. She had but one Homer, one Plato, one

Demosthenes. The same has happened at Rome: Virgil stands at the head

of his art, and Cicero is still unrivalled. During a space of seven

hundred years our ancestors were struggling to reach the summit of

perfection: Cicero at length arose; he thundered forth his immortal

energy, and nature was satisfied with the wonder she had made. The

force of genius could go no further. A new road to fame was to be

found. We aimed at wit, and gay conceit, and glittering sentences. The

change, indeed, was great; but it naturally followed the new form of

government. Genius died with public liberty.

13. We find that the discourse of men always conforms to the temper of

the times. Among savage nations [a] language is never copious. A few

words serve the purpose of barbarians, and those are always uncouth

and harsh, without the artifice of connection; short, abrupt, and

nervous. In a state of polished society, where a single ruler sways

the sceptre, the powers of the mind take a softer tone, and language

grows more refined. But affectation follows, and precision gives way

to delicacy. The just and natural expression is no longer the fashion.

Living in ease and luxury, men look for elegance, and hope by novelty

to give a grace to adulation. In other nations, where the first

principles of the civil union are maintained in vigour; where the

people live under the government of laws, and not the will of man;

where the spirit of liberty pervades all ranks and orders of the

state; where every individual holds himself bound, at the hazard of

his life, to defend the constitution framed by his ancestors; where,

without being guilty of an impious crime, no man dares to violate the

rights of the whole community; in such a state, the national eloquence

will be prompt, bold, and animated. Should internal dissensions shake

the public peace, or foreign enemies threaten to invade the land,

Eloquence comes forth arrayed in terror; she wields her thunder, and

commands all hearts. It is true, that upon those occasions men of

ambition endeavour, for their own purposes, to spread the flame of

sedition; while the good and virtuous combine their force to quell the

turbulent, and repel the menaces of a foreign enemy. Liberty gains new

strength by the conflict, and the true patriot has the glory of

serving his country, distinguished by his valour in the field, and in

debate no less terrible by his eloquence.

14. Hence it is that in free governments we see a constellation of

orators. Hence Demosthenes displayed the powers of his amazing genius,

and acquired immortal honour. He saw a quick and lively people,

dissolved in luxury, open to the seductions of wealth, and ready to

submit to a master; he saw a great and warlike monarch threatening

destruction to the liberties of his country; he saw that prince at the

head of powerful armies, renowned for victory, possessed of an opulent

treasury, formidable in battle, and, by his secret arts, still more so

in the cabinet; he saw that king, inflamed by ambition and the lust of

dominion, determined to destroy the liberties of Greece. It was that

alarming crisis that called forth the powers of Demosthenes. Armed

with eloquence, and with eloquence only, he stood as a bulwark against

a combination of enemies foreign and domestic. He roused his

countrymen from their lethargy: he kindled the holy flame of liberty;

he counteracted the machinations of Philip, detected his clandestine

frauds, and fired the men of Athens with indignation. To effect these

generous purposes, and defeat the policy of a subtle enemy, what

powers of mind were necessary! how vast, how copious, how sublime! He

thundered and lightened in his discourse; he faced every danger with

undaunted resolution. Difficulties served only to inspire him with new

ardour. The love of his country glowed in his heart; liberty roused

all his powers, and Fame held forth her immortal wreath to reward his

labours. These were the fine incentives that roused his genius, and no

wonder that his mind expanded with vast conceptions. He thought for

his country, and, by consequence, every sentiment was sublime; every

expression was grand and magnificent.

XXXVI. The true spirit of genuine eloquence [a], like an intense fire,

is kept alive by fresh materials: every new commotion gives it vigour,

and in proportion as it burns, it expands and brightens to a purer

flame. The same causes at Rome produced the same effect. Tempestuous

times called forth the genius of our ancestors. The moderns, it is

true, have taken fire, and rose above themselves, as often as a quiet,

settled, and uniform government gave a fair opportunity; but

eloquence, it is certain, flourishes most under a bold and turbulent

democracy, where the ambitious citizen, who best can mould to his

purposes a fierce and contentious multitude, is sure to be the idol of

the people. In the conflict of parties, that kept our ancestors in

agitation, laws were multiplied; the leading chiefs were the favourite

demagogues; the magistrates were often engaged in midnight debate;

eminent citizens were brought to a public trial; families were set at

variance; the nobles were split into factions, and the senate waged

incessant war against the people. Hence that flame of eloquence which

blazed out under the republican government, and hence that constant

fuel that kept the flame alive.

The state, it is true, was often thrown into convulsions: but talents

were exercised, and genius opened the way to public honours. He who

possessed the powers of persuasion, rose to eminence, and by the arts

which gave him popularity, he was sure to eclipse his colleagues. He

strengthened his interest with the leading men, and gained weight and

influence not only in the senate, but in all assemblies of the people.

Foreign nations [b] courted his friendship. The magistrates, setting

out for their provinces, made it their business to ingratiate

themselves with the popular speaker, and, at their return, took care

to renew their homage. The powerful orator had no occasion to solicit

for preferment: the offices of prætor and consul stood open to receive

him. He was invited to those exalted stations. Even in the rank of a

private citizen he had a considerable share of power, since his

authority swayed at once the senate and the people. It was in those

days a settled maxim, that no man could either rise to dignities, or

support himself in office, without possessing, in an eminent degree, a

power of words, and dignity of language.

Nor can this be a matter of wonder, when we recollect, that persons of

distinguished genius were, on various occasions, called forth by the

voice of the people, and in their presence obliged to act an important

part. Eloquence was the ruling passion of all. The reason is, it was

not then sufficient merely to vote in the senate; it was necessary to

support that vote with strength of reasoning, and a flow of language.

Moreover, in all prosecutions, the party accused was expected to make

his defence in person, and to examine the witnesses [c], who at that

time were not allowed to speak in written depositions, but were

obliged to give their testimony in open court. In this manner,

necessity, no less than the temptation of bright rewards, conspired to

make men cultivate the arts of oratory. He who was known to possess

the powers of speech, was held in the highest veneration. The mute and

silent character fell into contempt. The dread of shame was a motive

not less powerful than the ambition that aimed at honours. To sink

into the humiliating rank of a client, instead of maintaining the

dignity of a patron, was a degrading thought. Men were unwilling to

see the followers of their ancestors transferred to other families for

protection. Above all, they dreaded the disgrace of being thought

unworthy of civil honours; and, if by intrigue they attained their

wishes, the fear of being despised for incapacity was a spur to

quicken their ardour in the pursuit of literary fame and commanding

eloquence.

XXXVII. I do not know whether you have as yet seen the historical

memoirs which Mucianus [a] has collected, and lately published,

containing, in eleven volumes, the transactions of the times, and, in

three more, the letters of eminent men who figured on the stage of

public business. This portion of history is well authenticated by the

original papers, still extant in the libraries of the curious. From

this valuable collection it appears, that Pompey and Crassus [b] owed

their elevation as much to their talents as to their fame in arms; and

that Lentulus [c], Metellus, Lucullus, Curio, and others of that

class, took care to enlarge their minds, and distinguish themselves by

their powers of speech. To say all in one word, no man, in those

times, rose to eminence in the state, who had not given proof of his

genius in the forum and the tribunals of justice.

To this it may be added, that the importance, the splendour, and

magnitude of the questions discussed in that period, served to animate

the public orator. The subject, beyond all doubt, lifts the mind above

itself: it gives vigour to sentiment, and energy to expression. Let

the topic be a paltry theft, a dry form of pleading, or a petty

misdemeanor; will not the orator feel himself cramped and chilled by

the meanness of the question? Give him a cause of magnitude, such as

bribery in the election of magistrates, a charge for plundering the

allies of Rome, or the murder of Roman citizens, how different then

his emotions! how sublime each sentiment! what dignity of language!

The effect, it must be admitted, springs from the disasters of

society. It is true, that form of government, in which no such evils

occur, must, beyond all question, be allowed to be the best; but

since, in the course of human affairs, sudden convulsions must happen,

my position is, that they produced, at Rome, that flame of eloquence

which at this hour is so much admired. The mind of the orator grows

and expands with his subject. Without ample materials no splendid

oration was ever yet produced. Demosthenes, I believe, did not owe his

vast reputation to the speeches which he made against his guardians

[d]; nor was it either the oration in defence of Quinctius, or that

for Archias the poet, that established the character of Cicero. It was

Catiline, it was Verres, it was Milo and Mark Antony, that spread so

much glory round him.

Let me not be misunderstood: I do not say, that for the sake of

hearing a bright display of eloquence, it is fit that the public peace

should be disturbed by the machinations of turbulent and lawless men.

But, not to lose sight of the question before us, let it be

remembered, that we are enquiring about an art which thrives and

flourishes most in tempestuous times. It were, no doubt, better that

the public should enjoy the sweets of peace, than be harassed by the

calamities of war: but still it is war that produces the soldier and

great commander. It is the same with Eloquence. The oftener she is

obliged, if I may so express it, to take the field, the more frequent

the engagement, in which she gives and receives alternate wounds, and

the more formidable her adversary; the more she rises in pomp and

grandeur, and returns from the warfare of the forum crowned with

unfading laurels. He, who encounters danger, is ever sure to win the

suffrages of mankind. For such is the nature of the human mind, that,

in general, we choose a state of security for ourselves, but never

fail to gaze with admiration on the man, whom we see, in the conflict

of parties, facing his adversaries, and surmounting difficulties.

XXXVIII. I proceed to another advantage of the ancient forum; I mean

the form of proceeding and the rules of practice observed in those

days. Our modern custom is, I grant, more conducive to truth and

justice; but that of former times gave to eloquence a free career,

and, by consequence, greater weight and splendour. The advocate was

not, as now, confined to a few hours [a]; he might adjourn as often as

it suited his convenience; he might expatiate, as his genius prompted

him: and the number of days, like that of the several patrons, was

unlimited. Pompey was the first who circumscribed the genius of men

within narrower limits [b]. In his third consulship he gave a check to

eloquence, and, as it were, bridled its spirit, but still left all

causes to be tried according to law in the forum, and before the

prætors. The importance of the business, which was decided in that

court of justice, will be evident, if we compare it with the

transactions before the centumvirs [c], who at present have cognizance

of all matters whatever. We have not so much as one oration of Cicero

or Cæsar, of Brutus, Cælius, or Calvus, or any other person famous for

his eloquence, which was delivered before the last-mentioned

jurisdiction, excepting only the speeches of Asinius Pollio [d] for

the heirs of Urbinia. But those speeches were delivered about the

middle of the reign of Augustus, when, after a long peace with foreign

nations, and a profound tranquillity at home, that wise and politic

prince had conquered all opposition, and not only triumphed over party

and faction, but subdued eloquence itself.

XXXIX. What I am going to say will appear, perhaps, too minute; it may

border on the ridiculous, and excite your mirth: with all my heart; I

will hazard it for that very reason. The dress now in use at the bar

has an air of meanness: the speaker is confined in a close robe [a],

and loses all the grace of action. The very courts of judicature are

another objection; all causes are heard, at present, in little narrow

rooms, where spirit and strenuous exertion are unnecessary. The

orator, like a generous steed, requires liberty and ample space:

before a scanty tribunal his spirit droops, and the dullness of the

scene damps the powers of genius. Add to this, we pay no attention to

style; and indeed how should we? No time is allowed for the beauties

of composition: the judge calls upon you to begin, and you must obey,

liable, at the same time, to frequent interruptions, while documents

are read, and witnesses examined.

During all this formality, what kind of an audience has the orator to

invigorate his faculties? Two or three stragglers drop in by chance,

and to them the whole business seems to be transacted in solitude. But

the orator requires a different scene. He delights in clamour, tumult,

and bursts of applause. Eloquence must have her theatre, as was the

case in ancient times, when the forum was crowded with the first men

in Rome; when a numerous train of clients pressed forward with eager

expectation; when the people, in their several tribes; when

ambassadors from the colonies, and a great part of Italy; attended to

hear the debate; in short, when all Rome was interested in the event.

We know that in the cases of Cornelius, Scaurus, Milo, Bestia, and

Vatinius, the concourse was so great, that those several causes were

tried before the whole body of the people. A scene so vast and

magnificent was enough to inflame the most languid orator. The

speeches delivered upon those occasions are in every body's hands,

and, by their intrinsic excellence, we of this day estimate the genius

of the respective authors.

XL. If we now consider the frequent assemblies of the people, and the

right of prosecuting the most eminent men in the state; if we reflect

on the glory that sprung from the declared hostility of the most

illustrious characters; if we recollect, that even Scipio, Sylla, and

Pompey, were not sheltered from the storms of eloquence, what a number

of causes shall we see conspiring to rouse the spirit of the ancient

forum! The malignity of the human heart, always adverse to superior

characters, encouraged the orator to persist. The very players, by

sarcastic allusions to men in power, gratified the public ear, and, by

consequence, sharpened the wit and acrimony of the bold declaimer.

Need I observe to you, that in all I have said, I have not been

speaking of that temperate faculty [a] which delights in quiet times,

supported by its own integrity, and the virtues of moderation? I speak

of popular eloquence, the genuine offspring of that licentiousness, to

which fools and ill-designing men have given the name of liberty: I

speak of bold and turbulent oratory, that inflamer of the people, and

constant companion of sedition; that fierce incendiary, that knows no

compliance, and scorns to temporize; busy, rash, and arrogant, but, in

quiet and well regulated governments, utterly unknown. Who ever heard

of an orator at Crete or Lacedæmon? In those states a system of

rigorous discipline was established by the first principles of the

constitution. Macedonian and Persian eloquence are equally unknown.

The same may be said of every country, where the plan of government

was fixed and uniform.

At Rhodes, indeed, and also at Athens, orators existed without number,

and the reason is, in those communities the people directed every

thing; a giddy multitude governed, and, to say the truth, all things

were in the power of all. In like manner, while Rome was engaged in

one perpetual scene of contention; while parties, factions, and

internal divisions, convulsed the state; no peace in the forum, in the

senate no union of sentiment; while the tribunals of justice acted

without moderation; while the magistrates knew no bounds, and no man

paid respect to eminent merit; in such times it must be acknowledged

that Rome produced a race of noble orators; as in the wild

uncultivated field the richest vegetables will often shoot up, and

flourish with uncommon vigour. And yet it is fair to ask, Could all

the eloquence of the Gracchi atone for the laws which they imposed on

their country? Could the fame which Cicero obtained by his eloquence,

compensate for the tragic end to which it brought him [b]?

XLI. The forum, at present, is the last sad relic of ancient oratory.

But does that epitome of former greatness give the idea of a city so

well regulated, that we may rest contented with our form of

government, without wishing for a reformation of abuses? If we except

the man of guilt, or such as labour under the hard hand of oppression,

who resorts to us for our assistance? If a municipal city applies for

protection, it is, when the inhabitants, harassed by the adjacent

states, or rent and torn by intestine divisions, sue for protection.

The province, that addresses the senate for a redress of grievances,

has been oppressed and plundered, before we hear of the complaint. It

is true, we vindicate the injured, but to suffer no oppression would

surely be better than to obtain relief. Find, if you can, in any part

of the world a wise and happy community, where no man offends against

the laws: in such a nation what can be the use of oratory? You may as

well profess the healing art where ill health is never known. Let men

enjoy bodily vigour, and the practice of physic will have no

encouragement. In like manner, where sober manners prevail, and

submission to the authority of government is the national virtue, the

powers of persuasion are rendered useless. Eloquence has lost her

field of glory. In the senate, what need of elaborate speeches, when

all good men are already of one mind? What occasion for studied

harangues before a popular assembly, where the form of government

leaves nothing to the decision of a wild democracy, but the whole

administration is conducted by the wisdom of a single ruler? And

again; when crimes are rare, and in fact of no great moment, what

avails the boasted right of individuals to commence a voluntary

prosecution? What necessity for a studied defence, often composed in a

style of vehemence, artfully addressed to the passions, and generally

stretched beyond all bounds, when justice is executed in mercy, and

the judge is of himself disposed to succour the distressed?

Believe me, my very good, and (as far as the times will admit) my

eloquent friends, had it been your lot to live under the old republic,

and the men whom we so much admire had been reserved for the present

age; if some god had changed the period of theirs and your existence,

the flame of genius had been yours, and the chiefs of antiquity would

now be acting with minds subdued to the temper of the times. Upon the

whole, since no man can enjoy a state of calm tranquillity, and, at

the same time, raise a great and splendid reputation; to be content

with the benefits of the age in which we live, without detracting from

our ancestors, is the virtue that best becomes us.

XLII. Maternus concluded [a] his discourse. There have been, said

Messala, some points advanced, to which I do not entirely accede; and

others, which I think require farther explanation. But the day is well

nigh spent. We will, therefore, adjourn the debate. Be it as you think

proper, replied Maternus; and if, in what I have said, you find any

thing not sufficiently clear, we will adjust those matters in some

future conference. Hereupon he rose from his seat, and embracing Aper,

I am afraid, he said, that it will fare hardly with you, my good

friend. I shall cite you to answer before the poets, and Messala will

arraign you at the bar of the antiquarians. And I, replied Aper, shall

make reprisals on you both before the school professors and the

rhetoricians. This occasioned some mirth and raillery. We laughed, and

parted in good humour.

END OF THE DIALOGUE.

NOTES ON THE DIALOGUE CONCERNING ORATORY.

The scene of the following Dialogue is laid in the sixth year of

Vespasian, A.U.C. 828. A.D. 75. The commentators are much divided in

their opinions about the real author; his work they all agree is a

masterpiece in the kind; written with taste and judgement;

entertaining, profound, and elegant. But whether it is to be ascribed

to Tacitus, Quintilian, or any other person whom they cannot name, is

a question upon which they have exhausted a store of learning. They

have given us, according to their custom, much controversy, and little

decision. In this field of conjecture Lipsius led the way. He

published, in 1574, the first good edition of Tacitus, with

emendations of the text, and not removed; he still remains in

suspense. _Cum multa dixerim, claudo tamen omnia hoc responso; MIHI

NON LIQUERE._ Gronovius Pichena, Ryckius, Rhenanus, and others, have

entered warmly into the dispute. An elegant modern writer has hazarded

a new conjecture. The last of Sir Thomas Fitzosborne's Letters is a

kind of preface to Mr. Melmoth's Translation of the Dialogue before

us. He says; of all the conversation pieces, whether ancient or

modern, either of the moral or polite kind, he knows not one more

elegantly written than the little anonymous Dialogue concerning the

rise and decline of eloquence among the Romans. He calls it anonymous,

though he is aware, that it has been ascribed not only to Tacitus and

Quintilian, but even to Suetonius. The reasons, however, are so

inconclusive, that he is inclined to give it to the younger Pliny. He

thinks it perfectly coincides with Pliny's age; it is addressed to one

of his particular friends, and is marked with similar expressions and

sentiments. But, with all due submission to Mr. Melmoth, his new

candidate cannot long hold us in suspense. It appears in the account

of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, in which Pliny's uncle lost his

life. A.U.C. 832. A.D. 79, that Pliny was then eighteen years old,

and, as the Dialogue was in 828, he could then be no more than

fourteen; a time of life, when he was neither fit to be admitted to a

learned debate, nor capable of understanding it. Besides this, two

letters to his friend FABIUS are still extant; one in the first book,

epist. 11; the other, book vii. epist. 2. No mention of the Dialogue

occurs in either of those letters, nor in any other part of his works;

a circumstance, which could scarce have happened to a writer so

tenderly anxious about his literary character, if the work in question

had been the production of his part. Brotier, the last, and, it may be

said, the best of all the editors of Tacitus, is of opinion that a

tract, so beautiful and judicious, ought not, without better reasons

than have been as yet assigned, to be adjudged from Tacitus to any

other writer. He relies much on the first edition, which was published

at Venice (1468), containing the last six books of the Annals (the

first six not being then found), the five books of the History, and

the Dialogue, intitled, _Cornelii Taciti Equitis Romani Dialogus de

Oratoribus claris._ There were also in the Vatican, manuscript copies

of the Dialogue _de Oratoribus_. In 1515, when the six first Annals

were found in Germany, a new edition, under the patronage of Leo X.

was published by Beroaldus, carefully collated with the manuscript,

which was afterwards placed in the Florentine Library. Those early

authorities preponderate with Brotier against all modern conjecture;

more especially, since the age of Tacitus agrees with the time of the

Dialogue. He was four years older than his friend Pliny, and, at

eighteen, might properly be allowed by his friends to be of their

party. In two years afterwards (A.U. 830), he married Agricola's

daughter, and he expressly says, (Life of Agricola, sect. ix.) that he

was then a very young man. The arguments, drawn by the several

commentators from the difference of style, Brotier thinks are of no

weight. The style of a young author will naturally differ from what he

has settled by practice at an advanced period of life. This has been

observed in many eminent writers, and in none more than Lipsius

himself. His language, in the outset, was easy, flowing, and elegant;

but, as he advanced in years, it became stiff, abrupt, and harsh.

Tacitus relates a conversation on a literary subject; and in such a

piece, who can expect to find the style of an historian or an

annalist? For these reasons Brotier thinks that this Dialogue may,

with good reason, be ascribed to Tacitus. The translator enters no

farther into the controversy, than to say, that in a case where

certainty cannot be obtained, we must rest satisfied with the best

evidence the nature of the thing will admit. The dispute is of no

importance; for, as Lipsius says, whether we give the Dialogue to

Quintilian or to Tacitus, no inconvenience can arise. Whoever was the

author, it is a performance of uncommon beauty.

Before we close this introduction, it will not be improper to say a

word or two about Brotier's Supplement. In the wreck of ancient

literature a considerable part of this Dialogue has perished, and, by

consequence, a chasm is left, much to be lamented by every reader of

taste. To avoid the inconvenience of a broken context, Brotier has

endeavoured to compensate for the loss. What he has added, will be

found in the progress of the work; and as it is executed by the

learned editor with great elegance, and equal probability, it is hoped

that the insertion of it will be more agreeable to the reader, than a

dull pause of melancholy regret.

Section I.

[a] Justus Fabius was consul A.U.C. 864, A.D. 111. But as he did not

begin the year, his name does not appear in the FASTI CONSULARES.

There are two letters to him from his friend Pliny; the first, lib. i.

epist. 11; the other, lib. vii. ep. 2. it is remarkable, that in the

last, the author talks of sending some of his writings for his

friend's perusal; _quæram quid potissimum ex nugis meis tibi

exhibeam_; but not a word is said about the decline of eloquence.