skill and learning, who admires nothing so much in the eloquence of the
bar as conciseness. I agree with him, that where the case will admit of
this precision, it may with propriety be adopted; but insist that, to
leave out what is material to be mentioned,--or only briefly and
cursorily to touch upon those points which should be inculcated,
impressed, and urged well home upon the minds of the audience, is a
downright fraud upon one's client. In many cases, to deal with the
subject at greater length adds strength and weight to our ideas, which
frequently produce their impression upon the mind, as iron does upon
solid bodies, rather by repeated strokes than a single blow. In answer
to this, he usually has recourse to authorities, and produces Lysias[17]
amongst the Grecians, together with Cato and the two Gracchi, among our
own countrymen, many of whose speeches certainly are brief and
curtailed. In return, I name Demosthenes, Aeschines, Hyperides,[18] and
many others, in opposition to Lysias; while I confront Cato and the
Gracchi with Cæsar, Pollio,[19] Caelius,[20] but, above all, Cicero,
whose longest speech is generally considered his best. Why, no doubt
about it, in good compositions, as in everything else that is valuable,
the more there is of them, the better. You may observe in statues,
basso-relievos, pictures, and the human form, and even in animals and
trees, that nothing is more graceful than magnitude, if accompanied with
proportion. The same holds true in pleading; and even in books a large
volume carries a certain beauty and authority in its very size. My
antagonist, who is extremely dexterous at evading an argument, eludes
all this, and much more, which I usually urge to the same purpose, by
insisting that those very individuals, upon whose works I found my
opinion, made considerable additions to their speeches when they
published them. This I deny; and appeal to the harangues of numberless
orators, particularly to those of Cicero, for Murena and Varenus, in
which a short, bare notification of certain charges is expressed under
mere heads. Whence it appears that many things which he enlarged upon at
the time he delivered those speeches were retrenched when he gave them
to the public. The same excellent orator informs us that, agreeably to
the ancient custom, which allowed only of one counsel on a side,
Cluentius had no other advocate than himself; and he tells us further
that he employed four whole days in defence of Cornelius; by which it
plainly appears that those speeches which, when delivered at their full
length, had necessarily taken up so much time at the bar were
considerably cut down and pruned when he afterwards compressed them into
a single volume, though, I must confess, indeed, a large one. But good
pleading, it is objected, is one thing, just composition another. This
objection, I am aware, has had some favourers; nevertheless, I am
persuaded (though I may, perhaps, be mistaken) that, as it is possible
you may have a good pleading which is not a good speech, so a good
speech cannot be a bad pleading; for the speech on paper is the model
and, as it were, the archetype of the speech that was delivered. It is
for this reason we find, in many of the best speeches extant, numberless
extemporaneous turns of expression; and even in those which we are sure
were never spoken; as, for instance, in the following passage from the
speech against Verres: --"A certain mechanic--what's his name? Oh, thank
you for helping me to it: yes, I mean Polyclitus." It follows, then,
that the nearer approach a speaker makes to the rules of just
composition, the more perfect will he be in his art; always supposing,
however, that he has his due share of time allowed him; for, if he be
limited of that article, no blame can justly be fixed upon the advocate,
though much certainly upon the judge. The sense of the laws, I am sure,
is on my side, which are by no means sparing of the orator's time; it is
not conciseness, but fulness, a complete representation of every
material circumstance, which they recommend. Now conciseness cannot
effect this, unless in the most insignificant cases. Let me add what
experience, that unerring guide, has taught me: it has frequently been
my province to act both as an advocate and a judge; and I have often
also attended as an assessor.[21] Upon those occasions, I have ever
found the judgments of mankind are to be influenced by different modes
of application, and that the slightest circumstances frequently produce
the most important consequences. The dispositions and understandings of
men vary to such an extent that they seldom agree in their opinions
concerning any one point in debate before them; or, if they do, it is
generally from different motives. Besides, as every man is naturally
partial to his own discoveries, when he hears an argument urged which
had previously occurred to himself, he will be sure to embrace it as
extremely convincing. The orator, therefore, should so adapt himself to
his audience as to throw out something which every one of them, in turn,
may receive and approve as agreeable to his own particular views. I
recollect, once when Regulus and I were engaged on the same side, his
remarking to me, "You seem to think it necessary to go into every single
circumstance: whereas I always take aim at once at my adversary's
throat, and there I press him closely." ('Tis true, he keeps a tight
hold of whatever part he has once fixed upon; but the misfortune is, he
is extremely apt to fix upon the wrong place.) I replied, it might
possibly happen that what he called the throat was, in reality, the knee
or the ankle. As for myself, said I, who do not pretend to direct my aim
with so much precision, I test every part, I probe every opening; in
short, to use a vulgar proverb, I leave no stone unturned. And as in
agriculture, it is not my vineyards or my woods only, but my fields as
well, that I look after and cultivate, and (to carry on the metaphor) as
I do not content myself with sowing those fields simply with corn or
white wheat, but sprinkle in barley, pulse, and the other kinds of
grain; so, in my pleadings at the bar, I scatter broadcast various
arguments like so many kinds of seed, in order to reap whatever may
happen to come up. For the disposition of your judges is as hard to
fathom as uncertain, and as little to be relied on as that of soils and
seasons. The comic writer Eupolis,[22] I remember, mentions it in praise
of that excellent orator Pericles, that
"On his lips Persuasion hung, And powerful Reason rul'd his tongue: Thus
he alone could boast the art To charm at once, and pierce the heart."
[23] But could Pericles, without the richest variety of expression, and
merely by the force of the concise or the rapid style, or both (for they
are very different), have thus charmed and pierced the heart. To delight
and to persuade requires time and great command of language; and to
leave a sting in the minds of the audience is an effect not to be
expected from an orator who merely pinks, but from him, and him only,
who thrusts in. Another comic poet,[24] speaking of the same orator,
says:
"His mighty words like Jove's own thunder roll; Greece hears, and
trembles to her inmost soul."
But it is not the close and reserved; it is the copious, the majestic,
and the sublime orator, who thunders, who lightens, who, in short, bears
all before him in a confused whirl. There is, undeniably, a just mean in
everything; but he equally misses the mark who falls short of it, as he
who goes beyond it; he who is too limited as he who is too unrestrained.
Hence it is as common a thing to hear our orators condemned for being
too jejune and feeble as too excessive and redundant. One is said to
have exceeded the bounds of his subject, the other not to have reached
them. Both, no doubt, are equally in fault, with this difference,
however, that in the one the fault arises from an abundance, in the
other, from a deficiency; an error, in the former case, which, if it be
not the sign of a more correct, is certainly of a more fertile genius.
When I say this, I would not be understood to approve that everlasting
talker[25] mentioned in Homer, but that other' described in the
following lines:
"Frequent and soft, as falls the winter snow, Thus from his lips the
copious periods flow."
Not but that I extremely admire him,[26] too, of whom the poet says,
"Few were his words, but wonderfully strong."
Yet, if the choice were given me, I should give the preference to that
style resembling winter snow, that is, to the full, uninterrupted, and
diffusive; in short, to that pomp of eloquence which seems all heavenly
and divine. But (it is replied) the harangue of a more moderate length
is most generally admired. It is:--but only by indolent people; and to
fix the standard by their laziness and false delicacy would be simply
ridiculous. Were you to consult persons of this cast, they would tell
you, not only that it is best to say little, but that it is best to say
nothing at all. Thus, my friend, I have laid before you my opinions upon
this subject, and I am willing to change them if not agreeable to yours.
But should you disagree with me, pray let me know clearly your reasons
why. For, though I ought to yield in this case to your more enlightened
judgment, yet, in a point of such consequence, I had rather be convinced
by argument than by authority. So if I don't seem to you very wide of
the mark, a line or two from you in return, intimating your concurrence,
will be sufficient to confirm me in my opinion: on the other hand, if
you should think me mistaken, let me have your objections at full
length. Does it not look rather like bribery, my requiring only a short
letter, if you agree with me; but a very long one if you should be of a
different opinion. Farewell.
XV -- To PATERNUS
As I rely very much upon the soundness of your judgment, so I do upon
the goodness of your eyes: not because I think your discernment very
great (for I don't want to make you conceited), but because I think it
as good as mine: which, it must be confessed, is saying a great deal.
Joking apart, I like the look of the slaves which were purchased for me
on your recommendation very well; all I further care about is, that they
be honest: and for this I must depend upon their characters more than
their countenances. Farewell.
XVI -- To CATILIUS SEVERUS [27]
I AM at present (and have been a considerable time) detained in Rome,
under the most stunning apprehensions. Titus Aristo,[28] whom I have a
singular admiration and affection for, is fallen into a long and
obstinate illness, which troubles me. Virtue, knowledge, and good sense,
shine out with so superior a lustre in this excellent man that learning
herself, and every valuable endowment, seem involved in the danger of
his single person. How consummate his knowledge, both in the political
and civil laws of his country! How thoroughly conversant is he in every
branch of history or antiquity? In a word, there is nothing you might
wish to know which he could not teach you. As for me, whenever I would
acquaint myself with any abstruse point, I go to him as my store-house.
What an engaging sincerity, what dignity in his conversation! how
chastened and becoming is his caution! Though he conceives, at once,
every point in debate, yet he is as slow to decide as he is quick to
apprehend; calmly and deliberately sifting and weighing every opposite
reason that is offered, and tracing it, with a most judicious
penetration, from its source through all its remotest consequences. His
diet is frugal, his dress plain; and whenever I enter his chamber, and
view him reclined upon his couch, I consider the scene before me as a
true image of ancient simplicity, to which his illustrious mind reflects
the noblest ornament. He places no part of his happiness in ostentation,
but in the secret approbation of his conscience, seeking the reward of
his virtue, not in the clamorous applauses of the world, but in the
silent satisfaction which results from having acted well. In short, you
will not easily find his equal, even among our philosophers by outward
profession. No, he does not frequent the gymnasia or porticoes[29] nor
does he amuse his own and others' leisure with endless controversies,
but busies himself in the scenes of civil and active life. Many has he
assisted with his interest, still more with his advice, and withal in
the practice of temperance, piety, justice, and fortitude, he has no
superior. You would be astonished, were you there to see, at the
patience with which he bears his illness, how he holds out against pain,
endures thirst, and quietly submits to this raging fever and to the
pressure of those clothes which are laid upon him to promote
perspiration. He lately called me and a few more of his particular
friends to his bedside, requesting us to ask his physicians what turn
they apprehended his distemper would take; that, if they pronounced it
incurable, he might voluntarily put an end to his life; but if there
were hopes of a recovery, how tedious and difficult soever it might
prove, he would calmly wait the event; for so much, he thought, was due
to the tears and entreaties of his wife and daughter, and to the
affectionate intercession of his friends, as not voluntarily to abandon
our hopes, if they were not entirely desperate. A true hero's resolution
this, in my estimation, and worthy the highest applause. Instances are
frequent in the world, of rushing into the arms of death without
reflection and by a sort of blind impulse but deliberately to weigh the
reasons for life or death, and to be determined in our choice as either
side of the scale prevails, shows a great mind. We have had the
satisfaction to receive the opinion of his physicians in his favour: may
heaven favour their promises and relieve me at length from this painful
anxiety. Once easy in my mind, I shall go back to my favourite
Laurentum, or, in other words, to my books, my papers and studious
leisure. Just now, so much of my time and thoughts are taken up in
attendance upon my friend, and anxiety for him, that I have neither
leisure nor inclination for any reading or writing whatever. Thus you
have my fears, my wishes, and my after-plans. Write me in return, but in
a gayer strain, an account not only of what you are and have been doing,
but of what you intend doing too. It will be a very sensible consolation
to me in this disturbance of mind, to be assured that yours is easy.
Farewell.
XVII -- To VOCONIUS ROMANUS
ROME has not for many years beheld a more magnificent and memorable
spectacle than was lately exhibited in the public funeral of that great,
illustrious, and no less fortunate man, Verginius Rufus. He lived thirty
years after he had reached the zenith of his fame. He read poems
composed in his honour, he read histories of his achievements, and was
himself witness of his fame among posterity. He was thrice raised to the
dignity of consul, that he might at least be the highest of subjects,
who[30] had refused to be the first of princes. As he escaped the
resentment of those emperors to whom his virtues had given umbrage and
even rendered him odious, and ended his days when this best of princes,
this friend of mankind[31] was in quiet possession of the empire, it
seems as if Providence had purposely preserved him to these times, that
he might receive the honour of a public funeral. He reached his eighty-
fourth year, in full tranquillity and universally revered, having
enjoyed strong health during his lifetime, with the exception of a
trembling in his hands, which, however, gave him no pain. His last
illness, indeed, was severe and tedious, but even that circumstance
added to his reputation. As he was practising his voice with a view of
returning his public acknowledgements to the emperor, who had promoted
him to the consulship, a large volume he had taken into his hand, and
which happened to be too heavy for so old a man to hold standing up,
slid from his grasp. In hastily endeavouring to recover it, his foot
slipped on the smooth pavement, and he fell down and broke his thigh-
bone, which being clumsily set, his age as well being against him, did
not properly unite again. The funeral obsequies paid to the memory of
this great man have done honour to the emperor, to the age, and to the
bar. The consul Cornelius Tacitus[32] pronounced his funeral oration and
thus his good fortune was crowned by the public applause of so eloquent
an orator. He has departed from our midst, full of years, indeed, and of
glory; as illustrious by the honours he refused as by those he accepted.
Yet still we shall miss him and lament him, as the shining model of a
past age; I, especially, shall feel his loss, for I not only admired him
as a patriot, but loved him as a friend. We were of the same province,
and of neighbouring towns, and our estates were also contiguous. Besides
these accidental connections, he was left my guardian, and always
treated me with a parent's affection. Whenever I offered myself as a
candidate for any office in the state, he constantly supported me with
his interest; and although he had long since given up all such services
to friends, he would kindly leave his retirement and come to give me his
vote in person. On the day on which the priests nominate those they
consider most worthy of the sacred office[33] he constantly proposed me.
Even in his last illness, apprehending the possibility of the senate's
appointing him one of the five commissioners for reducing the public
expenses, he fixed upon me, young as I am, to bear his excuses, in
preference to so many other friends, elderly men too, and of consular
rank and said to me, "Had I a son of my own, I would entrust you with
this matter." And so I cannot but lament his death, as though it were
premature, and pour out my grief into your bosom; if indeed one has any
right to grieve, or to call it death at all, which to such a man
terminates his mortality, rather than ends his life. He lives, and will
live on for ever; and his fame will extend and be more celebrated by
posterity, now that he is gone from our sight. I had much else to write
to you but my mind is full of this. I keep thinking of Verginius: I see
him before me: I am for ever fondly yet vividly imagining that I hear
him, am speaking to him, embrace him. There are men amongst us, his
fellow-citizens, perhaps, who may rival him in virtue; but not one that
will ever approach him in glory. Farewell.
XVIII -- To NEPOS
THE great fame of Isaeus had already preceded him here; but we find him
even more wonderful than we had heard. He possesses the utmost
readiness, copiousness, and abundance of language: he always speaks
extempore, and his lectures are as finished as though he had spent a
long time over their written composition. His style is Greek, or rather
the genuine Attic. His exordiums are terse, elegant, attractive, and
occasionally impressive and majestic. He suggests several subjects for
discussion, allows his audience their choice, sometimes to even name
which side he shall take, rises, arranges himself, and begins. At once
he has everything almost equally at command. Recondite meanings of
things are suggested to you, and words--what words they are! exquisitely
chosen and polished. These extempore speeches of his show the wideness
of his reading, and how much practice he has had in composition. His
preface is to the point, his narrative lucid, his summing up forcible,
his rhetorical ornament imposing. In a word, he teaches, entertains, and
affects you; and you are at a loss to decide which of the three he does
best. His reflections are frequent, his syllogisms also are frequent,
condensed, and carefully finished, a result not easily attainable even
with the pen. As for his memory, you would hardly believe what it is
capable of. He repeats from a long way back what he has previously
delivered extempore, without missing a single word. This marvellous
faculty he has acquired by dint of great application and practice, for
night and day he does nothing, hears nothing, says nothing else. He has
passed his sixtieth year and is still only a rhetorician, and I know no
class of men more single-hearted, more genuine, more excellent than this
class. We who have to go through the rough work of the bar and of real
disputes unavoidably contract a certain unprincipled adroitness. The
school, the lecture-room, the imaginary case, all this, on the other
hand, is perfectly innocent and harmless, and equally enjoyable,
especially to old people, for what can be happier at that time of life
than to enjoy what we found pleasantest in our young days? I consider
Isaeus then, not only the most eloquent, but the happiest, of men, and
if you are not longing to make his acquaintance, you must be made of
stone and iron. So, if not upon my account, or for any other reason,
come, for the sake of hearing this man, at least. Have you never read of
a certain inhabitant of Cadiz who was so impressed with the name and
fame of Livy that he came from the remotest corner of the earth on
purpose to see him, and, his curiosity gratified, went straight home
again. It is utter want of taste, shows simple ignorance, is almost an
actual disgrace to a man, not to set any high value upon a proficiency
in so pleasing, noble, refining a science. "I have authors," you will
reply, "here in my own study, just as eloquent." True: but then those
authors you can read at any time, while you cannot always get the
opportunity of hearing eloquence. Besides, as the proverb says, "The
living voice is that which sways the soul;" yes, far more. For
notwithstanding what one reads is more clearly understood than what one
hears, yet the utterance, countenance, garb, aye and the very gestures
of the speaker, alike concur in fixing an impression upon the mind; that
is, unless we disbelieve the truth of Aeschines' statement, who, after
he had read to the Rhodians that celebrated speech of Demosthenes, upon
their expressing their admiration of it, is said to have added, "Ah!
what would you have said, could you have heard the wild beast himself?"
And Aeschines, if we may take Demosthenes' word for it, was no mean
elocutionist; yet, he could not but confess that the speech would have
sounded far finer from the lips of its author. I am saying all this with
a view to persuading you to hear Isaeus, if even for the mere sake of
being able to say you have heard him. Farewell.
XIX -- To AVITUS
IT would be a long story, and of no great importance, to tell you by
what accident I found myself dining the other day with an individual
with whom I am by no means intimate, and who, in his own opinion, does
things in good style and economically as well, but according to mine,
with meanness and extravagance combined. Some very elegant dishes were
served up to himself and a few more of us, whilst those placed before
the rest of the company consisted simply of cheap dishes and scraps.
There were, in small bottles, three different kinds of wine; not that
the guest might take their choice, but that they might not have any
option in their power; one kind being for himself, and for us; another
sort for his lesser friends (for it seems he has degrees of friends),
and the third for his own freedmen and ours. My neighbour,[34] reclining
next me, observing this, asked me if I approved the arrangement. Not at
all, I told him. "Pray then," he asked, "what is your method upon such
occasions?" "Mine," I returned, "is to give all my visitors the same
reception; for when I give an invitation, it is to entertain, not
distinguish, my company: I place every man upon my own level whom I
admit to my table." "Not excepting even your freedmen?" "Not excepting
even my freedmen, whom I consider on these occasions my guests, as much
as any of the rest." He replied, "This must cost you a great deal." "Not
in the least." "How can that be?" "Simply because, although my freedmen
don't drink the same wine as myself, yet I drink the same as they do."
And, no doubt about it, if a man is wise enough to moderate his
appetite, he will not find it such a very expensive thing to share with
all his visitors what he takes himself. Restrain it, keep it in, if you
wish to be true economist. You will find temperance a far better way of
saving than treating other people rudely can be. Why do I say all this?
Why, for fear a young man of your high character and promise should be
imposed upon by this immoderate luxury which prevails at some tables,
under the specious notion of frugality. Whenever any folly of this sort
falls under my eye, I shall, just because I care for you, point it out
to you as an example you ought to shun. Remember, then, nothing is more
to be avoided than this modern alliance of luxury with meanness; odious
enough when existing separate and distinct, but still more hateful where
you meet with them together. Farewell.
XX -- To MACRINUS