 Book 1, Chapter 5 of On the Education of an Orator, by Quintilian, translated by H. E. Butler, this LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 5 Style has three kinds of excellence, correctness, lucidity, and elegance. For many include the all-important quality of appropriateness under the heading of elegance. Its faults are likewise threefold, namely the opposites of these excellences. The teacher of literature, therefore, must study the rules for correctness of speech, these constituting the first part of his arc. The observance of these rules is concerned with either one or more words. I must now be understood to use verbom in its most general sense. It has, of course, two meanings. The one covers all the parts of which language is composed, as in the line of horrors. Once supplied a thought, and words will follow swift as soon as sought. The otter restricts it to a part of speech, such as lego and scribo. To avoid this ambiguity, some authorities prefer the term wokés, locotiones, dictiones. Individual words will either be native or imported, simple or compound, literal or metaphorical, and current use or newly coined. A single word is more likely to be faulty than to possess any intrinsic merit. For, though we may speak of a word as appropriate, distinguished or sublime, it can possess none of these properties, save in relation to connected and consecutive speech, since when we praise words, we do so because they suit the matter. There is only one excellence that can be isolated for consideration, namely euphony, the Greek term for our wokálitas. That is to say that when we are confronted with making a choice between two exact synonyms, we must select that which sounds best. In the first place, barbarisms and solicisms must not be allowed to intrude their offensive presence. These blemishes are, however, pardoned at times, because we have become accustomed to them, or because they have age or authority in their favor, or are near akin to positive excellences, since it is often difficult to distinguish such blemishes from figures of speech. The teacher, therefore, that such slippery customers may not elude detection, must seek to acquire a delicate discrimination. But of this I will speak later, when I come to discuss figures of speech. For the present, I will define barbarism as an offense occurring in connection with single words. Some of my readers may object that such a topic is beneath the dignity of so ambitious a work. But who does not know that some barbarisms occur in writing, others in speaking? For although what is incorrect in writing will also be incorrect in speech, the converse is not necessarily true, and as much as mistakes in writing are caused by addition or omission, substitution or transposition, while mistakes in speaking are due to separation or combination of syllables, to aspiration or other errors of sound. Trivial as these points may seem, our boys are still at school, and I am reminding their instructors of their duty. And if one of our teachers is lacking in education, and has done no more than set foot in the outer courts of his art, he will have to confine himself to the rules published in the elementary textbooks. The more learned teacher, on the other hand, will be in a position to go much further. First of all, for example, he will point out that there are many different kinds of barbarism. One kind is due to race, such as the insertion of a Spanish or African turn. For instance, the iron tire of a wheel is called cantus, though Precious uses it as established in the Latin language. Catullus picked up Ploxenum, a box in the valley of the Po, while the author of the Inpolionem, be he Labienus or Cornelius Gallus, imported Casamo from Gaul in the sense of follower. As for Mastruca, which is Sardinian for a rough coat, it is introduced by Cicero merely as an object of derision. Another kind of barbarism proceeds from the speaker's temper. For instance, we regard it as barbarous if a speaker used cruel or brittle language. A third and very common kind of which anyone may fashion examples for himself consists in the addition or omission of a letter or syllable or in the substitution of one for another or in placing one where it has no right to be. Some teachers, however, to display their learning are in the habit of picking out examples of barbarism from the poets and attacking the authors whom they are expounding for using such words. A boy should, however, realize that in poets such peculiarities are pardonable or even praiseworthy and should therefore be taught less common instances. For Tinga of Placentia, if we may believe Hortensius, who takes him to task for it, committed two barbarisms in one word by saying Precula for Pergula. That is to say, he substituted C for G and transposed R and E. On the other hand, when Enius writes Metoiocque fufetioio, where the barbarism is twice repeated, he is defended on the plea of poetic license. Substitution is, however, sometimes admitted, even in prose, as for instance when Cicero speaks of the army of Canopus, which is locally styled Canopus, while the number of authors who have been guilty of transposition in writing Trassumenos for Tarsumenos has succeeded in standardizing the error. Similar instances may be quoted. If Adcentior be regarded as the correct form, we must remember that Cicena said Adcentior, and that many have followed him on the ground of analogy. On the other hand, if Adcentior is the correct form, we must remember that Adcentior has the support of current usage. And yet our fat fool, the fashionable schoolmaster, will regard one of these forms as an example of a mission, or the other as an instance of addition. Again there are words which, when used separately, are undoubtedly incorrect, but when used in conjunction excite no unfavorable common. For instance, Dua and Tre are barbarisms and differ in gender, but the words Dua Pondo and Tre Pondo have persisted in common parlance down to our day, and Mesala shows that the practice is correct. It may perhaps seem absurd to say that a barbarism, which is an error in a single word, may be made like a solosism by errors in connection with either number or gender. But take on the one hand Scala, stairs, and Scopa, which literally means a twig, but is used in the sense of broom, and on the other hand Hordia, barley, and Mulsa, med. Here we have substitution, omission, and addition of letters, but the blamish consists in the former case merely in the use of singular for plural, in the letter of plural for singular. Those on the other hand who have used the word gladia are guilty of a mistake in gender. I merely mention these as instances. I do not wish anyone to think that I have added a fresh problem to a subject into which the obstinacy of pedants has already introduced confusion. The faults which arise in the course of actual speaking require greater penetration on the part of the critic, since it is impossible to cite examples from writing, except in cases where they occur in poetry, as when the diphthong is divided into two syllables in Europa and Asiae, or when the opposite fold occurs, called Sinaitesis or Sinaloipe by the Greeks, and Complexio by ourselves. As an example, I may quote the line of Publius Varro, Tum te flagranti del lectum fulmine phaiton. If this were prose, it would be possible to give the letters their true syllabic value. I may mention, as further anomalies peculiar to poetry, the lengthening of a short syllable as in Italian Fatto Profugus, or the shortening of a long, such as unius obnoxum et furias, but in poetry we cannot label these as actual faults. Errors in sound, on the other hand, can be detected by the ear alone, although in Latin, as regards the addition or omission of the aspirate, the question may be raised whether this is an error when it occurs in writing, for there is some doubt whether H is a letter or merely a reading, practice having frequently varied in different ages. Older authors used it, but rarely even before vowels, saying aidos or irkus, while its conjunction with consonants was for a long time avoided, as in words such as gracus or triumpus. Then for a short time it broke out into excessive use, witness such spellings as corona, cinturia or praiko, which may still be read in certain inscriptions. The well-known epigram of Catelas will be remembered in this connection. The spellings wegemente, compregendere and miji have lasted to our day, and among early writers, especially of tragedy, we actually find mehe for me in the older manuscripts. It is still more difficult to detect errors of tenor or tone. I know that old writers spell the word tonor as derived from the Greek tonos, or of accent styled prosody by the Greeks, such as the substitution of the acute accent for the grav or the grav for the acute. Such an example would be the placing of the acute accent on the first syllable of kamilus or the substitution of the grav for the circumflex in cetegus, an error which results in the alteration of the quantity of the middle syllable, since it means making the first syllable acute, or again the substitution of circumflex for the grav on the second syllable of api, where the contraction of two syllables into one circumflexed syllable involves a double error. This however occurs far more frequently in Greek words such as atei, which in our young days was pronounced by the most learned of our elders with an acute accent on the first syllable, necessitating a grav accent on the second. The same remark applies to nere and tere, such as being the tradition as regards accents. Still, I am well aware that certain learned men and some professed teachers of literature to ensure that certain words may be kept distinct sometimes place an acute accent on the last syllable, both when they are teaching an inordinary speech, as for instance in the following passage. Quai kirkum litora kirkum piscosos kopulos, where they make the last syllable of kirkum acute on the ground that if that syllable were given the grav accent, it might be thought that they meant kirkus, not kirkuitus. Similarly, when quale is interrogative, they give the final syllable a grav accent, and when using it in a comparison make it acute. This practice however, they restrict almost entirely to adverbs and pronouns, in other cases they follow the old usage. Personally, I think that in such phrases as these, the circumstances are almost entirely altered by the fact that we join two words together. For when I say kirkum litora, I pronounce the phrase as one word, concealing the fact that it is composed of two. Consequently, it contains but one acute accent, as though it were a single word. The same thing occurs in the phrase troiai qui primus avoris. It sometimes happens that the accent is altered by the meter, as in pecu des pectaico e volucres. For I shall read volucres with the acute on the middle syllable, because although that syllable is short by nature, it is long by position, else the last two syllables would form anayambas, which its position in the exameter does not allow. But these same words, if separated, will form no exception to the rule, or if the custom under discussion prevails, the old law of the language will disappear. This law is more difficult for the Greeks to observe, because they have several dialects, as they call them, and what is wrong in one may be right in another. But with us the rule is simplicity itself. For in every word the acute accent is restricted to three syllables, whether these be the only syllables in the word, or the three last, and will fall either on the penultimate or the antipenultimate. The middle of the three syllables of which I speak, will be acute, or circumflexed, if long, while if it be short, will have a grave accent, and the acute will be thrown back to the preceding syllable. That is to say, the antipenultimate. Every word has an acute accent, but never more than one. Further, the acute never falls on the last syllable, and therefore, in the syllabic word, smarts the first syllable. Moreover, the acute accent and the circumflex are never found in one and the same word, since the circumflex itself contains an acute accent. Further the circumflex, nor the acute, therefore, will ever be found in the last syllable of a Latin word, with this exception, that monosyllables must either be acute or circumflexed, otherwise we should find words without an acute accent at all. There are also faults of sound, which we cannot reproduce in writing, as they spring from defects of the voice and tongue. The Greeks, who are happier in inventing names than we are, call them euracisms, lambacisms, ischnotetes, attenuations, and plateasmoi, broadnings. They also use the term coelostomia, when the voice seems to proceed from the depths of the mouth. There are also certain peculiar and indescribable sounds, for which we sometimes take whole nations to fault. To sum up then, if all the faults of which we have just spoken be avoided, we shall be in possession of the Greek ortoepia, that is to say, an exact and pleasing articulation, for that is what we mean when we speak of correct pronunciation. All other faults in speaking are concerned with more words than one. Among this class of faults is the solosism, although there have been controversies about this as well. For even those who acknowledge that it occurs in connected speech argue that, since it can be corrected by the alteration of one word, the fault lies in the word and not in the phrase or sentence. For example, whether Amaraikortikis or Mediokortike contains a solosism in gender, and personally I object neither, as Virgil is the author of both. However, for the sake of argument, let us assume that one of the two is incorrect. Still, whichever phrase is incorrect, it can be said right by the alteration of the word in which the fault lies, that is to say, we can amend either to Amaraikortikis or Mediokortike. But it is obvious that these critics misrepresent the case. For neither word is faulty in itself. The error arises from its association with another word. The fault, therefore, lies in the phrase. Those who raise the question as to whether a solosism can arise in a single word show greater intelligence. Is it, for instance, a solosism if a man, when calling a single person to him, says whenite, or in dismissing several persons says abi, or disquede? Or again, if the answer does not correspond to the question, suppose, for example, when someone said to you, whom do I see? You were to reply, I. Some two think it a solosism if the spoken word is contradicted by the motion of hand or head. I do not entirely concur with this view, nor yet do I wholly dissent. I admit that a solosism may occur in a single word, but with the proviso, there must be something else equivalent to another word to which the word in which the error lies can be referred, so that the solosism arises from the faulty connection of those symbols by which facts are expressed and purpose indicated. To avoid all suspicion of quibbling, I will say that a solosism may occur in one word, but never in a word in isolation. There is, however, some controversy as to the number and nature of the different kinds of solosism. Those who have dealt with the subject most fully make a fourfold division, identical with that which is made in the case of barbarisms. Solosisms are brought about by addition, for instance, in phrases such as Nam Enim, De Susum, in Aleksandriam, by omission in phrases such as Ambulo William, Aigipto Venio, or Nehok Fekit, and by transposition, as in Quakuego, Enimhok Walwit, Altem Nonhabwit. Under this last head comes the question whether Iggitur can be placed first in a sentence, for I know that authors of the first rank disagree on this point. Some of them frequently place in it in that position, others never. Some distinguish these three classes of error from the solosism, styling addition of pleonasm, omission and ellipsi, and transposition, anastrophe. And they assert that if anastrophe is a solosism, hyperbaton might also be so called. About substitution, that is, when one word is used instead of another, there's no dispute. It is an error which we may detect in connection with all the parts of speech, but most frequently in the verb, because it has greater variety than any other. Consequently, in connection with the verb, we get solosisms of gender, tense, person and mood, or states or qualities, if you prefer either of these terms. Be these types of error, six in number, as some assert, or eight, as is insisted by others, for the number of the forms of solosism will depend on the number of subdivisions which will assign to the parts of speech, of which we have just spoken. Further, there are solosisms of number. Now Latin has two numbers, singular and plural, while Greek possesses a third, namely the dual. There have, however, been some who have given us a dual as well, in words such as scrippsere and legere, in which, as a matter of fact, the final syllable has been softened to avoid harshness, just as in old writers we find male merere for male mereres. Consequently, what they assert to be a dual is concerned solely with this one class of termination, whereas in Greek it is found throughout the whole structure of the verb and in nouns as well, though even then it is what rarely used. But we find not a trace of such a usage in any Latin author. On the contrary, phrases such as de venere locos, conticoere omnis, and concedere dukes clearly prove that they have nothing to do with the dual. Moreover, diksere, although Antonio's rufus cites it as proof to the contrary, is often used by the usher in the chords to denote more than two advocates. Again, does not live near the beginning of his first book, right, tenuere archem sabini and later in adversum romani subiere, but I can introduce still better authority. For Cicero, in his orator says, I have no objection to the form scripsere, though I regard scripserunt as the more correct. Similarly, in vocables and nouns, solosisms occur in connection with gender, number, and more especially case by substitution of one for another. To these may be added solosisms in the use of comparatives and superlatives, or the employment of patronymics instead of possessives, and vice versa. As for solosisms connected with expressions of quantity, there are some who will regard phrases such as magnum peculiolum as a solosism, because the diminutive is used instead of the ordinary noun, which implies no diminution. I think I should call it a misuse of the diminutive, rather than a solosism, for it is an error of sense, whereas solosisms are not errors of sense, but rather faulty combinations of words. As regards participles, solosisms occur in case and gender, as with nouns, and tense, as with verbs, and in number, as in both. The pronoun admits of solosisms in gender, number, and case. Solosisms also occur with great frequency in connection with parts of speech, but a bare statement on this point is not sufficient, as it may lead a boy to think that such error consists only in the substitution of one part of speech for another, as for instance, if a verb is placed where we require a noun, where an adverb takes the place of a pronoun and so on. For there are some nouns which are cognate, that is to say of the same genus, and he who uses the wrong species in connection with one of these will be guilty of the same offence as if he were to change the genus. Thus an and out are conjunctions, but it would be bad Latin to say in a question, Hicc out ille sit, ne and non are adverbs, but he who says non feccheris in viae of ne feccheris is guilty of a similar mistake, since one negative denies while the other forbids. Further, intro and intus are adverbs of place, but eo intus and introsum are solosisms. Similar errors may be committed in connection with the various kinds of pronouns, interjections and prepositions. It is also a solosism if there is a disagreement between what precedes and what follows within the limits of a single clause. Some phrases have all the appearance of a solosism and yet cannot be called faulty. Take for instance phrases such as tragoidea tu estes or ludifloralia and megalencia. Although these are never found in later times, they are the rule in ancient writers. We will therefore style them figures, and though their uses more frequent in poets, will not deny their employment even to orators. Figures however, will generally have some justification, as I shall show in a later portion of this work, which I promised you a little while back. I must however point out that a figure, if used unwittingly, will be a solosism. In the same class, though they cannot be called figures, come errors such as the use of masculine names with a female termination and feminine names with a neuter termination. I have said enough about solosisms, for I did not set out to write a treatise on grammar, it was unwilling to slight the science by passing it by without sedutation when it met me in the course of my journey. I therefore resume the path which I prescribed for myself, and point out that words are either native or foreign. Foreign words, like our population and institutions, have come to us from practically every nation upon earth. I pass by words of Tuscan, Sabine, and Prenestine origin, for though the silliest attacks various for using them, and Polio reproves Livy for his lapses into the dialect of Padua, I may be allowed to regard all such words as of native origin. Many Gallic words have become current coin, such as raida, chariot, and petoritum, four-wheeled wagon, of which Cicero uses the former and whores the latter. Mappa, napkin, again a word familiar in connection with the circus, is claimed by the Carthaginians, while I have heard that Gurdus, which is colloquially used in the sense of stupid, is derived from Spain. But this distinction between native and foreign words has referenced chiefly to Greek. Their Latin is largely derived from that language, and we use words which are admittedly Greek to express things for which we have no Latin equivalent. Similarly, they at times borrow words from us. In this connection, the problem arises whether foreign words should be declined according to their language or our own. If you come across an archaistic grammarian, you will insist on absolute conformity to Latin practice, because since we have an ablative and the Greeks have not, it would be absurd in declining a word to use five Greek cases in one Latin. He will also praise the patriotism of those who aimed at strengthening the Latin language and asserted that we had no need of foreign practices. They therefore pronounced castorem with the second syllable long to bring it into conformity with all those Latin nouns which have the same termination in the nominative as castor. They also insisted on the forms palaimo, telamo, and plato, the last being adopted by Cicero, because they could not find any Latin nouns ending in on. They were reluctant even to permit masculine Greek nouns to end in as in the nominative case, and consequently in Cilius we find Peleachinkinatus, and in Messala Benefechet Eutia, and in Cicero Hermagora. So we need not be surprised that the majority of early writers said Aenea and Anquisa, for it was urged, if such words are spelled like Maikenas, Sufenas, and Asprenas, the genitive should terminate in Tis, not in E. On the same principle they placed an acute accent on the middle syllables of Olympus and Turanus, because Latin does not allow an acute accent on the first syllable, if it is short and is followed by two long syllables. So too we get the Latinized genitives Ulixi and Akhili, together with many other analogous forms. More recent scholars have instituted the practice of giving Greek nouns their Greek declension, although this is not always possible. Personally I prefer to follow the Latin method, so far as Grace Addiction will permit, for I should not like to say Kalupsonem on the analogy of Unonem, although Gaius Caesar, in deference to antiquity, does adopt this way of declining it. In other words, which can be declined in either way without impropriety, those who prefer it can employ the Greek form. They will not be speaking Latin, but will not, on the other hand, deserve censure. Simple words are what they are aimed in the diminutive, that is, their essential nature. Compound words are formed by the prefix of a preposition, as in inokens, though care must be taken that two conflicting prepositions are not prefixed, as in imperterritos. If this be avoided, they may, in certain cases, have a double prefix, as in incompositus, or reconditus, or the Cisaronian subabsurdum. They may also be formed by what I might term the combination of two independent units, as in maleficus. For I will not admit that the combination of three is possible at any rate in Latin, although Cicero asserts that capsis is compounded of cape-si-wis, and there are to be found scholars who contend that dupercalia, likewise, is a compound of three parts of speech, namely luere per caprum. As for solitaurilia, that is by now universally believed to stand for suoetaurilia, a derivation which corresponds to the actual sacrifice, which has its counterpart in Homer as well. But these compounds are formed not so much from three words, as from the fragments of three. On the other hand, Bacuvius seems to have formed compounds of a preposition in two vocables, that is, nouns, as in nere repandi rostrum incurbicaricum pecus. The flock of nereus snout uplifted neck inarct. The effect is unpleasing. Forms are, however, formed from two complete Latin words, as for instance superfui and subterfugi, though in this case there is some question as to whether the words from which they are formed are complete. They may also be formed of one complete and one incomplete word, as in the case of malevolus, or of one incomplete and one complete, such as noctiwagus, or of two incomplete words, as in pedissecus, footmen, or from one Latin and one foreign word, as in piclinium, a dining couch for two, or in the reverse order, as in epitogium, an upper garment, or anticato, and sometimes even from two foreign words, as in epiraidium, a thong attaching the horse to the raida. For in this last case, the preposition is Greek, while raida is Gaelic, while the compound is employed neither by Greek nor Gaul, what has been appropriated by Rome from the two foreign tongues. In the case of prepositions, they are frequently changed by the act of compounding, as a result, we get abstulit, alfugit, amicit, though the preposition is ab, and coid, though the preposition is conn, the same is true of ignaus and irrepública. But compounds are better suited to Greek than to Latin, though I do not think that this is due to the nature of our language. The reason, rather, is that we have a preference for foreign goods, and therefore receive kurtalken with applause, whereas we scarce defend in kurwikeruikus from derisive laughter. Words are proper when they bear their original meaning, metaphorical when they are used in a sense different from their natural meaning. Current words are safest to use. There is a spice of danger in coining new, for if they are adopted, our style wins with small glory from them, while if they are rejected, they become a subject for jest. Still, we must make the venture, for as Cicero says, use softens even these words which had first seemed harsh. On the other hand, the power of onomatopoeia is denied us, who would tolerate and attempt to imitate phrases like the much-praised lingsebios, the bow twang'd, and sitzen optalmos, the eyhist, who should even feel some qualms about using balare to ba, and hynide to whiny, if we had not the sanction of antiquity to support us. Book 1, Chapter 6 of On the Education of an Orator by Quintilian, translated by H. E. Butler. There are special rules, which must be observed both by speakers and writers. Research is based on reason, antiquity, authority, and usage. Reason finds its chief support in analogy, and sometimes in etymology. As for antiquity, it is commended to us by the possession of a certain majesty. I might almost say sanctity. Authority as a rule we derive from orators and historians. Our poets, owing to the necessities of meter, are allowed a certain license, except in cases where they deliberately choose one of two expressions, when both are metrically possible, as, for instance, in Imo destir perrequisum, an ariai quo congesse de palumbes, or silicae nuda, and the like. The judgment of a supreme orator is placed on the same level as reason, and even error brings no disgrace if it result from treading in the footsteps of such distinguished guides. Usage, however, is the surest pilot in speaking, and we should treat language as currency minted with the public stamp. But in all these cases we have need of a critical judgment, especially as regards analogy, a Greek term for which a Latin equivalent has been found in proportion. The essence of analogy is the testing of all subjects of doubt by the application of some standard of comparison, about which there is no question, the proof, that is to say, of the uncertain by reference to the certain. This can be done in two different ways, by comparing similar words, paying special attention to their final syllables, hence monosyllables are asserted to lie outside the domain of analogy, and by the study of diminatives. Comparison of nouns will reveal either their gender or their declension. In the first case, supposing the question is raised as to whether phonies be masculine or feminine, ponies will supply a standard of comparison. In the second case, supposing we are endowed as to whether we should say hack domo or hack domo, domoum or domorum. The standard of comparison will be found in words such as anos or manos. Diminatives merely reveal the gender, for instance, to return to a word previously used as an illustration, funiculus proves that phonies is masculine. The same standard may be applied in the case of verbs, for instance, if it should be asserted that the middle syllable of ferwere is short, we can prove this to be an error, because all verbs which in the indicative terminate in eo make the middle syllable of the infinitive long, if that syllable contain an e. Take as examples such verbs as prandio, pendio, spondio, with infinitives prandere, spondere. Those verbs, however, which terminate in o alone, if they form the infinitive in e, have the e short, compare lego, dico, curo, with the infinitives legere, diquere, curere. I admit that in the silliest we find ferwit aquit, ferwit, ferwit nunc ferwit adanum. The water boils and boil it will, it boils and for a year will boil. But with all due respect, to so learned a man, if he regards ferwit as on the same footing as curit and legit, we shall say ferwo, as we say lego and curo. But such a form has never yet come to my ears. But this is not a true comparison, for ferwit resembles serwit, and on this analogy we should say ferwire, like serwire. It is also possible, in certain cases, to discover the present indicative of a verb from the study of its other tenses. I remember, for instance, refuting certain scholars who criticized me for using the word pepegi, for although they admitted that it had been used by some of the best authors, they asserted that it was an irrational form, because the present indicative paquiscor, being passive in form, made paktusum as its perfect. I, in addition to quoting the authority of orators and historians, maintained that I was also supported by analogy. For when I found mi ita pakunt, in the twelve tables, I noted that kadunt provided a parallel. It was clear, therefore, that the present indicative, though now obsolete, was pako on the analogy of kadu, and it was further obvious that we say pepegi for the same reason that we say kekidi. But we must remember that analogy cannot be universally applied, as it is often inconsistent with itself. It is true, indeed, that scholars have attempted to justify certain apparent anomalies. For example, when it is noted to what an extent lepus and lupus, which resemble each other closely denominative, differ in the plural and in the other cases, they reply that they are not true parallels, since lepus is episcine, while lupus is masculine, although varo, in the book in which he narrates the origins of Rome, writes lupus femina, following the precedent of Aeneas and Fabius Pictor. The same scholars, however, when asked why aper became apri in the genitive, but pater, patris, asserted that aper was an absolute, pater, a relative now. Further, since both words derive from the Greek, they took refuge in the fact that patros provides a parallel to patris, and capru to apri. But how will they evade the difficulty that feminine nouns, whose nominative singular ends in us, never make the genitive end in ris, and yet the genitive of wenus is veneris. Again nouns ending in es have various genitive terminations, but never end in ris, but yet we have no choice but to make the genitive of keres, keredis. Again, what of those words which, although identical in the form of the nominative or present indicative, develop the utmost variety in their inflections. Thus, from alba we get both albanus and albensis, from wallo both walloi and wallawi. Analogy itself admits that verbs whose present indicative ends in o have a great variety of perfect formations, as for instance, kado, kekidi, spondeo, spopondi, pingo, pingsi, lego, legi, pono, poswi, frango, fregi, plaudo, laudawi. For analogy was not sent down from heaven at the creation of mankind to fraying the rules of language, but was discovered after they began to speak and to note the terminations of words used in speech. It is therefore based not on reason, but on example, nor is it a law of language, being in fact the offspring of usage. Some scholars, however, are so perverse and obstinate in their passion for analogy that they say aldakiter, in preference to aldakter, the form preferred by all orators, and emikawit, for emiquit, and konire, for koire. We may permit them to say audiuisi, schiuisi, tribunale, and fakilite, nor will we deprive them of frugalis as an alternative for frugi, for from what else can frugalitas be formed. They may also be allowed to point out that phrases such as kentum milianumum and fidemdeum involve a double solicism, since they can change both case and number. Of course, we were in blank ignorance of the fact, and were not simply conforming to usage and the demands of elegance, as in the numerous cases with which Cicero deals magnificently, as always, in his orator. Augustus, again in his letters to Gaius Caesar, corrects him for preferring calidus to caldus, but because it is unpleasing, and as he himself puts it in greek, peregron affected. Some hold that this is just a question of otoepia, or correctness of speech, a subject to which I am far from being indifferent, for what can be more necessary than that we should speak correctly. Nay, I even think that, as far as possible, we should claim to correct forms, and resist all tendencies to change, but to attempt to retain forms long obsolete and extinct is sheer impertinence, an ostentatious pedantry. I would suggest that the ripe scholar, who says aue, without the aspirate and with a long e, for it comes from aueere, and uses califachere in conserua uise, in preference to the usual forms, should also add faque, dique, and the like to his vocabulary. His way is the right way, who doubts it, but there is an easier and more frequented path close by. There is, however, nothing which annoys me more than their habit, not merely of inferring the nominative from the oblique cases, but of actually altering it. For instance, in ebur, in robur, the forms regularly used both in writing and speech by the best authors, these gentlemen change their second syllable to o, because their genitives are roburis and eburis, and because sulpur and gutur keep the u in the genitive. So too femur and yekur give rise to similar controversy. Their proceedings are just as arbitrary as if they were to substitute an o in the genitives of sulpur and gutur on the analogy of eburis and roburis. Thus Antonio Snifo, while admiring robur, ebur, and even marbur, to be correct, would have their plurals to be eburah, roburah, and marburah. If they would only pay attention to the affinities existing between letters, they would realize that robur makes its genitive roburis in precisely the same way that limis, niles, yudex, and windex make their genitives milites, limites, yudikis, and windikis, not to mention other words to which I have already referred. Do not nouns which are similar in denominative show, as I have already observed, quite different terminations in the oblique cases. Compare virgo and yuno, lucus and fusus, cuspis and pupis, and a thousand others. Again, some nouns are not used in the plural, while others are not used in the singular. Some are indeclinable, while others, like yupite, in the oblique cases entirely abandon the form of denominative. The same is true of verbs. For instance, fero disappears in the perfect and subsequent tenses. Nor does it matter greatly whether such forms are non-existent or too harsh to use. For what is the genitive singular of progenius, or the genitive plural of spes, or how will cuire and ruere form a perfect passive or passive participle? Why should I mention other words, when it is even doubtful whether the genitive of senatus is senati or senatus? In view of what I have said, it seems to me that the remark that it is one thing to speak Latin and another to speak grammar was far from unhappy. So much for analogy, of which I have said more than enough. Etymology inquires into the origin of words, and was called notation by Cicero on the ground that the term used by Aristotle is symbolon, which may be translated by nota. A literal rendering of etymologia would be uerilocuium, a form which even Cicero, its inventor, shrinks from using. Some, again, with an eye to the meaning of the word, call it origination. Etymology is sometimes of the utmost use, whenever the word under discussion needs interpretation. For instance, Marcus Cilius wishes to prove that he is homofrugi, not because he is obstemious, for he could not even pretend to be that, but because he is useful to many, that is, fructuosos, from which frugalitas is derived. Consequently, we find room for etymology, when we are concerned with definitions. Sometimes, again, this science attempts to distinguish between correct forms and barbarisms. As for instance, when we are discussing whether we should call Cicili triquetra, or triquedra, or, say, meridies, or medidies, not to mention other words which depend on current usage. Such a science demands profound erudition, whether we are dealing with the large number of words which are derived from the Greek, more especially those inflected according to the practice of the Iolic dialect, the form of Greek which most nearly resembles Latin, or are using ancient historians as a basis for inquiry into the origin of names of men, places, nations, and cities. For instance, what is the origin of names, such as brutus, publicola, or puticus? Why do we speak of latium, italia, or benewentum? What is the reason for employing such names as capitolium, colis quidinalis, or argiletum? I now turn to minor points concerning which enthusiasts for etymology give themselves an infinity of trouble, restoring to their true form words which have become slightly altered. The methods which they employ are varied and manifold. They shorten them or lengthen them, add, remove, or interchange letters and syllables as the case may be. As a result, perverseness of judgment leads to the most hideous absurdities. I am ready to admit that consul may be derived from consulere, in the sense of consulting or judging. For the ancients used consulere in the letter sense, and it still survives in the phrase rogaboni consulas, that is bonum eudicus, judge fit. Again, senatus may well be derived from old age, for the senators are called the fathers. I concur in the derivations assigned to rex, rectus, and leptor, to say nothing of many other words where there can be no doubt, and do not refuse to accept those suggested for tegola, regola, and the like. Let classes be from calare, call out, summon. Lepus be a contraction of lewipes, and wulpes of wulipes. But are we also to admit the derivation of certain words from their opposites, and accept lukus anon lukendo, since a grove is dark with shade, ludus in the sense of school, as being so called because it is quite the reverse of play, and these deities from beewis, because Pluto was far from being rich, are we to ascend to the view that homo has arrived from homus, because man sprang from the earth, as though all other living things had not the same origin, or as if primitive man gave the earth a name before giving one to himself? Or again, can verbo be derived from ayer verberatus, beaten air? Let us go a little further, and we shall find that Stella has believed to be Stila Luminis, a drop of light, a derivation whose author is so famous in literature that it would be unkind to mention his name in connection with a point where he comes in for censure. But those who collected such derivations in book form put their names on the title page, and Gawius thought himself a perfect genius when he identified chylibis, bachelors, with chylites, gods, on the ground that they are free from a heavy load of care, and supported this opinion by a Greek analogy, for he asserted that heiteoi, young men, had a precisely similar origin. Modestus is not his inferior in inventive power, for he asserts that chylibis, that is to say unmarried men, are so-called because Saturn cut off the genital organs of chylus. Ilius asserts that pituita, phlem, is so-called quiapetatuitum, because it attacks life. But we may pardon anyone after the example set by Varro, for he tried to persuade Cicero, to whom he dedicated his work, that a field was called ager, because something is done in it, agitur, and jactos graculos, because they fly in flocks, gregatim, in spite of the obvious fact that the first word is derived from the Greek, the letter from the cry of the birds in question. But Varro had such a passion for derivations, that he derived the name Merula, a blackbird, from Mera Wallens, on the ground that it flies alone. Some scholars do not hesitate to have recourse to etymology for the origin of every word, the writhing names such as rufus, or longus, from the appearance of their pizzazzar, verbs such as streperi, or murmurare, from the sounds which they represent, and even extending this practice to certain derivatives, making wellocks, for instance, find its origin in huelokitas, as well as the compounds and the like. Now, although such words doubtless have an origin, no special science is required to detect it, since it is only doubtful cases that demand the intervention of the etymologist. Archaic words not only enjoy the patronage of distinguished authors, but also give style a certain majesty and charm. For they have the authority of age behind them, and for the very reason that they have fallen into the suitude, produce an attractive effect, not unlike that of novelty. But such words must be used sparingly, and must not thrust themselves upon our notice, since there's nothing more tiresome than affectation, nor above all must they be drawn from remote and forgotten ages. I refer to words such as topper, quite, onteguerio, exceedingly, exanclare, to exhaust, prosapia, a race, and the language of the salient hymns, now scarcely understood by its own priests. Religion, it is true, forbids us to alter the words of these hymns, and we must treat them as sacred things. But what a faulty thing is speech, whose prime virtue is clearness, if it requires an interpreter to make its meaning plain. Consequently, in the case of old words, the best will be those that are newest, just as in the case of new words, the best will be the oldest. The same arguments apply to authority. For although the use of words transmitted to us by the best authors may seem to preclude the possibility of error, it is important to notice not merely what they said, but what words they succeeded in sanctioning. For no one today would introduce words such as toburkinabundus, voracious, or lurkinabundus, guzzling, although they have the authority of Cato. Nor make lodiques, blankets, masculine, though polio prefer that gender. Nor say gladiola, small swords, though messala use this plural. Nor padiquitatus, for parasite, a form which can scarcely be tolerated even in cilius. Nor will calvas persuade me to speak of colos, necks. Indeed, were these authors alive today, they would never use such words. Usage remains to be discussed, for it would be almost laughable to prefer the language of the past to that of the present day, and what is ancient speech but ancient usage of speaking. But even here the critical faculty is necessary, and we must make up our minds what we mean by usage. If it be defined merely as the practice of the majority, we shall have a very dangerous rule, affecting not nearly style, but life as well, a far more serious matter. For where is so much good to be found that what is right should please the majority? The practices of depilation, of dressing the hair in tears, or of drinking in excess at the baths, although they may have thrust their way into society, cannot claim the support of usage, since there is something to blame in all of them, although we have usage on our side when we bathe or have our hair cut or take our meals together. So to in speech we must not accept as a rule of language words and phrases that have become a vicious habit with a number of persons. To say nothing of the language of the uneducated, we are all of us well aware that whole theaters and the entire crowd of spectators will often commit barbarisms in the cries which they utter as one man. I will therefore define usage in speech as the agreed practice of educated men, just as where our way of life is concerned, I should define it as the agreed practice of all good men. Such rules are called orthography by the Greeks. Let us style it, the science of writing correctly. This science does not consist merely in the knowledge of the letters composing each syllable, such a study is beneath the dignity of a teacher of grammar. But, in my opinion, develops all its subtlety in connection with doubtful points. For instance, while it is observed to place a circumflex over all long syllables, since the quantity of most syllables is obvious from the very nature of the word which is written, it is all the same occasionally necessary, since the same letter involves a different meaning according as it is long or short. For example, we determine whether malus is to mean an apple tree or a bad man by the use of the circumflex. Palus means a stake if the first syllable is long, a marsh if it be short. Again, when the same letter is short and diminutive and long in the ablative, we generally require the circumflex to make it clear which quantity to understand. Similarly, it has been held that we should observe distinctions such as the following. If the preposition x is compounded with specto, there will be an s in the second syllable, while there will be no s if it is compounded with pecto. Again, the following distinction has frequently been observed. Ad is spelled with a d when it is a preposition, but with a t when it is a conjunction, while cum is spelled cum when it denotes time, but cum when it denotes accompaniment. Still more pedantic are the practices of making the fourth letter of quidquid, a c, to avoid the appearance of repeating a question, and of writing quotidie instead of quotidie just show that it stands for quot diebus. But such practices have disappeared into the limbo of absurdities. It is often debated whether in our spelling of prepositions we should be guided by their sound when compounded or separate. For instance, when I say obtinuit, logic demands that the second letter should be a b, while to the ear the sound is rather that of p. Or again, take the case of immunis. The letter n, which is required by strict adherence to fact, is forced by the sound of the m, which follows, to change into another m. We must also note, when analyzing compound words, whether the middle consonant adheres to the preceding syllable or to that which follows. For example, since the letter part of haruspex is from spectare, the s must be assigned to the third syllable. In abstemius, on the other hand, it will go with the first syllable, since the word is derived from abstinentia temeti, abstention from wine. As for k, my view is that it should not be used at all, except in such words as may be indicated by the letter standing alone as an abbreviation. I mention the fact, because some hold that k should be used whenever the next letter is an a, despite the existence of the letter c, which maintains its force in conjunction with all the vowels. Orthography, however, is also the servant of usage, and therefore undergoes frequent change. I make no mention of the earliest times when our alphabet contained fewer letters, and their shapes differed from those which we now use, while their values also were different. For instance, in Greek, the letter o was sometimes long and short, as it is with us, and again was sometimes used to express the syllable, which is identical with its name. And in Latin, ancient writers ended a number of words with d, as may be seen on the column adorned with the beaks of ships, which was set up in the forum in honor of D'Willius. Sometimes again, they gave words of final g, as we may still see in the Shrine of the Sun, close to the Temple of Kirinus, where we find the word Wesperug, which we write Wesperugu, if in star. I have already spoken of the interchange of letters, and need not repeat my remarks here. Perhaps their pronunciation corresponded with their spelling. For a long time, the doubling of semi-vowels was avoided, while down to the time of Asias and beyond, long syllables were indicated by repetition of the vowel. The practice of joining e and i, as in the Greek diphthong, a, lasted longer, it served to distinguish cases and numbers, for which we may compare the instructions of Lysilius. The boys are calm, why then their names must end with e and i to make them more than one? And later, if to a thief and liar, mendaki furikue, you would give, and e and i, their thief must terminate. But this addition of e is quite superfluous, since i can be long, no less than short. It is also at times inconvenient, for in those words which end in i and have e as their last letter but one, we shall in this principle have to write e twice. I refer to words such as aurei or argente and the like. Now, such a practice will be an actual hindrance to those who are learning to read. This difficulty occurs in Greek as well, in connection with the addition of aniota, which is employed not merely in determination of the dative, but is sometimes found in the middle of words as in lesness, for the reason that the analysis applied by etymology shows the word to be a tricillable, and requires the addition of that letter. The diphthong i, now written within e, was pronounced in old days as ai. Some wrote ai in all cases, as in Greek. Others confined its use to the dative and genitive singular. Whence it comes that Virgil, always a passionate lover of antiquity, incented piktai westis and aquai in his poems. But in the plural they used e and wrote sulai galbae. Lucilius has given instructions on this point also. His instructions occupy quite a number of verses, for which the incredulous may consult his ninth book. Again in Cicero's days, and a little later, it was the almost universal practice to write a double s, whenever that letter occurred between two long vowels, or after a long vowel, as for example in caosai, casus, divisionis. That he and Virgil both use this spelling is shown by their own autograph manuscripts. And yet, at a slightly earlier date, uc, which we write below double s, was spelled with only one. Further, optimus maximus, which older writers spelled with a u, appear for the first time with an ai, such at any rate is a tradition, in an inscription of Gaius Caesar. We now write here, but as you'll find in manuscript of the old comic poets, phrases such as heri ad me wenit. And the same spelling is found in letters of Augustus written or corrected by his own hen. Again, did not Cato the censor spelled dicam and faciam as dicam and faciam, and observed the same practice in words of similar termination. This is clear from old manuscripts of his works, and is recorded by Masala in his treatise on the letter s. Sibe and quase are found in many books, but I cannot say whether the authors wish them to be spelled thus. I learned from Perienas that Livy, whose precedence he himself adopted, used this spelling. Today, we make these words end with an ai. What shall I say of Huarticus, Worsus, and the like, which Sipio africanas is said to have been the first to spell with an e. My own teachers spelled sedwus and kyrwus with a uo in order that the repetition of the vowel might not lead to the coalescence and confusion of the two sounds. Today, however, we write these words with a w on the principle which I have already stated. Neither spelling, however, exactly expresses the pronunciation. It was not without reason that Claudius introduced the aiolic digama to represent this sound. It is a distinct improvement that today we spell hui, as I have written it. When I was a boy, it used to be spelled hui, giving it a very full sound, merely to distinguish it from hui. Again, what of words whose spelling is at variance with their pronunciation? For example, si is used as an abbreviation for gaius, and when inverted stands for woman. For, as we know, from the words of the marriage service women used to be called gaii, just as men were called gaii. Nius, too, in the abbreviation indicating the prenomen, is spelled in a manner which does not agree with its pronunciation. We also find columna and consul, spelled without an n, while subura, when indicated by three letters, is spelled s-u-c. I could quote many other examples of this, but I fear that I have already said too much on so trivial a theme. On all such subjects, the teacher must use his own judgment, for in such matters it should be the supreme authority. For my own part, I think that, within the limits prescribed by usage, words should be spelled as they are pronounced. For the use of letters is to preserve the sound of words and to deliver them to readers as a sacred trust. Consequently, they ought to represent the pronunciation which we are to use. These are the most important points in connection with writing and speaking correctly. I do not go so far as to deny to the teacher of literature all part in the two remaining departments of speaking and writing with elegance and significance, but I reserve these for a more important portion of this work, as I have still to deal with the duties of the teacher of rhetoric. I am, however, haunted by the thought that some readers will regard what I have said as trivial details, which are only likely to prove a hindrance to those who are intent upon a greater task. And I myself do not think that we should go so far as to lose our sleep of nights or quibble like fools over such minutiae, for such studies make mincemeat of the mind. But it is only the superfluities of grammar that do any harm. I ask you, as Cicero a less great orator for having given this science his diligent attention, or for having, as his letters show, the mannered rigid correctness of speech from his son, who was the vigor of Gaia Caesar's eloquence impaired by the publication of a treatise on analogy, or the polish of Masala dimmed by the fact that he devoted whole books to the discussion, not merely of single words, but of single letters. Such studies do no harm to those who would pass through them. It is only the pedantic stickler who suffers. CHAPTER VIII Reading remains for consideration. In this connection there is much that can only be taught in actual practice, as for instance, when the boy should take breath, at what point he should introduce a pause into a line, where the sense ends or begins, when the voice should be raised or lowered, and when he should increase or slacken speed, or speed with greater or less energy. In this portion of my work, I will give but one golden rule, to do all these things he must understand what he reads. But above all, his reading must be manly, combining dignity and charm. It must be different from the reading of prose, for poetry is song, and poets claim to be singers. But this fact does not justify the generating into sing song, or the effeminate modulations now invoke. There is an excellent saying on this point attributed to Gaius Caesar, while he was still a boy. If you are singing, you sing badly. If you are reading, you sing. Again, I do not, like some teachers, wish character as revealed by speeches seem to be indicated as it is by the comic actor, though I think that there should be some modulation of the voice to distinguish such passages from those where the poet is speaking in person. There are other points where there is much need of instruction. Above all, unformed minds, which are liable to be all the more deeply impressed by what they learn in their days of childish ignorance, must learn not merely what is eloquent. It is even more important that they should study what is morally excellent. It is therefore an admirable practice, which now prevails, to begin by reading Homer and Virgil, although the intelligence needs to be further developed for the full appreciation of their merits. But there is plenty of time for that, since the boy will read them more than once. In the meantime, let his mind be lifted by the sublimity of a heroic verse, inspired by the greatness of its theme, and imbued with the loftiest sentiments. The reading of tragedy also is useful, and lyric poets will provide nourishment for the mind, provided not merely the authors be carefully selected, but also the passages from their works, which are to be read. For the Greek lyric poets are often licentious, and even in horrors there are passages which I should be unwilling to explain to a class. Elegics, however, more especially erotic elegy, and Handikas syllables, which are merely sections of so-to-the-inverse, concerning which latter I need give no admonitions, should be entirely banished if possible. If not absolutely banished, they should be reserved for pupils of a less impressionable age. As to comedy, his contribution to eloquence may be of no small importance, since it is concerned with every kind of character and emotion, I will shortly point out in its due place what use can, in my opinion, be made of it in the education of boys. As soon as we have no fear of contaminating their morals, it should take its place among the subjects which it is especially desirable to read. I speak of Menander, though I would not exclude others. For Latin authors will also be of some service, but a subject selected for lectures to boys should be those which will enlarge the mind and provide the greatest nourishment to the intellect. Life is quite long enough for the subsequent study of those other subjects which are concerned with matters of interest solely to learned men, but even the old Latin poets may be of great value in spite of the fact that their strength lies in their natural talent rather than in their art. Above all, they will contribute richness of vocabulary, for the vocabulary of the tragedians is full of dignity, while in that of the comedians there is a certain elegance and attic grace. They are too more careful about dramatic structure than the majority of moderns, who regard epigram as the soul merit of every kind of literary work. For purity at any rate and manliness, if I may say so, we must certainly go to these writers, since today even our style of speaking is infected with all the faults of modern decadence. Finally, we may derive confidence from the practice of the greatest orators of drawing up the early poets to support their arguments or adorn their eloquence. For we find more especially in the pages of Cicero, but frequently in a sinious and in other orators of that period, quotations from Aeneas, Oceus, Pacuvious, Lucilius, Terence, Sicilius, and others inserted not merely to show the speaker's learning, but to please his hearers as well, since the charms of poetry provide a pleasant relief from the severity of forensic eloquence. Such quotations have the additional advantage of helping the speaker's case, for the orator makes use of the sentiments expressed by the poet as evidence in support of his own statements. But while my earlier remarks have special application to the education of boys, those which I have just made apply rather to persons of ripe her ears, for the love of letters and the value of reading are not confined to one's school days, but and only with life. In lecturing, the teacher of literature must give attention to minor points as well. He will ask his class, after analyzing a verse, to give him the parts of speech and the peculiar features of the feed which it contains. These letters should be so familiar with poetry as to make their presence desired even in the prose of oratory. He will point out what words are barbers, what improperly used, and what are contrary to the laws of language. He will not do this by way of censoring the poets for such peculiarities, for poets are usually the servants of their meters, and are allowed such license that faults are given other names when they occur in poetry. For we style them metaplasms, schematisms, and schemata, as I have said, and make a virtue of necessity. Their aim will rather be to familiarize the pupil with the artifices of style and to stimulate his memory. Further, in the elementary stages of such instruction, it will not be unprofitable to show the different meanings which may be given to each word. With regards to glosemata, that is to say, words not in common use, the teacher must exercise no ordinary diligence, while still greater care is required in teaching all the tropes which are employed for the adornment, more especially of poetry, but of oratory as well, and in making his class acquainted with the two sorts of schematoc, or figures, known as figures of speech and figures of thought. I shall, however, postpone discussion of tropes and figures till I come to deal with the various ornaments of style. Above all, he will impress upon their minds the value of proper arrangement and of graceful treatment of the matter in hen. He will show what is appropriate to the various characters, what is praiseworthy in the thoughts or words, where copious diction is to be commended and where restrained. In addition to this, he will explain the various stories that occur. This must be done with care, but should not be encumbered with superfluous detail. For it is sufficient to set forth the version which is generally received, or at any rate rests upon good authority. But to ferret out everything that has ever been said on the subject, even by the most worthless of writers, is a sign of tiresome pedantry or empty ostentation, and results in delaying and swamping the mind when it would be better employed on other themes. The man who pours over every page, even though it be wholly unworthy of reading, is capable of devoting his attention to the investigation of old wives tales. And yet the commentaries of teachers of literature are full of such encumbrances to learning and strangely unfamiliar to their own authors. It is, for instance, recorded that Didymus, who was unsurpassed for the number of books which he wrote, on one occasion objected to some story as being absurd, whereupon one of his own books was produced which contained the story in question. Such abuses occur chiefly in connection with fabulous stories and are sometimes carried to ludicrous or even scandalous extremes. For in such cases, the more unscrupulous commentator has such full scope for invention that he can tell lies to his heart's content about whole books and authors without fear of detection, for what never existed can obviously never be found. Whereas if the subject is familiar, the careful investigator will often detect the fraud. Consequently, I shall count it a merit in a teacher of literature that there should be some things which he does not know. CHAPTER IX I have now finished with two of the departments with which teachers of literature profess to deal, namely the art of speaking correctly and the interpretation of authors, the former they call metodike, the letter histodike. We must, however, add to their activities instruction in certain rudiments of oratory for the benefit of those who are not yet ripe for the schools of rhetoric. Their pupils should learn to paraphrase Isop's fables, the natural successors of the fairy stories of the nursery, in simple and restrained language, and subsequently to set down this paraphrase in writing with the same simplicity of style. They should begin by analyzing each verse, then give its meaning in different language, and finally proceed to a freer paraphrase in which they will be permitted now to abridge and now to embellish the original, so far as this may be done without losing the poet's meaning. This is no easy task, even for the expert instructor, and the pupil who handles it successfully will be capable of learning everything. He should also be set to write aphorisms, moral essays, hryai, and delineations of character, etogiae, of which the teacher will first give the general scheme, since such themes will be drawn from their reading. In all of these exercises, the general idea is the same, but the form differs. Aphorisms are general propositions, while etogiae are concerned with persons. Of moral essays, there are various forms. Some are akin to aphorisms and commence with a simple statement he said or he used to say. Others give the answer to a question and begin on being asked or in answer to this he replied, while a third and not the similar type begins when someone has said or done something. Some hold that a moral essay may take some action as its text. Take for example the statement, crates on seeing an ill educated boy beat his pai dagoos, or a very similar example which they do not venture actually to propose as a theme for a moral essay, but contend themselves with saying that it is of the nature of such a theme, namely Milo, having accustomed himself to carrying a calf every day, ended by carrying it when grown to a bowl. All these instances are couched in the same grammatical form, and deeds no less than sayings may be presented for treatment. Short stories from the poets should, in my opinion, be handled not with a view to style, but as a means of increasing knowledge. Other, more serious and ambitious tasks have been also imposed on teachers of literature, by the fact that Latin rhetoricians will have nothing to do with them. Greek rhetoricians have a better comprehension of the extent and nature of the tasks placed on their shoulders. End of Chapter 9. Book 1, Chapter 10 of On the Education of an Order by Quintilian, translated by H. E. Butler. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 10. I have made my remarks on this stage of education, as brief as possible, making no attempts to say everything, for the theme is infinite, but confining myself to the most necessary points. I will now proceed briefly to discuss the remaining arts in which I think boys ought to be instructed before being handed over to the teacher of rhetoric, for it is by such studies that the course of education described by the Greeks as enkykliospideia, or general education, will be brought to its full completion. For there are other subjects of education which must be studied simultaneously with literature. These being independent studies are capable of completion without a knowledge of oratory, while on the other hand they cannot by themselves produce an order. The question has consequently been raised as to whether they are necessary for this purpose. What, says some, has the knowledge of the way to describe an equilateral triangle on a given straight line got to do with pleading in the law courts or speaking in the senate? Will an acquaintance with the names and intervals of the note of the liar help an orator to defend a criminal or direct the policy of his country? They will perhaps produce a long list of orators who are most effective in the courts, but have never sat under a geometrician, and whose understanding of music is confined to the pleasure which their ears, like those of other men, derive from it. To such critics, I reply, Ancestral frequently makes the same remark in his orator, that I am not describing any orator who actually exists or has existed, but have in mind an ideal orator, perfect down to the smallest detail. For when the philosophers describe the ideal sage, who is to be consummate in all knowledge, in a very God incarnate, as they say, they would have him receive instruction, not merely in the knowledge of things human and divine, but would also lead him through a course of subjects which in themselves are comparatively trivial, as for instance the elaborate subtleties of formal logic. Not that acquaintance with the so-called horn or crocodile problems can make a man wise, but because it is important that he should never trip, even in the smallest trifles. So too the teacher of geometry, music or other subjects, which I would class with these, will not be able to create the perfect orator, who like the philosopher ought to be a wise man, but nonetheless these arts will assist in his perfection. I may draw a parallel from the use of antidotes and other remedies applied to the eyes or to wounds. We know that these are composed of ingredients which produce many and sometimes contrary effects, but mixed together they make a single compound resembling no one of its component parts, but deriving its peculiar properties from all. So too dumb insects produce honey, whose taste is beyond the skill of men to imitate, from different kinds of flowers and juices. Shall we marvel, then, if oratory the highest gift of providence to men needs the assistance of many arts, which, although they do not reveal or intrude themselves in actual speaking, supply hidden forces and make their silent presence felt? But it will be urged, men have proved fluent without their aid. Granted, but I am in quest of an orator. Their contribution is but small. Yes, but we shall never attain completeness if minor details be lacking. And it will be agreed that though our ideal of perfection may dwell on a height that is hard to gain, it is our duty to teach all we know that achievement may at least come somewhat nearer the goal. But why should our courage fail? The perfect order is not contrary to the laws of nature, and it is cowardly to despair of anything that is within the bounds of possibility. For myself, I should be ready to accept the verdict of antiquity, who is ignorant of the fact that music, of which I will speak first, was, in ancient times, the object not merely of intense study, but of veneration. In fact, Orpheus and Linus, to mention no others, were regarded as uniting the roles of musician, poet, and philosopher. Both were of divine origin, while the former, because by the marvel of his music he soothed the savage breast, is recorded to have drawn after him not merely beasts of the wild, but rocks and trees. So too Timagines asserts that music is the oldest of the arts related to literature, a statement which is confirmed by the testimony of the greatest of poets in whose songs we read that the praise of heroes and of gods were sung to the music of the liar at the feasts of kings. Does not Yopas the Virgilian bard sing, the wandering moon and labors of the sun and the like, whereby the supreme poet manifests most clearly that music is united with the knowledge, even of things divine. If this be admitted, music will be a necessity, even for an orator, since those fields of knowledge which were annexed by philosophy on their abandonment by oratory, once were ours, and without the knowledge of all such things, there can be no perfect eloquence. There can, in any case, be no doubt, that some of those men whose wisdom is a household word have been earnest students of music. Pythagoras, for instance, and his followers, popularized the belief, which they no doubt had received from earlier teachers, that the universe is constructed on the same principles which were afterwards imitated in the construction of the liar, and not content merely with emphasizing the concord of discordant elements which they style harmony attributed a sound to the motions of the celestial bodies. As for Plato, there are certain passages in his works, more especially in the Timeas, which are quite unintelligible to those who have not studied the theory of music. But why speak only of the philosophers, whose master, Socrates, did not blush to receive instruction in playing the liar, even when far advanced in years? It is recorded that the greatest generals played on the liar and the Pyth, and that the armies of Sparta were fired to martial order by the strains of music. And what else is the function of the horns and trumpets attached to our legions? The louder the concert of their notes, the greater is the glorious supremacy of our arms over all the nations of the earth. It was not therefore, without reason, that Plato regarded the knowledge of music as necessary to his ideal statesman or politician as he calls him. While the leaders, even of that school, which in other respects is the strictest and most severe of all schools of philosophy, held that the wise men might well devote some of his attention to such studies. Like Kyrgyz himself, the founder of the stern laws of Sparta, approved of the training supplied by music. Indeed, nature itself seems to have given music as a boom to men to lighten the strain of labor. Even the roar in the galleys is cheered to effort by song. Nor is this function of music confined to cases where the efforts of a number are given union by the sound of some sweet voice that sets the tune. But even solitary workers find solace at their toil in artless song. So far I have attempted merely to sound the praises of the noblest of arts without bringing it into connection with the education of an order. I will therefore pass by the fact that the art of letters and that of music were once united. Indeed, architas and awareness held that the former was subordinate to the latter, while we know that the same instructors were employed for the teaching of both, from Sophram, a writer of farces, it is true, but so highly esteemed by Plato that he is believed to have had Sophram's works under his spillo on his deathbed. The same fact is proved by the case of Eupolus, who makes Prodanus teach both music and literature, and whose Maricas, who was none other than hyperbolas in disguise, asserts that he knows nothing of music but letters. Aristophanes, again, in more than one of his plays, shows that boys were trained in music from remote antiquity, while in the hypobolimeas of Menander, an old man, when a father claims his son from him, gives an account of all expenses incurred on behalf of the boy's education, and states that he has paid out large sums to musicians and geometricians. From the importance thus given to music also originated the custom of taking a liar round the company after dinner, and when on such an occasion themistically confessed that he could not play, his education was, to quote the words of Cicero, regarded as imperfect. Even at the banquets of our own forefathers it was the custom to introduce the pipe and lyre, and even the hymn of the sallii has its tune. These practices were instituted by King Numa, and clearly prove that not even those whom we regard as rude warriors neglected the study of music, at least insofar as the resources of that age allowed. Finally, there was actually a proverb among the Greeks, that the uneducated were far from the company of the muses and graces. But let us discuss the advantages which our future orator may reasonably expect to derive from the study of music. Music has two modes of expression in the voice and in the body, for both voice and body require to be controlled by appropriate rules. Aristoxenas divides music insofar as it concerns the voice into rhythm and melody, the one consisting in measure, the latter in sound and song. Now I ask you whether it is not absolutely necessary for the orator to be acquainted with all these methods of expression which are concerned firstly with gesture, secondly with the arrangement of words, and thirdly with the inflections of the voice, of which a great variety are required in pleading. Otherwise, we must assume that structure and the euphonious combination of sounds are necessary only for poetry, lyric and otherwise, but superfluous in pleading, or that unlike music, oratory has no interest in the variation of arrangement and sound to suit the demands of the case. But eloquence does vary, both tone and rhythm, expressing sublime thoughts with elevation, pleasing thoughts with sweetness, and ordinary with gentle utterance, and in every expression of its art is in sympathy with the emotions of which it is the mouthpiece. It is by the raising, lowering, or inflection of the voice that the orator stirs the emotions of his hearers, and the measure, if I may repeat the term, a voice or phrase differs according as we wish to rouse the indignation or the pity of the judge. For, as we know, different emotions are roused even by the various musical instruments which are incapable of reproducing speech. Further, the motion of the body must be suitable and be calming, or as the Greeks call it, eurythmic, and this can only be secured by the study of music. This is a most important department of eloquence, and we will receive separate treatment in this work. To proceed, an orator will assuredly pay special attention to his voice, and what is so specially the concern of music as this? Here, too, I must not anticipate a later section of this work, and will content myself by citing the example of Gaius Brachus, the leading orator of his age, who during his speeches had a musician standing behind him with a pitch pipe, or tonarion, as the Greeks call it, whose duty was to give him the tones in which his voice was to be pitched. Such was the attention which he paid to this point even in the midst of his most turbulent speeches when he was terrifying the patrician party, and even when he had begun to fear their power. I should like, for the benefit of the uninstructed, those creatures of the heavier muse, as the saying is, to remove all doubts as to the value of music. They will, at any rate, admit that the poets should be read by our future orator. But can they be read without such knowledge? If there were anything novel in my insistence on the study of music, I should have to treat the matter at greater length, but in view of the fact that the study of music has, from those remote times when Kyren taught Achilles down to our own day, continued to be studied by all, except those who have a hatred for any regular course of study, it would be a mistake to seem to cast any doubt upon its value by showing an excessive zeal in its defense. It will, however, I think, be sufficiently clear from the examples I have already quoted what I regard as the value and the sphere of music in the training of an orator. Still, I think, I ought to be more emphatic than I have been in stating that the music which I desire to see taught is not our modern music, which has been emasculated by the lascivious melodies of our effeminate stage, and has to no small extent destroyed such manly vigor as we still possessed. No, I referred to the music of old which was employed to sing the praises of brave men and was sung by the brave themselves. I will have none of your saltaries and vials that are unfit even for the use of a modest girl. Give me the knowledge of the principles of music which have power to excite or assuage the emotions of mankind. We are told that by Thagoras, on one occasion, when some young men were led astray by their passions to commit an outrage on a respectable family, called them by ordering the Piper to change her strain to a spondaic measure, while Chrysippus selects a special tune to be used by nurses to entice their little charges to sleep. Further, I may point out that among the fictitious themes employed in Declamation is one, doing no little credit to its author's learning, in which it is supposed that a Piper is accused of manslaughter because he had played the tune in the Phrygian mode as an accompaniment to a sacrifice, with the result that the person officiating went mad and flung himself over a precipice. If an order is expected to declaim on such a theme as this, which cannot possibly be handled without some knowledge of music, how can my critics, for all their prejudice, fail to agree that music is a necessary element in the education of an order? As regards geometry, it is granted that portions of the science are of value for the instruction of children, for admittedly it exercises their minds, sharpens their wits, and generates quickness of perception. But it is considered that the value of geometry resides in the process of learning, and not as with other sciences in the knowledge thus acquired. Such is the general opinion. But it is not without good reason that some of the greatest men have devoted special attention to this science. Geometry has two divisions, one is concerned with numbers, the other with figures. Now knowledge of the former is a necessity, not merely to the order, but to anyone who has had even an elementary education. Such knowledge is frequently required in actual cases, in which a speaker is regarded as deficient in education. I will not say if he hesitates in making a calculation, but even if he contradicts the calculation which he states in words by making an uncertain or inappropriate gesture with his fingers. Again, linear geometry is frequently required in cases, as in lawsuits about boundaries and measurements, but geometry and oratory are related in a yet more important way than this. In the first place, logical development is one of the necessities of geometry, and is it not equally a necessity for oratory? Geometry arrives at its conclusions from definite premises, and by arguing from what is certain proves what was previously uncertain. It's not this, just what we do in speaking. Again, are not the problems of geometry almost entirely solved by the syllogistic method, a fact which makes the majority assert that geometry bears a closer resemblance to logic than to rhetoric? But even the orator will sometimes, though rarely, prove his point by formal logic. For, if necessary, he will use the syllogism, and he will certainly make use of the amphetamine which is a rhetorical form of syllogism. Further, the most absolute form of proof is that which is generally known as linear demonstration, and what is the aim of oratory if not proof? Again, oratory sometimes detects falsehoods, closely resembling the truth by the use of geometrical methods. An example of this may be found in connection with numbers in the so-called pseudographs, a favorite amusement in our boyhood. But there are more important points to be considered. Who is there who would not accept the following proposition? When the lines bound in two figures are equal in length, the areas contained within those lines are equal. But this is false, for everything depends on the shape of the figure formed by these lines, and historians have been taken to task by geometricians for believing the time taken to circumnavigate an island to be a sufficient indication of its size. For the space enclosed is in proportion to the perfection of the figure. Consequently, if the bounding line to which we have referred form a circle, the most perfect of all plain figures, it will contain a larger space than if the same length of line took the form of a square, while a square contains a greater space than a triangle having the same total perimeter, and an equilateral triangle than a scallion triangle. But there are other points which perhaps present greater difficulty. I will take an example which is easy, even for those who have no knowledge of geometry. There is scarcely anyone who does not know that the Roman acre is 240 feet long and 120 feet broad, and its total perimeter and the area enclosed can easily be calculated. But a square of 180 feet gives the same perimeter, yet contains a much larger area within its four sides. If the calculation proves irksome to any of my readers, you can learn the same truth by employing smaller numbers. Take a 10 foot square. Its perimeter is 40 feet, and it contains 100 square feet. But if the dimensions be 15 feet by 5, while the perimeter is the same, the area enclosed is less by a quarter. On the other hand, if we draw a parallelogram measuring 19 feet by 1, the number of square feet enclosed will be no greater than the number of linear feet, making the actual length of the parallelogram, though the perimeter will be exactly as that of the figure which encloses an area of 100 square feet. Consequently, the area enclosed by four lines will decrease in proportion as we depart from the form of a square. It further follows that it is perfectly possible for the space enclosed to be less, though the perimeter be greater. This applies to plain figures only, for even one who is no mathematician can see that, when we have to consider hills or valleys, the extent of ground enclosed is greater than the sky over it. But geometry's source is still higher to the consideration of the system of the universe. For by its calculations, it demonstrates the fixed and ordained courses of the stars, and thereby we acquire the knowledge that all things are ruled by order and destiny, a consideration which may at times be of value to an order. When Pericles dispelled the panic caused at Athens by the eclipse of the sun, by explaining the causes of the phenomenon, were Sulpisius Gallus discourse on the eclipse of the moon to the army of Lucius Paulus to prevent the soldiers being seized with terror at what they regarded as a ported sent by heaven, did not they discharge the function of an order? If Nisius had known this when he commanded in Sicily, he would not have shared the terror of his men, nor lost the finest army that Athens ever placed in the field. Dian, for instance, when he came to Syracuse to overthrow the tyranny of Dionysus, was not frightened away by the occurrence of a similar phenomenon. However, we are not concerned with the uses of geometry in war, and need not dwell upon the fact that Archimedes single-handed succeeded in appreciably prolonging the resistance of Syracuse when it was besieged. It will suffice for our purpose that there are a number of problems which it is difficult to solve in any other way, which are as a rule solved by these linear demonstrations, such as the method of division, section to infinity, and the ratio of increase in velocity. From this we may conclude that if, as we shall show in the next book, an orator has to speak on every kind of subject, he can, under no circumstances, dispense with the knowledge of geometry.