 CHAPTER XIV The term anthamine is applied not merely to the actual argument, that is to say, the matter adduced to prove something else, but also to its expression, the nature of which, as I have already pointed out, is twofold. It may be drawn from denial of consequence, when it will consist of a proposition immediately followed by a proof, as in the following passage from the Proligario. At that point the justice of the cause was doubtful, since there was something to be said on both sides. But now we can only regard that cause as superior, which even the gods supported. Here we have a proposition and a reason, but no formal conclusion. It is therefore the incomplete syllogism known as an anthamine. It may, on the other hand, be drawn from incompatibles, in which case the proof will be much stronger. Indeed, some restrict the title of anthamine to this form of argument. The following passage from the Promilone of Cicero will provide a parallel. You are then sitting there to avenge the death of a man whom you would refuse to restore to life, even if you thought it within your power to do so. This form of argument may even at times consist of a number of clauses, as in the following passage from the same speech. Was he resolved then to kill, to the dissatisfaction of some, a man whom he refused to kill, to the satisfaction of all? Are we to believe that he did not hesitate, and defiance of the law, and despite the unfavorable circumstances both of time and place, and the risk involved to his own life, to kill one whom he did not venture to kill when he might have done so legally at his own time and place, and without the least danger to himself? The most effective kind of anthamine seems, however, to be that in which a reason is subjoined to a dissimilar or contrary proposition, as in the following passage from the Mustanese. For, if at any time an act has been committed contrary to law, and you have imitated it, it does not therefore follow that you should go scot-free. On the contrary, it is an additional reason why you should be condemned, for if any of those who transgressed the law had been condemned, you would not have proposed this, and further, if you are condemned, no one else will propose anything of the kind. As regards the epicheme, some authorities hold that it consists of four, five, and even six parts. Cicero urges that there are not more than five at most, that is, the major premise and its reason, the minor premise and its proof, and fifthly its conclusion. But since at times the major premise does not require a reason nor the minor a proof, while occasionally even the conclusion is not necessary, he holds that the epicheme may consist of only four, three, or even two parts. Personally, however, I follow the majority of authorities in holding that there are not more than three parts. For it follows from the very nature of reasoning that there must be something to form the subject of inquiry, and something else to provide the proof, while the third element which has to be added may be regarded as resulting from the agreement of the two previous elements. Thus, the first part will be the major, the second, the minor premise, and the third, the conclusion. For the confirmation and development of both premises may reasonably be included in the parts to which they belong. Let us then take an example from Cicero of the epicheme consisting of five parts. Those things which are controlled by reason are better governed than those which are not. This, they call the first part, and consider that it requires to be established by various reasons and a copious display of eloquence. Personally, I hold that the whole of this together with its reason forms but one part. Otherwise, if the reason is to be treated as a separate part, and if there are a variety of reasons, this will involve an addition to the number of parts. Next, he produces the minor premise. But there is nothing better administered than the universe. The proof of this minor premise is treated as the fourth part of the epicheme. My criticism of this statement is identical with my criticism of the proceeding. The fifth place, they assign to the conclusion, which either merely makes the necessary inference from the preceding parts, that is, therefore the universe is governed by reason. Or after briefly bringing major and minor premise together, adds what is deduced from them with the following result. But if on the one hand things that are controlled by reason are better governed than things which are not, and on the other, nothing is better administered than the universe, then it follows that the universe is governed by reason. As regards this part of the epicheme, I agree. I have said that the epicheme consists of three parts. Its form is not, however, invariable. There is firstly the form in which the conclusion is identical with what has already been stated in the major premise. The soul is immortal, since whatever derives its motion from itself is immortal, but the soul derives its motion from itself, therefore the soul is immortal. This process occurs not merely in individual arguments, but in whole cases, provided they are of a simple character and also in questions. For cases and questions always have first a major premise, such as you have committed sacrilege, or not everyone who has killed a man is guilty of murder. Second comes a reason, which is stated at greater length in cases and questions than in separate arguments. Now finally comes the conclusion, in which, as a rule, they set forth the point they have proved, either by enumeration of particulars, or in the form of a hasty conclusion. In this type of epicheme, the major premise is doubtful, since it is still under investigation. There is another form of conclusion which is not actually identical with the major premise, but has the same force. Death is nothing to us, for that which is dissolved into its elements is the void of feeling, and that which is the void of feeling is nothing to us. There's a third form, in which the major premise and the conclusion are different. All animate things are better than inanimate, but there's nothing better than the universe, wherefore the universe is animate. It may be thought that, in this case, there's no real major premise, since it would be possible to state the reasoning in the following form. The universe is animate, for all things animate are better than inanimate, etc. This major premise is either an admitted fact, as in the last example, or requires to be proved, as in the following. He who wishes to live a happy life must be a philosopher. For this is not an acknowledged truth, and the premises must be established before we can arrive at the conclusion. Sometimes again, the minor premise is an admitted fact, as for instance, but all men wish to live a happy life, while sometimes it requires to be proved, as for example the statement quoted above, that which is dissolved into its elements is the void of feeling, since it is doubtful whether the soul is immortal after its release from the body or only continues to exist for a time. Some call this a minor premise, some a reason. There is no difference between the epichéreme and the syllogism, except that the latter has a number of forms and infers truth from truth, whereas the epichéreme is frequently concerned with statements that are no more than credible. For if it were always possible to prove controversial points from admitted premises, the orator would have little to do in this connection. For what skill does it require to say, the property is mine, for I am the only son of the deceased, or I am the sole heir, since possession of the testators' estates is given by the law of property in accordance with the terms of his will. The property therefore belongs to me. But when the reason given is itself disputable, we must establish the certainty of the premises by which we are proposing to prove what is uncertain. For example, if our opponent says, you are not his son, or you are illegitimate, or you are not his only son, or, again, you are not entitled to inherit, or you have co-heirs, we must prove the validity of the reason on which we base our claims that the property should be adjudicated to us. But when a reason of unusual length intervenes, it is necessary to state the final conclusion, otherwise the major premise and the reason would suffice. Laws are silent in the midst of arms, and do not require us to await their sanction when the circumstances are such that he who would await their sanction is certain to be the victim of an unjust penalty before ever the just penalty can be claimed. Hence, it has been asserted that the form of enthamem, which is based on denial of consequence, resembles a reason. But sometimes, again, it is sufficient to state a single proposition, as in the example just quoted, the laws are silent in the midst of arms. We may also begin with the reason and then proceed to the conclusion, as in another passage from the same speech. But if the twelve tables permitted the killing of a thief by night under any circumstances, and by day, if he used the weapon to defend himself, who's there who will contend that this layer must be punished under whatever circumstances a man has been killed? The process is still further varied by Cicero, and the reason placed third, as in the phrase, when he sees that the sword is sometimes placed in our hands by the laws themselves. On the other hand, he places the various parts in the regular order in the following instance. How can it be unjust to kill a robber who lies in wait for his victim? Next comes the reason. What is the object of our escorts and our swords? Last comes the conclusion, resulting from the major premise and the reason, which we certainly should not be permitted to have if we were absolutely forbidden to use them. This form of proof may be countered in three ways. That is to say, it may be attacked in all its parts, for either the major premise or minor or the conclusion, or occasionally all three, are refuted. The major premise is refuted in the following case. I was justified in killing him as he lay in wait for me. For the very first question in the defense of Milo is whether it is right that he who confesses that he has killed a man should look upon the light of day. The minor premise is refuted by all the methods which we mentioned in dealing with refutation. As to the reason, it must be pointed out that it is sometimes true when the proposition to which it is attached is not true, but may on the other hand sometimes be false although the proposition is true. For example, virtue is a good thing is true, but if the reason because it brings us wealth be added, we shall have an instance of a true major premise and a false reason. With regard to the conclusion, we may either deny its truth when it infers something which does not logically result from the premises, or we may treat it as irrelevant. The truth is denied in the following case. We are justified in killing one who lies in wait for us. For since, like an enemy, he threatened us with violence. We ought to repulse his attack as though he were an enemy. Therefore, Milo was justified in killing Claudius as an enemy. The conclusion is not valid, since we have not yet proved that Claudius lay in wait for him, but the conclusion that we are therefore justified in killing one who lies in wait for us is perfectly true, though irrelevant to the case, for it is not yet clear that Claudius lay in wait for Milo. But while the major premise and the reason may both be true and the conclusion false, yet if both are false, the conclusion can never be true. Some call the Anthememe a rhetorical syllogism, while others regarded as a part of the syllogism, because whereas the latter always has its premises and conclusion and affects its proof by the employment of all its parts, the Anthememe is content to let its proof be understood without explicit statement. The following is an example of a syllogism. Virtue is the only thing that is good, for that alone is good, which no one can put to a bad use, but no one can make a bad use of virtue, virtue therefore is good. The Anthememe draws its conclusion from denial of consequence. Virtue is a good thing because no one can put it to a bad use. On the other hand, take the following syllogism. Money is not a good thing, for that is not good, which can be put to a bad use. Money may be put to a bad use, therefore money is not a good thing. The Anthememe draws its conclusion from incompatibles. Can money be a good thing when it is possible to put it to a bad use? The following argument is couched in syllogistic form. If money in the form of silver coin is silver, the man who bequeaths all his silver to a legatee includes all money in the form of coin silver, but for the orator it would be sufficient to say since he bequeathed all his silver he included in his bequest all his silver money. I think I have now dealt with all the precepts of those who treat oratory as a mystery, but these rules still leave scope for free exercise of the judgment, for although I consider that there are occasions with the orator may lawfully employ the syllogism, I am far from desiring him to make his whole speech consist of or even be crowded with a mess of opiatemes and anthemines. For a speech of that character would resemble dialogues and dialectical controversies rather than pleadings of the kind with which we are concerned, and there is an enormous difference between the two. For in the former we are confronted with learned men seeking for truth among men of learning. Consequently they subject everything to a minute and scrupulous inquiry, with a view to arriving at clear and convincing truths, and they claim for themselves the task of invention and judgment, calling the former topique, or the art of selecting the appropriate material for treatment, and the latter critique, or the art of criticism. We on the other hand have to compose our speeches for others to judge, and have frequently to speak before an audience of men who, if not thoroughly ill educated, are certainly ignorant of such arts as dialectic, and unless we attract them by the charm of our discourse, or drag them by its force, and occasionally throw them off their balance by an appeal to their emotions, we shall be unable to vindicate the claims of truth and justice. Eloquence aims at being rich, beautiful, and commanding, and will attain to none of these qualities if it be broken up into conclusive inferences, which are generally expressed in the same monotonous form. On the contrary, its meanness will excite contempt, its severity dislike, its elaboration satiety, and its sameness boredom. Eloquence therefore must not restrict itself to narrow tracks, but range at large over the open fields. Its streams must not be conveyed through narrow pipes like the water of fountains, but flow as mighty rivers flow, filling whole valleys, and if it cannot find a channel it must make one for itself. For what can be more distressing than to be fattered by petty rules, like children who trace the letters of the alphabet which others have first written for them? Or, as the Greeks say, insist on keeping the coat their mother gave them. Are we to have nothing but premises and conclusions from consequence and incompatibles? Must not the orator breathe life into the argument and develop it? Must he not vary and diversify it by a thousand figures, and do all this in such a way that it seems to come into being as the very child of nature, not to reveal an artificial manufacture and a suspect art, nor at every moment to show traces of an instructor's hand? What orator ever spoke thus? Even in the Mastanese we find but few traces of such a mechanism. And yet the Greeks of today are even more prone than we are, though this is the only point in which their practice is worse than ours, to bind their thoughts in fetters and to connect them by an inexorable chain of argument, making inferences where there was never any doubt, proving admitted facts, and asserting that in so doing they are following the orators of old, although they always refuse to answer the question who it is that they are imitating? However, of figures I shall speak elsewhere. For the present I must add that I do not even agree with those who hold that arguments should always be expressed in language which is not only pure, lucid and distinct, but also as free as possible from all elevation and ordinateness. I readily admit that arguments should be distinct and clear, and further that in arguments of a minor character the language and words should be as appropriate and as familiar as possible. But if the subject be one of real importance every kind of ornament should be employed, so long as it does nothing to obscure our meaning. For metaphor we'll frequently throw a flood of light upon a subject, even lawyers who spend so much trouble over the appropriateness of words venture to assert that the word litus is arrived from Eludere, because the shore is a place where the waves break and play. Further, the more unattractive the natural appearance of anything, the more does it require to be seasoned by charm of style. Moreover, an argument is often less suspect when thus disguised, and the charm with which it is expressed makes it all the more convincing to our audience, unless indeed we think that Cicero was an error when he introduced phrases such as the following into an argumentative passage. The laws are silent in the midst of arms, and a sword is sometimes placed in our hands by the laws themselves. However, we must be careful to observe a happy mean in the employment of such embellishments, so that they may prove a real ornament and not a hindrance. I undertook my present task, Marcella's victorious, mainly to gratify your request, but also with a view to assist the more earnest of our young men as far as lay in my power. While, laterally, the energy with which I have devoted myself to my labors has been inspired by the almost imperative necessity imposed by the office conferred on me, though all the while I have had an eye to my own personal pleasure. For, I thought that this work would be the most precious part of the inheritance that would fall to my son, whose ability was so remarkable that it called for the most anxious cultivation on the part of his father. Thus, if, as would have been but just and devoutly to be wished, the fate had torn me from his side, he would still have been able to enjoy the benefit of his father's instruction. Night and day I pursued this design and strove to hasten its completion in the fear that death might cut me off with my task unfinished, when misfortune overwhelmed me with such suddenness that the success of my labors now interests no one less than myself. A second bereavement has fallen upon me and I have lost him of whom I had formed the highest expectations and in whom I reposed all the hopes that should solace my old age. What is there left for me to do? Or what further use can I hope to be on earth when heaven thus frowns upon me? For it's so chances that just at the moment when I began my book on the causes of the decline of eloquence, I was stricken by a like affliction. Better had I thrown that ill-owned work and all my ill-starred learning upon the flames of that untimely pyre that was to consume the darling of my heart and had not sought to burden my unnatural persistence in this wicked world with the fatigue of fresh labors. For what father with a spark of proper feeling would pardon me for having the heart to pursue my researches further and would not hate me for my insensibility? Had I other use for my voice than to rail against high heaven for having suffered me to outlive all my nearest and dearest and to testify that providence dames not at all to watch over this earth of ours? If this is not proved by my own misfortune and yet my only fault is that I still live. It is most surely manifest in theirs who were cut off thus untimely. Their mother was taken from me earlier still. She had borne me two sons, her the completion of her 19th year. But for her, though she too died most untimely, death was a blessing. Yet for me her death alone was such a blow that thereafter no good fortune could bring me true happiness. For she had every virtue that is given to a woman to possess and left her husband prey to irremedial grief. Nay, so young was she when death took her, that if her age be compared with mine, her disease was like the loss not merely of a wife but of a daughter. Still, her children survived her, and I too lived on by some unnatural ordinance of fate, which for all its perversity was what she herself desired, and thus by her swift departure from this life she escaped the worst of tortures. My youngest boy was barely five when he was the first to leave me, robbing me as it were of one of my two eyes. I have no desire to flaunt my woes in the public gaze nor to exaggerate the cause I have for tears. With that I had some means to make it less. But how can I forget the charm of his face, the sweetness of his speech, his first flashes of promise, and his actual possession of a calm and incredible, though it may seem, a powerful mind? Such a child would have captivated my affections, even had he been another's. Nor was this all. To enhance my agony, the malignity of designing fortune had will that he should devote all his love to me, preferring me to his nurses, to his grandmother, who brought him up, and all those who, as a rule, win the special affection of infancy. I am, therefore, grateful to the grief that came to me some few months before his loss in the death of his mother, the best of women whose virtues were beyond all praise, for I have less reason to weep my own fate than to rejoice at hers. After these calamities, all my hopes, all my delight were centered on my little quintillion, and he might have sufficed to console me, for his gifts were not merely in the bud, like those of his brother, as early as his ninth birthday he had put forth sure and well-formed fruit. By my own sorrows, by the testimony of my own sad heart, by his departed spirit, the deed he at whose shrine my grief does worship, I swear that I discerned in him such talent, not merely in receiving instruction, although in all my wide experience I have never seen his like, nor in his power of spontaneous application, to which his teachers can bear witness, but such upright, pious, humane, and generous feelings as alone might have suffice to fill me with the dread of the fearful thunderstroke that has smitten me down. For it is a matter of common observation that those who ripen early die young, and that there's some malign influence that delights in cut and short the greatest promise and refusing to permit our joys to pass beyond the bound allotted to mortal men. He possessed every incidental advantage as well, a pleasing and resonant voice, a sweetness of speech, and the perfect correctness in pronouncing every letter, both in Greek and Latin, as though either were his native tongue. But all these were but the promise of greater things. He had finer qualities, courage and dignity, and the strength to resist both fear and pain. What fortitude he showed during an illness of eight months, till all his physicians marveled at him. How he consoled me during his last moments. How even in the wanderings of delirium did his thoughts recur to his lessons and his literary studies, even when his strength was sinking and he was no longer ours to claim. Child of my vain hopes, did I see your eyes falling in death and your breath take its last flight? Had I the heart to receive your fleeting spirit as I embraced your cold pale body and to live on breathing the common air? Justly do I endure the agony that now is mine and the thoughts that torment me. Have I lost you at the moment when adoption by a counselor had given hope that you would rise to all the high offices of state when you were destined to be the son-in-law of your uncle, the preter, and gave promise of rivaling the eloquence of your grand sire? And do I, your father, survive only to weep? May my endurance, not my will to live for that is gone for me, prove me worthy of you through all my remaining years, for it is in vain that we impute all our ills to fortune. No man grieves long safe through his own fault, but I still live and must find something to make life tolerable, and must needs put faith in the verdict of the wise, who held that literature alone can provide true solace in adversity. Yet, if ever the violence of my present grief subside and admitting trusion of some other thought on so many sorrowful reflections, I may with good cause ask pardon for the delay in bringing my work to completion. Who can wonder that my studies have been interrupted when the real marvel is that they have not been broken off altogether? Should certain portions therefore betray a lack of finish compared with what was begun in the days when my affliction was less profound, I would ask that the imperfection should be regarded with indulgence, as being due to the cruel tyranny of fortune, which, if it has not utterly extinguished, has at any rate weakened such poor powers of intellect as I once possessed. But, for this very reason, I must rouse myself to face my task with greater spirit, since it is easy to despise fortune, though it may be hard to bear her blows. For there's nothing left that she can do to me, since out of my calamities she has wrought for me a security which, full of sorrow though it be, is such that nothing can shake it. And the very fact that I have no personal interest in persevering with my present work, but am moved solely by the desire to serve others, if indeed anything that I write can be of such service, is a reason for regarding my labours with an indulgent eye. Alas, I shall bequeathed, like my patrimony, for others than those to whom it was my design to leave it. End of Preface. The next subject, which I was going to discuss, was the peroration, which some call the completion, and others the conclusion. There are two kinds of peroration, for it may deal either with facts or with the emotional aspect of the case. The repetition and grouping of the facts, which the Greeks call anachephaliosis, and some of our own writers call the enumeration, serves both to refresh the memory of the judge and to place the whole of the case before his eyes. And, even although the facts may have made little impression on him in detail, their cumulative effect is considerable. This final recapitulation must be as brief as possible, and, as the Greek term indicates, we must summarize the facts under the appropriate heads. For, if we devote too much time there to, the peroration will cease to be an enumeration, and will constitute something very like a second speech. On the other hand, the points selected for enumeration must be treated with weight and dignity, enlivened by apt reflections, and diversified by suitable figures. For there's nothing more tiresome than a dry repetition of facts, which merely suggests a lack of confidence in the judge's memory. There are, however, innumerable ways in which this may be done. The finest example is provided by Cicero's prosecution of Varys. If your own father were among your judges, what would he say when these facts were proved against you? Then follows the enumeration. Another admirable example may be found in the same speech where the enumeration of the temples, which the preacher had despoiled, takes the form of invoking the Varys deities concerned. We may also at times pretend to be in doubt whether we have not omitted something, and to wonder what the accused will say and reply to certain points, or what hope the accuser can have after the manner in which we have refuted all the charges brought against us. But the most attractive form of peroration is that which we may use when we have an opportunity of drawing some argument from our opponent's speech. As for instance, when we say, he omitted to deal with this portion of the case, or he preferred to crush us by exciting odium against us, or he had good reason for resorging to entreaty since he knew certain facts. What I must refrain from dealing with the Varys methods individually, for fear that the instances that I produced should be regarded as exhaustive, whereas our opportunities spring from the nature of the particular case, from the statements of our opponents, and also from fortuitous circumstances. Nor must we restrict ourselves to recapitulating the points of our own speech, but must call upon our opponent to reply to certain questions. This, however, is only possible if there is time for him to do so, and if the arguments which we have put forward are such as not to admit of refutation, for to challenge points which tell in our opponent's favor is not to argue against him, but to play the part of prompter to him. The majority of Athenians and almost all philosophers who have left anything in writing on the art of oratory have held that the recapitulation is the sole form of peroration. I imagine that the reason why the Athenians did so was that appeals to the emotions were forbidden to Athenian orators, a proclamation to this effect being actually made by the court usher. I am less surprised that the philosophers taking this view, for they regard susceptibility to emotion as a vice, and think it immoral that the judge should be distracted from the truth by an appeal to his emotions, and that it is unbecoming for a good man to make use of vicious procedure to serve his ends. Nonetheless, they must admit that appeals to emotion are necessary if there are no other means for securing the victory of truth, justice, and the public interest. It is however admitted by all that recapitulation may be profitably employed in other portions of the speech as well, if the case is complicated, and a number of different arguments have been employed in the defense, though no one will doubt, but that there are many cases in which no recapitulation at all is necessary at any point, assuming that is, that the cases are both brief and simple. This part of the peroration is common both to the prosecution and the defense. Both parties, as a general rule, may likewise employ the appeal to the emotions, but they will appeal to different emotions, and the defender will employ such appeals with greater frequency and fullness. For the accuser has to rouse the judge, while the defender has to soften him. Still even the accuser will sometimes make his audience sweep by the pity excited for the man whose wrongs he seeks to avenge, while the defendant will at times develop no small vehemence when he complains of the injustice of the colony or conspiracy of which he is the victim. It will therefore be best to treat these duties separately. As I have already said, they are much the same in the peroration as in the Exordium, but are freer and wider in scope in the former. For our attempts to sway the judges are made more sparingly at the commencement of the speech, when it is enough that such an attempt should gain admittance, and we have the whole speech before us. On the other hand, in the peroration, we have to consider what the feelings of the judge will be when he retires to consider his verdict, for we shall have no further opportunity to say anything, and cannot any longer reserve arguments to be produced later. It is therefore the duty of both parties to seek to win the judge's goodwill and to divert it from their opponent, as also to excite or assuage his emotions. And the following brief rule may be laid down for the observation of both parties, that the orator should display the full strength of his case before the eyes of the judge, and, when he has made up his mind what points in his case actually deserve, thus like or pity, should dwell on those points by which he himself would be most moved were he trying the case. But it will be safer to discuss these considerations in detail. The points likely to command the accuser to the judge have already been stated in my remarks on the Exordium. There are, however, certain things which require fuller treatment in the peroration than in the Exordium, where it is sufficient merely to outline them. This fuller treatment is especially required if the accused be a man of violent, unpopular, or dangerous character, or if the condemnation of the accused is likely to cover the judges with glory, or his acquittal with this grace. Calvas, for example, in his speech against Vitinius makes an admirable remark. You know, gentlemen, that bribery has been committed, and everybody knows that you know it. Sister, again, in the variants, says that the ill name acquired by the courts may be effaced by the condemnation of varies, a statement that comes under the head of the conciliatory methods mentioned above. The appeal to fear also if it is necessary to employ it to produce a light effect, occupies a more prominent place in the peroration than in the Exordium, but I have expressed my views on this subject in an earlier book. The peroration also provides freer opportunities for exciting the passions of jealousy, hatred, or anger. As regards the circumstances likely to excite such feelings in the judge, jealousy will be produced by the influence of the accused, hatred by the disgraceful nature of his conduct, and anger by his disrespectful attitude to the court, if, for instance, he be contumacious, arrogant, or studiously indifferent. Such anger may be aroused not merely by specific acts or words, but by his looks, bearing, and manner. In this connection, the remark made by the accuser of Costetiana's capitol in my young days was regarded with great approval. The words used were Greek, but may be translated thus. You blush to fear even Caesar. The best way, however, for the accuser to excite the feelings of the judge is to make the charge which he brings against the accused seem as atrocious, or effeasible, as deplorable as possible. Its atrocity may be enhanced by considerations of the nature of the act, the position of its author or the victim, the purpose, time, place, and manner of the act, all of which may be treated with infinite variety. Suppose that we are complaining that our client has been beaten. He must first speak of the act itself. We shall then proceed to point out that the victim was an old man, a child, a magistrate, an honest man, or a benefactor to the state. We shall also point out that the assailant was a worthless and contemptible fellow, or, to take the opposite case, was in a position of excessive power, or was the last man who should have given the blow, or again that the occasion was a solemn festival, or that the act was committed at a time when such crimes were punished with special severity by the courts, or when public order was at the dangerously low ebb. Again, the hatred excited by the act will be enhanced if it was committed in the theater, in a temple, or at a public assembly, and if the blow was given not in mistake, or in a moment of passion, or if it was the result of passion which was quite unjustifiable, being due to the fact that the victim had gone to the assistance of his father, or had made some reply, or was a candidate for the same office as his assailant, or finally we may hint that he wished to inflict more serious injury than he succeeded in inflicting. But it is the manner of the act that contributes most to the impression of its atrocity. If, for example, the blow was violent or insulting, thus the monstony seeks to excite hatred against medias by emphasizing the position of the blow, the attitude of the assailant, and the expression of his face. It is in this connection that we shall have to consider whether a man was killed by sword, or fire, or poison, by one wound, or several, and whether he was slain on the spot, or tortured by being Captain Suspense. The accuser will also frequently attempt to excite pity by complaining of the fate of the man whom he is seeking to avenge, or of the desolation which has fallen upon his children or parents. The judges may also be moved by drawing a picture of the future, of the fate which awaits those who have complained of violence and wrong if they fail to secure justice. They must go into exile, give up their property, or endure to the end whatever their enemy may choose to inflict upon them. But it will more frequently be the duty of the accuser to divert the judge from all the temptations to pity which the accused will place before him, and to incite him to give a strong and dispassionate verdict. It will also be his duty in this connection to forestall the arguments and actions to which his opponent seems likely to have recourse. For it makes the judge more cautious in observing the sanctity of his oath and destroys the influence of those who are going to reply to us when the arguments used by the defense have already been dealt with by the prosecution since they lose their novelty. An instance of this will be found in the speech of Masala against Ophidia, where he warns Servius Elpissius not to talk about the peril which threatens the signatories to the document and the defendant herself. Against, Askenes foretells the line of defense which the Masthenes will pursue. There are also occasions when the judges should be told what answer they should make to requests on behalf of the accused, a proceeding which is a form of recapitulation. If we turn to the defendant, we must note that his worth, his manly pursuits, the scars from wounds received in battle, his rank and the services rendered by his ancestors will all commend him to the goodwill of the judges. Cicero, as I have already pointed out, and Ascenes both make use of this form of appeal. Indeed, they may almost be regarded as rivals in this respect since Cicero employed it when defending the elders chorus, Ascenes when defending the sun. Again, the cause which has brought the accused into peril may serve to produce the same effect if, for example, it appears that he has incurred enmity on account of some honorable action. Above all, his goodness, humanity or pity may be emphasized with this end in view. For it adds to the apparent justice of his claim, if all that he asks of the judge is that he should grant to him what he himself has granted to others. We may also in this connection lay stress on the interests of the state, the glory which will accrue to the judges, the importance of the precedent which their verdict will set, and the place it will hold in the memory of after generations. But the appeal which will carry most weight is its appeal to pity, which not merely forces the judge to change his views, but even to betray his emotions by tears. Such appeals to pity will be based either on the previous or present sufferings of the accused, or on those which await him if condemned. And the force of our appeal will be doubled if we contrast the fortune which he now enjoys with that to which he will be reduced if he fail. In this connection, great play may be made by reference to the age and sex of the accused, or to his nearest and dearest, that is his children, parents and kindred, all of which topics are treated in different ways. Sometimes the advocate himself may even assume the role of close intimacy with his client, as Cicero does in the promilone where he cries. Alas, unhappy that I am. Alas, my unfortunate friend, you succeeded by the agency of those who are now your judges in recalling me to my native land and cannot I, through the same agency, retain you in yours? Such a method is especially serviceable when, as was the case with Milo, entreated is not in keeping with the character of the accused. Who would have endured to hear Milo pleading for his life when he admitted that he had killed a man of noble birth because it was his duty to do so? Consequently, Cicero sought to win the judge's goodwill for Milo by emphasizing the staunchness of his character and himself assumed the role of suppliant. Impersonation may also be employed with profit in such passages, and by impersonations I mean fictitious speeches supposed to be uttered, such as an advocate puts into the mouth of his client. The bare facts are no doubt moving in themselves, but when we pretend that the persons concern themselves are speaking, the personal note adds to the emotional effect. For then, the judge seems no longer to be listening to a voice bewailing another's ills, but to hear the voice and feelings of the unhappy victims, men whose appearance alone would call forth his tears even though they uttered never a word. And as their plea would awaken yet greater pity if they urged it with their own lips, so it is rendered to some extent all the more effective when it is, as it were, put into their mouth by their advocate. We may draw a parallel from the stage where the actor's voice and delivery produce greater emotional effect when he is speaking in an assumed role than when he speaks in his own character. Consequently, Cicero, to quote him once again, although he will not put entreaties into Milo's mouth and prefers to commend him by his staunchness of character, still lands him words in the form of such complaint as may become a brave man. Alas, he says, my labors have been in vain, alas for my blighted hopes, alas for my baffled purpose. Appeals to pity should, however, always be brief, and there's good reason for the saying that nothing dries so quickly as tears. Time assuages even genuine grief, and it is therefore inevitable that the semblance of grief portrayed in our speech should vanish yet more rapidly. And if we spend too much time over such portrayal, our hero grows wary of his tears and returns once more to the rational attitude from which he has been distracted by the impulse of the moment. We must not, therefore, allow the effect which we have produced to fall flat and must consequently abandon our appeal to the emotion just when that emotion is at its height, nor must we expect anyone to weep for long over another's illness. For this reason, our eloquence ought to be pitched higher in this portion of our speech than in any other. Since, wherever it fails to add something to what has preceded, it seems even to diminish its previous effect. While a diminuendo is merely a step towards the rapid disappearance of the emotion, actions as well as words may be employed to move the court to tears, hence the custom of bringing accused persons into court, wearing squalid and unkempt attire, and of introducing their children and parents, and it is with this in view that we see bloodstained swords, fragments of bone taken from the wound, and garments spotted with blood displayed by the accusers, wounds stripped of their dressings, and scorched bodies bared to view. The impression produced by such exhibitions is generally enormous, since they seem to bring the spectators face to face with the cruel facts. For example, the sight of the blood stains on the purple border toga of Gaius Caesar, which was carried at the head of his funeral procession, aroused the Roman people to fury. They knew he had been killed. They had even seen his body stretched upon the beer. But his garment, still wet with his blood, brought such a vivid image of the crime before their minds that Caesar seemed not to have been murdered, but to be being murdered before their very eyes. Still, I would not for this reason go so far as to approve a practice of which I have read, and which indeed I have occasionally witnessed, of bringing into court a picture of the crime painted on wood or canvas that the judge might be stirred to fury by the horror of the sight. For the pleader who prefers a voiceless picture to speak for him in place of his own eloquence must be singularly incompetent. On the other hand, I know that the wearing of mourning and the presentation of an unkempt appearance and the introduction of relative, similarly arrayed, has proved of value, and that entreaties have been of great service to save the accused from condemnation. The practice, therefore, of appealing to the judges by all that is near and dear to them will be of great service to the accused, especially if he, too, has children, a wife, and parents. Invocation of the gods, again, usually gives the impression that the speaker is conscious of the justice of his cause, while it may produce a good effect if the accused throws himself on the ground and embraces the knees of the judges, unless his character, his past life and station prohibit a resort to this device. For there are some acts which require to be defended with no less boldness than was required for their commission. But we must take care not to carry matters with too high a hand for fear of creating a bad impression by an appearance of overconfidence. The most effective of all such methods was, in times past, that by which more than anything else Cicero is considered to have saved Lucius Morena from the attacks of his accusers, who were men of the greatest distinction. For he persuaded the court that nothing was more necessary in view of the critical position of affairs than that Morena should assume the consulship on the 31st of December. This form of appeal is now, however, almost entirely obsolete since the safety of the state is today dependent on the watchful care of a single ruler and cannot conceivably be imperiled by the result of a trial. I have spoken of accusers and accused because it is in situations involving danger that the emotional appeal is most serviceable. But private cases also admit of both kinds of pararations, namely, that which consists in the recapitulation of the proofs and that which takes the form of an appeal for pity, the letter being employed when the position or reputation of the litigant seems to be in danger. For, to embark on such tragic methods in trivial cases would be like putting the mask and buskins of Hercules on a small child. It is also worthwhile pointing out that, in my opinion, the manner in which the client whose sorrows we parade before the court conforms his behavior to the methods of his advocate is of the utmost importance. For sometimes, our appeal falls flat owing to the ignorance, rusticity, indifference, or uncouthness of our client, and it is consequently most important that the advocate should take all necessary precautions in this connection. I have often seen clients whose behavior was wholly out of keeping with the line adopted by their counsel, since their expression showed not the slightest emotion while they displayed a most unseasonable cheerfulness and even a roused laughter by their looks or actions. Such incongruity is especially frequent when the appeal is of a theatrical character. On one occasion an advocate produced a girl alleged to be the sister of the opposing party, for it was on this point that the dispute turned and led her across to the benches occupied by his opponents, as though to leave her in the arms of her brother. I, however, had given the brother timely warning, and he had left his seat. The advocate, although as a rule an eloquent speaker, was struck dumb by the unexpected turn of events and took his little girl back again in the tame as possible manner. There was another advocate who was defending a woman who thought to secure a great effect by producing the portrait of her husband, but sent the court into repeated peals of laughter, for the persons entrusted with duty of handing in the portrait had no idea of the nature of aberration and displayed it whenever the advocate looked their way, and when at last it was produced at the proper moment it destroyed all the good effect of his previous eloquence by its hideousness, for it was a wax cast taken from an old man's corpse. We are also familiar with the story of what happened to Glycon nicknamed Spiridian. He asked a boy whom he produced in court why he was crying to which the boy replied that his pedagogus was pinching him. But the most effective warning as to the perils which beset the peroration is the story told by Cicero about the Cepaceae. But all these perils may be boldly faced by those who have no difficulty in changing their line of pleading. Those however who cannot get away from what they have written are reduced to silence by such emergencies or else led into making false statements as for instance if an advocate should say he stretches out suppliant hands to embrace your knees or the unhappy man is locked in the embrace of his children or see he recalls me to the point although the person in question is doing none of these things. Such faults are due to the practice of the schools where we are free to feign what we will with impunity because we are at liberty to invent facts. But this is impossible when we are confronted with realities and it was an excellent remark that Cassius made to a young orator who said Why do you look so fiercely at me, Severus? To which he replied I was doing nothing of the kind but if it is in your manuscript here you are and he fixed his eyes on him with the most ferocious scowl that he could muster. There is one point which it is especially important to remember that we should never attempt to move our audience to tears without drawing on all the resources of our eloquence. For while this form of emotional appeal is the most effective of all when successful its failure results in anti-climax and if the pleader is a feeble speaker he would have been wiser to leave the pathas of the situation to the imagination of the judges. For look and voice and even the expression on the face of the accused to which the attention of the court is drawn who generally awaken laughter where they fail to awaken compassion. Therefore, the pleader must measure and make a careful estimate of his powers and must have a just comprehension of the difficulty of the task which he contemplates for there is no halfway house in such matters between tears and laughter. The task of the peroration is not however confined to exciting pity in the judges. It may also be required to dispel the pity which they feel either by a sad speech designed to recall them from their tears to a consideration of the justice of the case or by a few witticisms such as give the boy some bread to stop him crying or the remark made by counsel to a corpulent client whose opponent a near child had been carried round the court by his advocate. What am I to do? I cannot carry you. Such jests should not however descend to buffoonery. Consequently, I cannot give my approval to the orator although he was one of the most distinguished speakers of his day who, when his opponent brought in some children to enhance the effect of his peroration threw some dice among them with the result that they began to scramble for them for their childish ignorance of the perils with which they were threatened might in itself have awakened compassion. For the same reason I cannot command the advocate who, when his opponent the accuser produced a bloodstained sword in court fled suddenly from the benches as though in an agony of terror and then when his turn came to plead peeped out of the crowd with his head half covered by his robe and asked whether the men with the sword had gone away for though he caused the laugh he made himself ridiculous. Still theatrical effects of the kind we are discussing can be dispelled by the power of eloquence. Cicero provides most admirable examples of the way in which this may be done both in the Prora Virio where he attacks the production in court of the portrait of Saturninus in the most dignified language and in the Provareno where he launches a number of widacisms against a youth whose wound had been unbound at intervals in the course of the trial. There are also milder kinds of peroration in which if our opponent is of such a character that he deserves to be treated with respect we strive to ingratiate ourselves with him or give him some friendly warning or urge him to regard us as his friends. This method was admirably employed by Paceanus when he pleaded in a suit brought by his wife Domitia against her brother Ahenobarbis for the recovery of a son of money. He began by making a number of remarks about the relationship of the two parties and then referring to their wealth which was in both cases enormous added there's nothing either if you need less than the subject of this dispute. All these appeals to emotion although some hold that they should be confined to the exhortium and the peroration which are I admit the places where they are most often used may be employed in other portions of the speech as well but more briefly since most of them must be reserved for the opening or the close but it is in the peroration if anywhere that we must let loose the whole torrent of her eloquence. For if we have spoken well in the rest of our speech we shall now have the judges on our side and shall be in a position now that we have emerged from the wreaths and shoals to spread all our canvas while since the chief task of the peroration consists of amplification we may legitimately make free use of words and reflections that are magnificent and ornate. It is at the close of our drama that we must really stir the theater when we have reached the place for the phrase with which the old tragedies and comedies used to end. Friends give us your applause. In other portions of the speech we must appeal to the emotions as occasion may arise. For it would clearly be wrong to set forth facts calling for horror and pity without any such appeal. While if the question arises as to the quality of any fact such an appeal may justifiably be subjoined to the proofs of the fact in question. When we are pleading a complicated case which is really made up of several cases it will be necessary to introduce a number of passages resembling perorations as Cistro does in the variants where he laments over Philodemus the ship's captains the crucifixion of the Roman citizen and the number of other tragic incidents. Some call these Medicoi apilogoi by which they mean a peroration distributed among different portions of a speech. I should regard them rather as species than as parts of the peroration since the terms apilogue and perorations both clearly indicate that they form the conclusion of a speech. End of Chapter 1 Book 6 Chapter 2 of Ontagecation of an Orator by Quintillion translated by H. E. Butler this little box recording is in the public domain. Chapter 2 The peroration is the most important part of forensic pleading and in the main consists of appeals to the emotions concerning which I have consequently been forced to say something but I have not yet been able to give the topic specific consideration as a whole nor should I have been justified in doing so. We have still, therefore, to discuss a task which forms the most powerful mean of obtaining what we desire and is also more difficult than any of those which we have previously considered namely that of stirring the emotions of the judges and of molding and transforming them to the attitude which we desire. The few remarks which I have already made on this subject were only such as were essential to my theme while my purpose was rather to show what ought to be done than to set forth the manner in which we can secure our aim. I must now review the whole subject in a more exhaustive fashion. There is scope for an appeal to the emotions as I have already said in every portion of a speech. Moreover, these emotions present great variety and demand more than cursory treatment since it is in their handling that the power of oratory shoes itself at its highest. Even a slight and limited talent may, with the assistance of practice or learning, perhaps succeed in giving life to other departments of oratory and in developing them to a serviceable extent. At any rate, there are and have always been a considerable number of pleaders capable of discovering arguments adequate to prove their points. I am far from despising such, but I consider that their utility is restricted to providing the judge with such facts as it is necessary for him to know. And to be quite frank, I regard them merely as suitable persons to instruct pleaders of real eloquence in the facts of a case. But few indeed are those orators who can sweep the judge with them, lead him to adopt that attitude of mind which they desire and compel him to weep with them or share their anger. And yet, it is this emotional power that dominates the court. It is this form of eloquence that is the queen of all. For as a rule, arguments arise out of the case itself, and the better cause has always the larger number to support it, so that the party who wins by means of them will have no further satisfaction than that of knowing that his advocate did not fail him. But the peculiar task of the orator arises when the minds of the judges require force to move them, and their thoughts have actually to be led away from the contemplation of the truth. No instruction from the litigant can secure this, nor can such power be acquired merely by the study of a brief. Proves, it is true, may induce the judges to regard our case as superior to that of our opponent, but the appeal to the emotions will do more, for it will make them wish our case to be the better, and what they wish they will also believe. For as soon as they begin to be angry, to feel favorably disposed, to hate or pity, they begin to take a personal interest in the case, and just as lovers are incapable of forming a reason judgment on the beauty of the object of their affections, because passion forestalls the sense of sight, so the judge, when overcome by his emotions, abandons all attempt to inquire into the truth of the arguments. Is swept along by the tide of passion, and yields himself unquestioning to the torrent. Thus the verdict of the court shows how much weight has been carried by the arguments and the evidence, but when the judge has been really moved by the orator, he reveals his feelings while he is still sitting and listening to the case. When those tears which are the aim of most parorations, well forth from his eyes, is he not giving his verdict for all to see? It is to this, therefore, that the orator must devote all his powers, dare lie the task and toil. Without this, all else is bare and meager, weak and devoid of charm. For it is in its power over the emotions that the life and soul of oratory is to be found. Emotions, however, as we learn from ancient authorities, fall into two classes. The one is called pathos by the Greeks and is rightly incorrectly expressed in Latin by adfectus, emotion. The other is called ethos, a word for which, in my opinion, Latin has no equivalent. It is, however, rendered by modes, morals, and consequently, the branch of philosophy known as ethics is styled moral philosophy by us. But close consideration of the nature of the subject leads me to think that in this connection, it is not so much morals in general that is meant as certain peculiar aspects. For the term morals includes every attitude of the mind. The more cautious writers have preferred to give the sense of the term rather than to translate it into Latin. They therefore explain pathos as describing the more violent emotions and ethos as designating those which are calm and gentle. In the one case, the passions are violent. In the other, subdued. The former command and disturb. The latter persuade and induce a feeling of goodwill. Some add that ethos is continuous while pathos is momentary. While admitting that this is usually the case, I still hold that there are some subjects which demand that the more violent emotions should be continuous. But although the gentler emotions require less force and impetus, they call for no less art and experience than the more vehement and are demanded in a greater number of cases. Indeed, in a certain sense, they are required in all. For as everything treated by the orator may be regarded from the ethical standpoint, we may apply the word ethos whenever he speaks of what is honorable and expedient or of what ought or ought not to be done. Some regard commendation and excuse as the peculiar spheres of ethos. But while I admit that they do fall within its sphere, I do not regard them as being alone in so doing. Indeed, I would add that pathos and ethos are sometimes of the same nature, differing only in degree. Love, for instance, comes under the head of pathos, a faction of ethos. Sometimes, however, they differ, a distinction which is important for the pareration, since ethos is generally employed to calm the storm aroused by pathos. I ought, however, to explain what is meant by ethos in greater detail, since the term is not in itself sufficiently expressive of its meaning. The ethos which I have in my mind and which I deciderate in an orator is commended to our approval by goodness more than ought else and is not merely calm and mild, but in most cases ingratiating and courteous and such as to excite pleasure and affection in our hearers, while the chief merit in its expression lies in making it seem that all that we say derives directly from the nature of the facts and persons concerned and in the revelation of the character of the orator in such a way that all may recognize it. This kind of ethos should be especially displayed in cases where the persons concerned are intimately connected. Whenever we tolerate or pardon any act or offer satisfaction or admonition and all of which cases there should be no trace of anger or hatred. On the other hand the moderation shown by a father to his son, a guardian to his ward or a husband to his wife will differ from that which is shown by an old man to a youthful stranger who has insulted him or by a man of high rank to his inferior. Since in the former cases they emphasized their affection for the wrongdoer and there is no desire to do anything that will excite dislike against them saved by the manifestation of the fact that they still love them. While in the one case the offended party should be no more than provoked in the other he should be really deeply moved. Of the same character though less violent is the emotion to be shown when we ask pardon for the errors of the young or apologize for some youthful amor. Sometimes again gentle railery or another's passion may derive its tone from ethos though only to a partial extent. More closely dependent on ethos are the skillful exercise of feigned emotion or the employment of irony in making apologies or asking questions irony being the term which is applied to words which means something other than they seem to express. From the same source springs also that more powerful method of exciting hatred when by a feigned submission to our opponents we pass silent censure on their violence. For the very fact of our yielding serves to demonstrate their insupportable arrogance while orators who have a passion for abuse or are given to affect freedom of speech fail to realize that it is a far more effective course to make your antagonist unpopular than to abuse him. For the former course makes our antagonists disliked the latter ourselves. The emotion of love and longing for our friends and connections is perhaps of an intermediate character being stronger than ethos and weaker than pathos. There's also good reason for giving the name of ethos to those scholastic exercises in which we portray rustics, misers, cowards and superstitious persons according as our theme may require. For if ethos denotes moral character our speech must necessarily be based on ethos when it is engaged in portraying such character. Finally ethos in all its forms requires the speaker to be a man of good character and courtesy. For it is most important that he should himself possess or be thought to possess those virtues for the possession of which it is his duty if possible to commend his client as well while the existence of his own character will make his pleading all the more convincing and will be of the utmost service to the cases which he undertakes. For the orator who gives the impression of being a bad man while he is speaking is actually speaking badly since his words seem to be insincere owing to the absence of ethos which would otherwise have revealed itself. Consequently the style of oratory employed in such cases should be calm and mild with no trace of pride, elevation or sublimity all of which would be out of place. It is enough to speak appropriately pleasantly and persuasively and therefore the intermediate style of oratory is most suitable. The pathos of the Greeks which we correctly translate by emotion is of a different character and I cannot better indicate the nature of the difference than by saying that ethos rather resembles comedy and pathos tragedy for pathos is almost entirely concerned with anger, dislike, fear, hatred and pity. It will be obvious to all what topics are appropriate to such appeals and I have already spoken on the subject in discussing the exordium and the peroration. I wish however to point out that fear is of two kinds that which we feel and that which we cause in others. Similarly there are two kinds of invidia, hatred and vi to which the two adjectives invidus and vias and invidiosus, invidias, hateful correspond. The first supplies an epithet for persons the second for things and it is in this latter connection that the orators task is even more onerous for though some things are hateful in themselves such as parasite, murder, poisoning other things have to be made to seem hateful. This latter contingency arises when we attempt to show that what we have suffered is of a more horrible nature than what are usually regarded as great evils. Virgil will provide an example in the lines O blessed beyond all maidens, primes child Beneath Troy's lofty bulwarks doomed to die upon the tomb of him that was thy foe. For how wretched was the lot of Andromache if Polyxena be accounted happy in comparison with her. Again the same problem arises when we endeavor to magnify our wrongs by saying that other far lesser ills are intolerable. For example if you had merely struck him your conduct would have been indefensible but you did more you wounded him. However I will deal with this subject more fully when I come to speak of amplification. Meanwhile I will content myself with the observation that the aim of appeal to the emotion is not merely to show the bitter and grievous nature of ills that actually are so but also at once make ills which are usually regarded as tolerable seem unendurable. As for instance when we represent insulting words as inflicting more grievous injury than an actual blow or represent disgrace as being worse than death. For the force of eloquence is such that it not merely compels the judge to the conclusion toward which the nature of the facts leads him but awakens emotions which either do not naturally arise from the case or are stronger than the case would suggest. This is known as denoces that is to say language giving additional force to things unjust cruel or hateful an accomplishment in which the mustanis created immense and special effect. If I thought it sufficient to follow traditional rules I should regard it as adequate treatment for this topic to omit nothing that I have read or been taught provided that it be reasonably sound. But my design is to bring to light the secret principles of this art and to open up the inmost recesses of the subject giving the result not of teaching received from others but of my own experience and the guidance of nature herself. The prime essential for stirring the emotions of others is, in my opinion, first to feel those emotions oneself. It is sometimes positively ridiculous to counterfeit grief, anger and indignation if we content ourselves with accommodating our words and looks and make no attempt to adapt our feelings to the emotions to be expressed. What other reason is there for the eloquence with which mourners express their grief or for the fluency which anger lands even to the uneducated save the fact that their minds are stirred to power by the depth and sincerity of their feelings. Consequently, if we wish to give our words the appearance of sincerity we must assimilate ourselves to the emotions of those who are genuinely so affected and our eloquence must spring from the same feeling that we desire to produce in the mind of the judge. Will he grieve who can find no trace of grief in the words with which I seek to move him to grief? Will he be angry if the orator who seeks to kindle his anger shows no sign of laboring under the emotion which he demands from his audience? Will he shed tears if the pleader's eyes are dry? It is utterly impossible. Fire alone can kindle and moisture alone can wet nor can one thing in part any color to another save that which it possesses itself. Accordingly, the first essential is that those feelings should prevail with us that we wish to prevail with the judge and that we should be moved ourselves before we attempt to move others. But how are we to generate these emotions in ourselves since emotion is not in our power? I will try to explain as best I may. There are certain experiences which the Greeks call Phantasiae and the Romans visions, whereby things absent are presented to our imagination with such extreme vividness that they seem actually to be before our very eyes. It is the man who is really sensitive to such impressions who will have the greatest power over the emotions. Some writers describe the possessor of this power of vivid imagination, whereby things, words and actions are presented in the most realistic manner by the Greek word and it is a power which all may readily acquire if they will. When the mind is unoccupied or is absorbed by fantastic hopes or daydreams, we are haunted by these visions of which I am speaking to such an extent that we imagine that we are traveling abroad, crossing the sea, fighting, addressing the people, or enjoying the use of wealth that we do not actually possess and seem to ourselves not to be dreaming but acting. Surely then, it may be possible to turn this form of hallucination to some profit. I am complaining that a man has been murdered. Shall I not bring before my eyes all the circumstances which it is reasonable to imagine must have occurred in such a connection? Shall I not see the assassin burst suddenly from his hiding place? The victim, tremble, cry for help, beg for mercy or turn to run? Shall I not see the fatal blow delivered and the stricken body fall? Will not the blood, the deathly powder, the groan of agony, the death rattle, be indelibly impressed upon my mind? From such impressions arises that Enargea, which Cicero calls elimination and actuality, which makes us seem not so much to narrate as to exhibit the actual scene, while our emotions will be no less actively stirred than if we were present at the actual occurrence. Is it not from visions such as these that Virgil was inspired to write? Suddenly her fingers let the shuttle fall and all the thread was spilled, or in his smooth breast the gaping wound, or the description of the horse at the funeral palace, his trappings laid aside, and how vivid was the image of death conceived by the poet when he wrote, and dying sees his own dear Archive home. Again, when we desire to awaken pity, we must actually believe that the ills of which we complain have befallen our own selves and must persuade our minds that this is really the case. We must identify ourselves with the persons of whom we complain, that they have suffered grievous, unmerited, and bitter misfortune, and must plead their case and for a brief space feel their suffering as though it were our own, while our words must be such as we should use if we stood in their shoes. I have often seen actors, both in tragedy and comedy, leave the theatre still drowned in tears after concluding the performance of some moving role. But if the mere delivery of words written by another has the power to set our souls on fire with fictitious emotions, what will the orator do whose duty it is to picture to himself the facts, and who has it in his power to feel the same emotion as his client whose interests are at stake? Even in the schools, it is desirable that the student should be moved by his theme and should imagine it to be true. Indeed, it is all the more desirable then, since, as a rule in scholastic declamations, the speaker more often appears as the actual litigant than as his advocate. Suppose we are impersonating an orphan, a shipwrecked man, or one in grave peril. What profit is there in assuming such a role unless we also assume the emotions which it involves? I have thought it necessary not to conceal these considerations from my reader, since they have contributed to the acquisition of such reputation for talent as I possess or once possessed. I have frequently been so much moved while speaking that I have not merely been wrought upon to tears, but have turned pale and shown all the symptoms of genuine grief. CHAPTER III I now turn to a very different talent, namely that which dispels the graver emotions of the judge by exciting his laughter. Frequently diverts his attention from the facts of the case, and sometimes even refreshes him and revives him when he has begun to be bored or wary by the case. How hard it is to attain success in this connection is shown by the cases of the two great masters of Greek and Roman oratory. For many think that the Mostanese was deficient in this faculty and that Cicero used it without discrimination. Indeed, it is impossible to suppose that the Mostanese deliberately avoided all display of humor, since his few jests are so unworthy of his other excellences that they clearly show that he lacked the power, not merely that he disliked to use it. Cicero, on the other hand, was regarded as being unduly addicted to jests, not merely outside the courts, but in his actual speeches as well. Personally, though whether I am right in this view or have been led astray by an exaggerated admiration for the Prince of Orators, I cannot say, I regard him as being the possessor of a remarkable turn of wit. For his daily speech was full of humor, while in his disputes in court and in his examination of witnesses he produced more good jests than any other, while the somewhat insipid jokes which he launches against various are always attributed by him to others and produced as evidence. Wherefore, the more vulgar they are, the more probable is it that they are not the invention of the orator, but were current as public property. I wish, however, that Tyro or whoever it may have been that published the three books of Cicero's jests had restricted their number and had shown more judgment in selecting than zeal in collecting them. For he would then have been less exposed to the censure of his calumniators, although the latter will, in any case, as in regard to all the manifestations of his genius, find it easier to detect superfluities than deficiencies. The chief difficulty which confronts the orator in this connection lies in the fact that sayings designed to raise a laugh are generally untrue and falsehood always involves a certain nearness and are often deliberately distorted and further never complementary. While the judgments formed by the audience on such jests will necessarily vary, since the effect of a jest depends not on the reason but on an emotion which it is difficult, if not impossible, to describe. For I do not think that anybody can give an adequate explanation, though many have attempted to do so, of the cause of laughter, which is excited not merely by words or deeds, but sometimes even by touch. Moreover, there's great variety in the things which raise a laugh, since we laugh not merely at those words or actions which are smart or witty, but also at those which reveal folly, anger or fear. Consequently, the cause of laughter is uncertain, since laughter is never far removed from the region. For, as Cicero says, laughter has its basis in some kind or other of deformity or ugliness, and whereas, when we point to such a blemish in others, the result is known as wit, it is called folly when the same jest is turned against ourselves. Now, though laughter may be regarded as a trivial matter and an emotion frequently awakened by buffoons, actors or fools, it has a certain imperious force of its own, which it is very hard to resist. It often breaks out against our will and extorts confession of its power, not merely from our face and voice, but convulses the whole body as well. Again, it frequently turns the scale in matters of great importance, as I have already observed, for instance, it often dispels hatred or anger. A proof of this is given by the story of the young man of Tarentum, who had made a number of scurrilous criticisms of pyrus over the dinner table. They were called upon to answer for their statements, and, since the charge was one that admitted neither of denial nor of excuse, they succeeded in escaping, thanks to a happy jest which made the king laugh. For one of the accused said, Yes, and if the bottle hadn't been empty, we should have killed you, a jest which succeeded in dissipating the animosity which the charge had aroused. Still, whatever the essence of humor may be, and although I would not venture to assert that it is altogether independent of art, for it involves a certain power of observation and rules for its employment have been laid down by writers both of Greece and Rome, I will insist on this much, that it depends mainly on nature and opportunity. The influence of nature consists not merely in the fact that one man is quicker or cleverer than another in the invention of jests, for such a power can be increased by teaching, but also in the possession of some peculiar charm of look or manner, the effect of which is such that the same remarks would be less entertaining if uttered by another. Opportunity, on the other hand, is dependent on circumstances and is of such importance that, with its assistance, not merely the unlearned, but even mere country bumpings are capable of producing effective witticisms, while much again may depend on some previous remark made by another which will provide opportunity for repartee. For witt also appears to greater advantage in reply than in attack. We are also confronted by the additional difficulty that there are no specific exercises for the development of humor nor professors to teach it. Consequently, while convivial gatherings in conversation give rise to frequent displays of witt, since daily practice develops the faculty, oratorical witt is rare, for it has no fixed rules to guide it, but must adapt itself to the ways of the world. There has, however, never been anything to prevent the composition of themes such as will afford scope for humor, so that our controversial declamations may have an admixture of jests, while special topics may be set which will give the young student practice in the play of witt. Nay, even those pleasantries in which we indulge on certain occasions of festive license, and to which we give the name of motts, as indeed they are, if only a little more good sense were employed in their invention, and they were seasoned by a slight admixture of seriousness, might afford a most useful training. As it is, they serve merely to divert the young and merry-makers. There are various names by which we describe witt, but we have only to consider them separately to perceive their specific meaning. First there is urbanitas, which I observe denotes language with a smack of the city in its words, accent and idiom, and further suggests a certain tincture of learning, derived from associating with well-educated men. In a word, it represents the opposite of rusticity. The meaning of wenustus is obvious. It means that which is said with grace and charm. Salsus is, as a rule, applied only to what is laughable. But this is not its natural application, although whatever is laughable should have the salt of wit in it. For Cicero, when he says that whatever has the salt of wit is attic, does not say this because persons of the attic school are specially given to laughter. And again, when Catullus says, in all her body, not a grain of salt, he does not mean that there is nothing in her body to give cause for laughter. When, therefore, we speak of the salt of wit, we refer to wit about which there is nothing insipid. Wit, that is to say, which serves as a simple seasoning of language, a condiment which is silently appreciated by our judgment, as food is appreciated by the palate, with the result that it stimulates our taste and saves a speech from becoming tedious. But just as salt, if sprinkled freely over food, gives a special relish of its own, so long as it is not used to excess, so in the case of those who have the salt of wit, there is something about their language which arouses in us a thirst to hear. Again, I do not regard the epithet faquetus as applicable solely to that which raises a laugh. If that were so, Horus would never have said that nature had granted Virgil the gift of being faquetus in song. I think that the term is rather applied to a certain grace and polished elegance. This is the meaning which it bears in Cicero's letters, where he quotes the words of Brutus. In truth, her feet are graceful and soft as she goes delicately on her way. This meaning suits the passage in Horus, to which I have already made reference. To Virgil gave a soft and graceful wit. Jocos is usually taken to mean the opposite of seriousness. This view is, however, somewhat too narrow. For to feign, to terrify, or to promise, are all at times forms of jesting. Dicachitas is no doubt derived from dico, and is therefore common to all forms of wit, but is especially applied to the language of banter, which is a humorous form of attack. Therefore, while the critics allow that the Mosnites was urbanus, they deny that he was dicax. The essence, however, of the subject which we are now discussing, is the excitement of laughter, and consequently, the whole of this topic is entitled Perigeloyu by the Greeks. It has the same primary division as other departments of oratory, that is to say, it is concerned with things and words. The application of humor to oratory may be divided into three heads, for there are three things out of which we may seek to raise a laugh, to wit, others, ourselves, or things intermediate. In the first case, we either reprove or refute or make light of or retort or deride the arguments of others. In the second, we speak of things which concern ourselves in a humorous manner, and, to quote the words of Cicero, say things which have a suggestion of absurdity. For there are certain sayings which are regarded as folly if they slip from us unawares, but as witty if uttered ironically. The third kind consists, as Cicero also tells us, in cheating expectations, in taking words in a different sense from what was intended, and in other things which affect neither party to the suit, and which I have, therefore, styled intermediate. Further, things designed to raise a laugh may either be said or done. In the latter case, laughter is sometimes caused by an act possessing a certain amount of seriousness as well, as in the case of Marcus Cilius the preter, who, when the consul Aesoricus broke his curled chair, had another put in its place, the seat of which was made of letter thongs, by way of allusion to the story that the consul had once been scorched by his father. Sometimes, again, it is aroused by an act which passes the grounds of decency, as in the case of Cilius's box, a jest which was not fit for an orator or any respectable men to make. On the other hand, the joke may lie in some remark about a ridiculous look or gesture. Such jests are very attractive, or especially when delivered with every appearance of seriousness, for there are no jests so insipid as those which parade the fact that they are intended to be witty. Still, although the gravity with which a jest is uttered increases its attraction, and the mere fact that the speaker does not laugh himself makes his words laughable. There is also such a thing as a humorous look, manner or gesture, provided always that they observe the happy mean. Further, a jest will either be free and lively, like the majority of those uttered by Olus Galba, or abusive, like those with which genius bassist recently made us familiar, or bitter, like those of Cassius Severus, or gentle, like those of Demitius' offer. Much depends on the occasion on which a jest is uttered. Four, in social gatherings and the intercourse of every day, a certain freedom is not unseemly in persons of humble rank, while liveliness is becoming to all. Our jests should never be designed to wound, and we should never make it our ideal at once lose a friend sooner than lose a jest. Where the battles of the courts are concerned, I am always better pleased when it is possible to indulge in gentle railery, although it is, of course, permissible to be abusive or bitter in the words we use against our opponents, just as it is permissible to accuse them openly of a crime and to demand the last penalty of the law. But in the courts, as elsewhere, it is regarded as inhuman to hit a man when he's down, either because he is the innocent victim of misfortune, or because such attacks may recoil on those who make them. Consequently, the first points to be taken into consideration are who the speaker is, what is the nature of the case, who's the judge, who is the victim, and what is the character of the remarks that are made. It is most unbecoming for the orator to distort his features, or use uncouth gestures, tricks that arouse such merriment in farce. No less unbecoming are rival jests, and such as are employed upon the stage. As for the obscenity, it should not merely be banished from his language, but should not even be suggested. For even if our opponent has rendered himself liable to such a charge, our denunciation should not take the form of a jest. Further, although I want my orator to speak with wit, he must not give the impression of striving after it. Consequently, he must not display his wit on every possible occasion, but must sacrifice a jest sooner than sacrifice his dignity. Again, no one will endure an accuser who employs jests to season a really horrible case, nor an advocate for the defense who makes marry over one that calls for pity. Moreover, there is a type of judge whose temperament is too serious to allow him to tolerate laughter. It may also happen that a jest directed against an opponent may apply to the judge or to our own client, although there are some orators who do not refrain even from jests that may recoil upon themselves. This was the case with Sulpizius Longus, who despite the fact that he was himself surpassingly hideous, asserted of a man against whom he was appearing in a case involving his status as a free man, that even his face was the face of a slave. To this, the mischievous offer replied, is it your profound conviction, Longus, that an ugly man must be a slave? Insolence and arrogance are likewise to be avoided, nor must our jests seem unsuitable to the time or place, or give the appearance of study at premeditation or smell of the lamp, while those directed against the unfortunate are, as I have already said, inhuman. Again, some advocates are men of such established authority in such known respectability that any insolence shown them would only hurt the assailant. As regards the way in which we should deal with friends, I have already given instructions. It is the duty, not merely of an orator, but of any reasonable human being when attacking one whom it is dangerous to offend, to take care that his remarks do not end in exciting serious enmity or the necessity for a groveling apology. Sarcasm that applies to a number of persons is injudicious. I refer to cases where it is directed against whole nations or classes of society, or against rank and pursuits which are common to many. A good man will see that everything he says is consistent with his dignity and the respectability of his character, for we pay too dear for the laugh we raise if it is at the cost of our own integrity. It is, however, a difficult task to indicate the sources from which laughter may be legitimately derived or the topics where it may be naturally employed. To attempt to deal exhaustively with the subject would be an interminable task and a waste of labor. For the topics suitable to jests are no less numerous than those from which we may derive reflections, as they are called, and are, moreover, identical with the latter. The powers of invention and expression come into play no less where jests are concerned, while, as regards expression, its force will depend in part on the choice of words, in part on the figures employed. Laughter, then, will be derived either from the physical appearance of our opponent or from his character as revealed in his words and actions, or from external sources. For all forms of railery come under one or other of these heads. If the railery is serious, we style it as severe. If, on the other hand, it is of a lighter character, we regard it as humorous. These themes for jest may be pointed out to the eye or described in words or indicated by some moat. It is only on rare occasions that it is possible to make them visible to the eye, as Gaius Julius did when Helveus' mancia kept clamoring against him. I will show you what you're like, he cried. And then, as mancia persisted in asking him to do so, pointed with his finger at the picture of a goal painted on a cymbric shield, a figure to which mancia bore a striking resemblance. There were shops round the forum, and the shield had been hung up over one of them by way of a sign. The narration of a humorous story may often be used with clever effect, and is a device eminently becoming to an orator. Good examples are the story told of Cephasius and Fabricius, which Cicero tells in the Procluentio, or the story told by Cilius of the dispute between Decimus Lelius and his colleague when they were both in a hurry to reach their province first. But in all such cases, the whole narrative must possess elegance and charm, while the orator's own contribution to the story should be the most humorous element. Take for instance the way in which Cicero gives a special relish to the flight of Fabricius. And so, just at the moment when he thought his speech was showing him at his best, and he had uttered the following solemn words, words designed to prove a master stroke of art, look at the fortunes of mankind, gentlemen, look at the aged form of Gaius Fabricius. Just at that very moment, I say, when he had repeated the word look several times by way of making his words all the more impressive, he looked himself, and found that Fabricius had slunk out of court with his head hanging down. I will not quote the rest of the passage, for it is well known, but he developed the theme still further, although the plain facts amount simply to this, that Fabricius had left the court. The whole of the story told by Cilius is full of wit and invention, but the gem of the passage is its conclusion. He followed him, but now he crossed the straits, whether it was in a ship or a fisherman's boat, no one knew. But the Sicilians, being of a lively turn of wit, said that he rode on a dolphin, and effected his crossing like a second Aryan. Cicero thinks that humor belongs to narrative and wit to Cilius against the speaker's antagonist. The mish's offer showed remarkable finish in this department, for, while narratives of the kind I have described are frequent in his speeches, several books have been published of his witticisms as well. This latter form of wit lies not merely in Cilius and brief displays of wit, but may be displayed at greater length. Wittness, the story told by Cicero in the second book of his De Oratory, in which Lucius Crassus dealt with Brutus, against whom he was appearing in court. Brutus was prosecuting Neus Plancus, and had produced two readers, to show that Lucius Crassus, who was counsel for the defense, in the speech which he delivered on the subject of the colony of Narbo, had advocated measures contrary to those which he recommended in speaking of the civilian law. Crassus, in reply, called for three readers, and gave them the dialogues of Brutus' father to read out. One of these dialogues was represented as taking place on his estate at Prevernum, the second on his estate at Alba, and the third on his estate at Tiber. Crassus then asked where these estates were. Now, Brutus had sold them all, and in those days it was considered somewhat discreditable to sell once paternal acres. Similar attractive effects of narrative may be produced by the narration of fables, or at times even of historical anecdotes. On the other hand, brevity in wit gives greater point and speed. It may be employed in two ways, according as we are the aggressors or are replying to our opponents. The method, however, in both cases is to some extent the same. For there is nothing that can be said in attack that cannot be used in repost. But there are certain points which are peculiar to reply. For remarks designed for attack are usually brought ready-made into court after long thought at home, whereas those made in reply are usually improvised during a dispute or the cross-examination of witnesses. But though there are many topics on which we may draw for our jests, I must repeat that not all these topics are becoming to orators. Above all, double entendres and obscenity, such as its dear to the atel and fars, are to be avoided, as also are those coarse jives so common on the lips of the rabble, where the ambiguity of words is turned to the service of abuse. I cannot even approve of a similar form of jest that sometimes slipped out even from Cicero, though not when he was pleading in the courts. For example, once when a candidate alleged to be the son of a cook solicited someone else's vote in his presence, he said, I say words capable of two different meanings, but because such jests are rarely effective, unless they are helped out by actual facts, as well as similarity of sound. For example, I regard the jest which Cicero levelled against that same Esoricas, whom I mentioned above, as being little less than sheer buffoonery. I wonder, he said, why your father, the steadiest of men, left behind him such a stripy gentleman as yourself. On the other hand, the following instance of the same type of jest is quite admirable, when Milo's accuser, by way of proving that he had lain in wait for Claudius, alleged that he had put up at Beville before the ninth hour in order to wait until Claudius left his villa and kept repeating the question, when was Claudius killed? Cicero replied, late, a retort which in itself justifies us in refusing to exclude this type of wit altogether. Sometimes too, the same word may be used not merely in several senses, but in absolutely opposite senses. For example, Nero said of a dishonest slave, no one was more trusted in my house, there was nothing closed or sealed to him. Such ambiguity may even go so far as to present all the appearance of a riddle, witness the jest that Cicero made at the expense of Platorius, the accuser of Fantaeus. His mother, he said, kept a school while she lived, and masters after she was dead. The explanation is that in her lifetime women of infamous character used to frequent her house, while after her death her property was sold. I may note, however, that ludus is used metaphorically in the sense of school, while magistri is used ambiguously. A similar form of jest may be made by use of the thing known as metallepsis, as when Fabius Maximus complained of the meagerness of the gifts made by Augustus to his friends, and said that his congiaria were heminaria, for congiarium implies at once liberality in a particular measure, and Fabius put a slight on the liberality of Augustus by reference to the measure. This form of jest is as poor as is the invention of punning names by the addition, subtraction or change of letters. I find, for instance, a case where a certain acisculus was called pasisculus because of some compact which he had made, while one placidus was nicknamed acidus because of his sour temper, and one tullius was dubbed tullius because he was a thief. Such puns are more successful with things than with names. It was, for example, a neat hit of offers, when he said that manly as Sura, who kept rushing to and fro while he was splitting, waving his hands, letting his toga fall and replacing it, was not nearly pleading, but giving himself a lot of needless trouble. For there is a spice of wit about the word sac taghere in itself, even if there were no resemblance to any other word. Similar jests may be produced by the addition or removal of the aspirate, or by splitting up a word or joining it to another. The effect is generally poor, but the practice is occasionally permissible. Jests drawn from names are of the same type. Cicero introduces a number of such jests against varies, but always as quotations from others. On one occasion he says that he would sweep everything away, for his name was varies, on another that he had given more trouble to Hercules, whose temple he had pillaged, than was given by the Arrymenthin bore, or another that he was a bad priest who had left so worthless a pig behind him, for various predecessors was named Saccherdos. Sometimes, however, a lucky chance may give us an opportunity of employing such jests with effect, as, for instance, when Cicero in the Prochaikina says of the witness Sixtus Claudius Formio, he was not less black or less bold than the Formio of Terence.