No More Learning

We all are sensible that there is a set of critics now existing, who
prefer Lucilius [d] to Horace, and Lucretius [e] to Virgil; who
despise the eloquence of Aufidius Bassus [f] and Servilius Nonianus,
and yet admire Varro and [g] Sisenna. By these pretenders to taste,
the works of our modern rhetoricians are thrown by with neglect, and
even fastidious disdain; while those of Calvus are held in the highest
esteem. We see these men prosing in their ancient style before the
judges; but we see them left without an audience, deserted by the
people, and hardly endured by their clients. The truth is, their cold
and spiritless manner has no attraction. They call it sound oratory,
but it is want of vigour; like that precarious state of health which
weak constitutions preserve by abstinence. What physician will
pronounce that a strong habit of body, which requires constant care
and anxiety of mind? To say barely, that we are not ill, is surely not
enough. True health consists in vigour, a generous warmth, and a
certain alacrity in the whole frame. He who is only not indisposed, is
little distant from actual illness.

With you, my friends, the case is different: proceed, as you well can,
and in fact, as you do, to adorn our age with all the grace and
splendour of true oratory. It is with pleasure, Messala, that I see
you selecting for imitation the liveliest models of the ancient
school. You too, Maternus, and you, my friend, Secundus [h], you both
possess the happy art of adding to weight of sentiment all the dignity
of language. To a copious invention you unite the judgement that knows
how to distinguish the specific qualities of different authors. The
beauty of order is yours. When the occasion demands it, you can expand
and amplify with strength and majesty; and you know when to be concise
with energy. Your periods flow with ease, and your composition has
every grace of style and sentiment. You command the passions with
resistless sway, while in yourselves you beget a temperance so truly
dignified, that, though, perhaps, envy and the malignity of the times
may be unwilling to proclaim your merit, posterity will do you ample
justice [i].


XXIV. As soon as Aper concluded, You see, said Maternus, the zeal and
ardour of our friend: in the cause of the moderns, what a torrent of
eloquence! against the ancients, what a fund of invective! With great
spirit, and a vast compass of learning, he has employed against his
masters the arts for which he is indebted to them. And yet all this
vehemence must not deter you, Messala, from the performance of your
promise. A formal defence of the ancients is by no means necessary. We
do not presume to vie with that illustrious race. We have been praised
by Aper, but we know our inferiority. He himself is aware of it,
though, in imitation of the ancient manner [a], he has thought proper,
for the sake of a philosophical debate, to take the wrong side of the
question. In answer to his argument, we do not desire you to expatiate
in praise of the ancients: their fame wants no addition. What we
request is, an investigation of the causes which have produced so
rapid a decline from the flourishing state of genuine eloquence. I
call it rapid, since, according to Aper's own chronology, the period
from the death of Cicero does not exceed one hundred and twenty years
[b].


XXV. I am willing, said Messala, to pursue the plan which you have
recommended. The question, whether the men who flourished above one
hundred years ago, are to be accounted ancients, has been started by
my friend Aper, and, I believe, it is of the first impression. But it
is a mere dispute about words. The discussion of it is of no moment,
provided it be granted, whether we call them ancients, or our
predecessors, or give them any other appellation, that the eloquence
of those times was superior to that of the present age. When Aper
tells us, that different periods of time have produced new modes of
oratory, I see nothing to object; nor shall I deny, that in one and
the same period the style and manners have greatly varied. But this I
assume, that among the orators of Greece, Demosthenes holds the first
rank, and after him [a] Æschynes, Hyperides, Lysias, and Lycurgus, in
regular succession. That age, by common consent, is allowed to be the
flourishing period of Attic eloquence.

In like manner, Cicero stands at the head of our Roman orators, while
Calvus, Asinius, and Cæsar, Cælius and Brutus, follow him at a
distance; all of them superior, not only to every former age, but to
the whole race that came after them. Nor is it material that they
differ in the mode, since they all agree in the kind. Calvus is close
and nervous; Asinius more open and harmonious; Cæsar is distinguished
[b] by the splendour of his diction; Cælius by a caustic severity; and
gravity is the characteristic of Brutus. Cicero is more luxuriant in
amplification, and he has strength and vehemence. They all, however,
agree in this: their eloquence is manly, sound, and vigorous. Examine
their works, and you will see the energy of congenial minds, a
family-likeness in their genius, however it may take a distinct colour
from the specific qualities of the men. True, they detracted from each
other's merit. In their letters, which are still extant, we find some
strokes of mutual hostility. But this littleness does not impeach
their eloquence: their jealousy was the infirmity of human nature.
Calvus, Asinius, and Cicero, might have their fits of animosity, and,
no doubt, were liable to envy, malice, and other degrading passions:
they were great orators, but they were men.

Brutus is the only one of the set, who may be thought superior to
petty contentions. He spoke his mind with freedom, and, I believe,
without a tincture of malice. He did not envy Cæsar himself, and can
it be imagined that he envied Cicero? As to Galba [c], Lælius, and
others of a remote period, against whom we have heard Aper's
declamation, I need not undertake their defence, since I am willing to
acknowledge, that in their style and manner we perceive those defects
and blemishes which it is natural to expect, while art, as yet in its
infancy, has made no advances towards perfection.


XXVI. After all, if the best form of eloquence must be abandoned, and
some, new-fangled style must grow into fashion, give me the rapidity
of Gracchus [a], or the more solemn manner of Crassus [b], with all
their imperfections, rather than the effeminate delicacy of [c]
Mæcenas, or the tinkling cymbal [d] of Gallio. The most homely dress
is preferable to gawdy colours and meretricious ornaments. The style
in vogue at present, is an innovation, against every thing just and
natural; it is not even manly. The luxuriant phrase, the inanity of
tuneful periods, and the wanton levity of the whole composition, are
fit for nothing but the histrionic art, as if they were written for
the stage. To the disgrace of the age (however astonishing it may
appear), it is the boast, the pride, the glory of our present orators,
that their periods are musical enough either for the dancer's heel
[e], or the warbler's throat. Hence it is, that by a frequent, but
preposterous, metaphor, the orator is said to speak in melodious
cadence, and the dancer to move with expression. In this view of
things, even [f] Cassius Severus (the only modern whom Aper has
ventured to name), if we compare him with the race that followed, may
be fairly pronounced a legitimate orator, though it must be
acknowledged, that in what remains of his compositing, he is clumsy
without strength, and violent without spirit. He was the first that
deviated from the great masters of his art. He despised all method and
regular arrangement; indelicate in his choice of words, he paid no
regard to decency; eager to attack, he left himself unguarded; he
brandished his weapons without skill or address; and, to speak
plainly, he wrangled, but did not argue. And yet, notwithstanding
these defects, he was, as I have already said, superior to all that
came after him, whether we regard the variety of his learning, the
urbanity of his wit, or the vigour of his mind. I expected that Aper,
after naming this orator, would have drawn up the rest of his forces
in regular order. He has fallen, indeed, upon Asinius, Cælius, and
Calvus; but where are his champions to enter the lists with them? I
imagined that he had a phalanx in reserve, and that we should have
seen them man by man giving battle to Cicero, Cæsar, and the rest in
succession. He has singled out some of the ancients, but has brought
none of his moderns into the field. He thought it enough to give them
a good character in their absence. In this, perhaps, he acted with
prudence: he was afraid, if he selected a few, that the rest of the
tribe would take offence. For among the rhetoricians of the present
day, is there one to be found, who does not, in his own opinion, tower
above Cicero, though he has the modesty to yield to Gabinianus [g]?


XXVII. What Aper has omitted, I intend to perform. I shall produce his
moderns by name, to the end that, by placing the example before our
eyes, we may be able, more distinctly, to trace the steps by which the
vigour of ancient eloquence has fallen to decay. Maternus interrupted
him. I wish, he said, that you would come at once to the point: we
claim your promise. The superiority of the ancients is not in
question. We want no proof of it. Upon that point my opinion is
decided. But the causes of our rapid decline from ancient excellence
remain to be unfolded. We know that you have turned your thoughts to
this subject, and we expected from you a calm disquisition, had not
the violent attack which Aper made upon your favourite orators, roused
your spirit, and, perhaps, given you some offence. Far from it,
replied Messala; he has given me no offence; nor must you, my friends,
take umbrage, if at any time a word should fall from me, not quite
agreeable to your way of thinking. We are engaged in a free enquiry,
and you know, that, in this kind of debate, the established law allows
every man to speak his mind without reserve. That is the law, replied
Maternus; you may proceed in perfect security. When you speak of the
ancients, speak of them with ancient freedom, which, I fear, is at a
lower ebb than even the genius of those eminent men.


XXVIII. Messala resumed his discourse: The causes of the decay of
eloquence are by no means difficult to be traced. They are, I believe,
well known to you, Maternus, and also to Secundus, not excepting my
friend Aper. It seems, however, that I am now, at your request, to
unravel the business. But there is no mystery in it. We know that
eloquence, with the rest of the polite arts, has lost its former
lustre: and yet, it is not a dearth of men, or a decay of talents,
that has produced this fatal effect. The true causes are, the
dissipation of our young men, the inattention of parents, the
ignorance of those who pretend to give instruction, and the total
neglect of ancient discipline. The mischief began at Rome, it has
over-run all Italy, and is now, with rapid strides, spreading through
the provinces. The effects, however, are more visible at home, and
therefore I shall confine myself to the reigning vices of the capital;
vices that wither every virtue in the bud, and continue their baleful
influence through every season of life.

But before I enter on the subject, it will not be useless to look back
to the system of education that prevailed in former times, and to the
strict discipline of our ancestors, in a point of so much moment as
the formation of youth. In the times to which I now refer, the son of
every family was the legitimate offspring of a virtuous mother. The
infant, as soon as born, was not consigned to the mean dwelling of a
hireling nurse [a], but was reared and cherished in the bosom of a
tender parent. To regulate all household affairs, and attend to her
infant race, was, at that time, the glory of the female character. A
matron, related to the family, and distinguished by the purity of her
life, was chosen to watch the progress of the tender mind. In her
presence not one indecent word was uttered; nothing was done against
propriety and good manners. The hours of study and serious employment
were settled by her direction; and not only so, but even the
diversions of the children were conducted with modest reserve and
sanctity of manners. Thus it was that Cornelia [b], the mother of the
Gracchi, superintended the education of her illustrious issue. It was
thus that Aurelia [c] trained up Julius Cæsar; and thus Atia [d]
formed the mind of Augustus. The consequence of this regular
discipline was, that the young mind grew up in innocence, unstained by
vice, unwarped by irregular passions, and, under that culture,
received the seeds of science. Whatever was the peculiar bias, whether
to the military art, the study of the laws, or the profession of
eloquence, that engrossed the whole attention, and the youth, thus
directed, embraced the entire compass of one favourite science.


XXIX. In the present age, what is our practice? The infant is
committed to a Greek chambermaid, and a slave or two, chosen for the
purpose, generally the worst of the whole household train; all utter
strangers to every liberal notion. In that worshipful society [a] the
youth grows up, imbibing folly and vulgar error. Throughout the house,
not one servant cares what he says or does [b] in the presence of his
young master: and indeed how should it be otherwise? The parents
themselves are the first to give their children the worst examples of
vice and luxury. The stripling consequently loses all sense of shame,
and soon forgets the respect he owes to others as well as to himself.
A passion for horses, players, and gladiators [c], seems to be the
epidemic folly of the times. The child receives it in his mother's
womb; he brings it with him into the world; and in a mind so
possessed, what room for science, or any generous purpose?

In our houses, at our tables, sports and interludes are the topics of
conversation. Enter the places of academical lectures, and who talks
of any other subject? The preceptors themselves have caught the
contagion. Nor can this be wondered at. To establish a strict and
regular discipline, and to succeed by giving proofs of their genius,
is not the plan of our modern rhetoricians. They pay their court to
the great, and, by servile adulation, increase the number of their
pupils. Need I mention the manner of conveying the first elements of
school learning? No care is taken to give the student a taste for the
best authors [d]; the page of history lies neglected; the study of men
and manners is no part of their system; and every branch of useful
knowledge is left uncultivated. A preceptor is called in, and
education is then thought to be in a fair way. But I shall have
occasion hereafter to speak more fully of that class of men, called
rhetoricians. It will then be seen, at what period that profession
first made its appearance at Rome, and what reception it met with from
our ancestors.


XXX. Before I proceed, let us advert for a moment to the plan of
ancient discipline. The unwearied diligence of the ancient orators,
their habits of meditation, and their daily exercise in the whole
circle of arts and sciences, are amply displayed in the books which
they have transmitted to us. The treatise of Cicero, entitled Brutus
[a], is in all our hands. In that work, after commemorating the
orators of a former day, he closes the account with the particulars of
his own progress in science, and the method he took in educating
himself to the profession of oratory. He studied the civil law under
[b] Mucius Scævola; he was instructed in the various systems of
philosophy, by Philo [c] of the academic school, and by Diodorus the
stoic; and though Rome, at that time, abounded with the best
professors, he made a voyage to Greece [d], and thence to Asia, in
order to enrich his mind with every branch of learning. Hence that
store of knowledge which appears in all his writings. Geometry, music,
grammar, and every useful art, were familiar to him. He embraced the
whole science of logic [e] and ethics. He studied the operations of
nature. His diligence of enquiry opened to him the long chain of
causes and effects, and, in short, the whole system of physiology was
his own. From a mind thus replenished, it is no wonder, my good
friends, that we see in the compositions of that extraordinary man
that affluence of ideas, and that prodigious flow of eloquence. In
fact, it is not with oratory as with the other arts, which are
confined to certain objects, and circumscribed within their own
peculiar limits. He alone deserves the name of an orator, who can
speak in a copious style, with ease or dignity, as the subject
requires; who can find language to decorate his argument; who through
the passions can command the understanding; and, while he serves
mankind, knows how to delight the judgement and the imagination of his
audience.


XXXI. Such was, in ancient times, the idea of an orator. To form that
illustrious character, it was not thought necessary to declaim in the
schools of rhetoricians [a], or to make a vain parade in fictitious
controversies, which were not only void of all reality, but even of a
shadow of probability. Our ancestors pursued a different plan: they
stored their minds with just ideas of moral good and evil; with the
rules of right and wrong, and the fair and foul in human transactions.
These, on every controverted point, are the orator's province. In
courts of law, just and unjust undergo his discussion; in political
debate, between what is expedient and honourable, it is his to draw
the line; and those questions are so blended in their nature, that
they enter into every cause. On such important topics, who can hope to
bring variety of matter, and to dignify that matter with style and
sentiment, if he has not, beforehand, enlarged his mind with the
knowledge of human nature? with the laws of moral obligation? the
deformity of vice, the beauty of virtue, and other points which do not
immediately belong to the theory of ethics?

The orator, who has enriched his mind with these materials, may be
truly said to have acquired the powers of persuasion. He who knows the
nature of indignation, will be able to kindle or allay that passion in
the breast of the judge; and the advocate who has considered the
effect of compassion, and from what secret springs it flows, will best
know how to soften the mind, and melt it into tenderness. It is by
these secrets of his art that the orator gains his influence. Whether
he has to do with the prejudiced, the angry, the envious, the
melancholy, or the timid, he can bridle their various passions, and
hold the reins in his own hand. According to the disposition of his
audience, he will know when to check the workings of the heart, and
when to raise them to their full tumult of emotion.

Some critics are chiefly pleased with that close mode of oratory,
which in a laconic manner states the facts, and forms an immediate
conclusion: in that case, it is obvious how necessary it is to be a
complete master of the rules of logic. Others delight in a more open,
free, and copious style, where the arguments are drawn from topics of
general knowledge; for this purpose, the peripatetic school [b] will
supply the orator with ample materials. The academic philosopher [c]
will inspire him with warmth and energy; Plato will give the sublime,
and Xenophon that equal flow which charms us in that amiable writer.
The rhetorical figure, which is called exclamation, so frequent with
Epicurus [d] and Metrodorus, will add to a discourse those sudden
breaks of passion, which give motion, strength, and vehemence.

It is not for the stoic school, nor for their imaginary wise man, that
I am laying down rules. I am forming an orator, whose business it is,
not to adhere to one sect, but to go the round of all the arts and
sciences. Accordingly we find, that the great master of ancient
eloquence laid their foundation in a thorough study of the civil law,
and to that fund they added grammar, music, and geometry. The fact is,
in most of the causes that occur, perhaps in every cause, a due
knowledge of the whole system of jurisprudence is an indispensable
requisite. There are likewise many subjects of litigation, in which an
acquaintance with other sciences is of the highest use.


XXXII. Am I to be told, that to gain some slight information on
particular subjects, as occasion may require, will sufficiently answer
the purposes of an orator? In answer to this, let it be observed, that
the application of what we draw from our own fund, is very different
from the use we make of what we borrow. Whether we speak from digested
knowledge, or the mere suggestion of others, the effect is soon
perceived. Add to this, that conflux of ideas with which the different
sciences enrich the mind, gives an air of dignity to whatever we say,
even in cases where that depth of knowledge is not required. Science
adorns the speaker at all times, and, where it is least expected,
confers a grace that charms every hearer; the man of erudition feels
it, and the unlettered part of the audience acknowledge the effect
without knowing the cause. A murmur of applause ensues; the speaker is
allowed to have laid in a store of knowledge; he possesses all the
powers of persuasion, and then is called an orator indeed.

I take the liberty to add, if we aspire to that honourable
appellation, that there is no way but that which I have chalked out.
No man was ever yet a complete orator, and, I affirm, never can be,
unless, like the soldier marching to the field of battle, he enters
the forum armed at all points with the sciences and the liberal arts.
Is that the case in these our modern times? The style which we hear
every day, abounds with colloquial barbarisms, and vulgar phraseology:
no knowledge of the laws is heard; our municipal policy is wholly
neglected, and even the decrees of the senate are treated with
contempt and derision. Moral philosophy is discarded, and the maxims
of ancient wisdom are unworthy of their notice. In this manner,
eloquence is dethroned; she is banished from her rightful dominions,
and obliged to dwell in the cold regions of antithesis, forced
conceit, and pointed sentences. The consequence is, that she, who was
once the sovereign mistress of the sciences, and led them as handmaids
in her train, is now deprived of her attendants, reduced,
impoverished, and, stripped of her usual honours (I might say of her
genius), compelled to exercise a mere plebeian art.

And now, my friends, I think I have laid open the efficient cause of
the decline of eloquence. Need I call witnesses to support my opinion?
I name Demosthenes among the Greeks. He, we are assured, constantly
attended [a] the lectures of Plato. I name Cicero among the Romans: he
tells us (I believe I can repeat his words), that if he attained any
degree of excellence, he owed it, not so much to the precepts of
rhetoricians, as to his meditations in the walks of the academic
school. I am aware that other causes of our present degeneracy may be
added; but that task I leave to my friends, since I now may flatter
myself that I have performed my promise. In doing it, I fear, that, as
often happens to me, I have incurred the danger of giving offence.
Were a certain class of men to hear the principles which I have
advanced in favour of legal knowledge and sound philosophy, I should
expect to be told that I have been all the time commending my own
visionary schemes.


XXXIII. You will excuse me, replied Maternus, if I take the liberty to
say that you have by no means finished your part of our enquiry. You
seem to have spread your canvas, and to have touched the outlines of
your plan; but there are other parts that still require the colouring
of so masterly a hand. The stores of knowledge, with which the
ancients enlarged their minds, you have fairly explained, and, in
contrast to that pleasing picture, you have given us a true draught of
modern ignorance. But we now wish to know, what were the exercises,
and what the discipline, by which the youth of former times prepared
themselves for the honours of their profession. It will not, I
believe, be contended, that theory, and systems of art, are of
themselves sufficient to form a genuine orator. It is by practice, and
by constant exertion, that the faculty of speech improves, till the
genius of the man expands, and flourishes in its full vigour. This, I
think, you will not deny, and my two friends, if I may judge by their
looks, seem to give their assent. Aper and Secundus agreed without
hesitation.

Messala proceeded as follows: Having, as I conceive, shewn the
seed-plots of ancient eloquence, and the fountains of science, from
which they drew such copious streams; it remains now to give some idea
of the labour, the assiduity, and the exercises, by which they trained
themselves to their profession. I need not observe, that in the
pursuit of science, method and constant exercise are indispensable:
for who can hope, without regular attention, to master abstract
schemes of philosophy, and embrace the whole compass of the sciences?
Knowledge must be grafted in the mind by frequent meditation [a]; to
that must be added the faculty of conveying our ideas; and, to make
sure of our impression, we must be able to adorn our thoughts with the
colours of true eloquence. Hence it is evident that the same arts, by
which the mind lays in its stock of knowledge, must be still pursued,
in order to attain a clear and graceful manner of conveying that
knowledge to others. This may be thought refined and too abstruse. If,
however, we are still to be told that science and elocution are things
in themselves distinct and unrelated; this, at least, may be assumed,
that he, who, with a fund of previous knowledge, undertakes the
province of oratory, will bring with him a mind well seasoned, and
duly prepared for the study and exercise of real eloquence.


XXXIV. The practice of our ancestors was agreeable to this theory. The
youth, who was intended for public declamation, went forth, under the
care of his father, or some near relation, with all the advantages of
home-discipline; his mind was expanded by the fine arts, and
impregnated with science.
He was conducted to the most eminent orator
of the time. Under that illustrious patronage he visited the forum; he
attended his patron upon all occasions; he listened with attention to
his pleadings in the tribunals of justice, and his public harangues
before the people; he heard him in the warmth of argument; he noted
his sudden replies, and thus, in the field of battle, if I may so
express myself, he learned the first rudiments of rhetorical warfare.
The advantages of this method are obvious: the young candidate gained
courage, and improved his judgement; he studied in open day, amidst
the heat of the conflict, where nothing weak or idle could be said
with impunity; where every thing absurd was instantly rebuked by the
judge, exposed to ridicule by the adversary, and condemned by the
whole bar.

In this manner the student was initiated in the rules of sound and
manly eloquence; and, though it be true, that he placed himself under
the auspices of one orator only, he heard the rest in their turn, and
in that diversity of tastes which always prevails in mixed assemblies,
he was enabled to distinguish what was excellent or defective in the
kind. The orator in actual business was the best preceptor: the
instructions which he gave, were living eloquence, the substance, and
not the shadow. He was himself a real combatant, engaged with a
zealous antagonist, both in earnest, and not like gladiators, in a
mock contest, fighting for prizes. It was a struggle for victory,
before an audience always changing, yet always full; where the speaker
had his enemies as well as his admirers; and between both, what was
brilliant met with applause; what was defective, was sure to be
condemned. In this clash of opinions, the genuine orator flourished,
and acquired that lasting fame, which, we all know, does not depend on
the voice of friends only, but must rebound from the benches filled
with your enemies. Extorted applause is the best suffrage.

In that school, the youth of expectation, such as I have delineated,
was reared and educated by the most eminent genius of the times. In
the forum, he was enlightened by the experience of others; he was
instructed in the knowledge of the laws, accustomed to the eye of the
judges, habituated to the looks of a numerous audience, and acquainted
with the popular taste. After this preparation, he was called forth to
conduct a prosecution, or to take upon himself the whole weight of the
defence. The fruit of his application was then seen at once. He was
equal, in his first outset, to the most arduous business. Thus it was
that Crassus, at the age of nineteen [a], stood forth the accuser of
Papirius Carbo: thus Julius Cæsar, at one and twenty, arraigned
Dolabella; Asinius Pollio, about the same age, attacked Caius Cato;
and Calvus, but a little older, flamed out against Vatinius. Their
several speeches are still extant, and we all read them with
admiration.


XXXV. In opposition to this system of education, what is our modern
practice? Our young men are led [a] to academical prolusions in the
school of vain professors, who call themselves rhetoricians; a race of
impostors, who made their first appearance at Rome, not long before
the days of Cicero. That they were unwelcome visitors, is evident from
the circumstance of their being silenced by the two censors [b],
Crassus and Domitius. They were ordered, says Cicero, to shut up their
school of impudence. Those scenes, however, are open at present, and
there our young students listen to mountebank oratory. I am at a loss
how to determine which is most fatal to all true genius, the place
itself, the company that frequent it, or the plan of study universally
adopted. Can the place impress the mind with awe and respect, where
none are ever seen but the raw, the unskilful, and the ignorant? In
such an assembly what advantage can arise? Boys harangue before boys,
and young men exhibit before their fellows. The speaker is pleased
with his declamation, and the hearer with his judgement. The very
subjects on which they display their talents, tend to no useful
purpose. They are of two sorts, persuasive or controversial. The
first, supposed to be of the lighter kind, are usually assigned to the
youngest scholars: the last are reserved for students of longer
practice and riper judgement. But, gracious powers! what are the
compositions produced on these occasions?

The subject is remote from truth, and even probability, unlike any
thing that ever happened in human life: and no wonder if the
superstructure perfectly agrees with the foundation. It is to these
scenic exercises that we owe a number of frivolous topics, such as the
reward due to the slayer of a tyrant; the election to be made by [c]
violated virgins; the rites and ceremonies proper to be used during a
raging pestilence; the loose behaviour of married women; with other
fictitious subjects, hackneyed in the schools, and seldom or never
heard of in our courts of justice. These imaginary questions are
treated with gaudy flourishes, and all the tumor of unnatural
language. But after all this mighty parade, call these striplings from
their schools of rhetoric, into the presence of the judges, and to the
real business of the bar [d]:


1. What figure will they make before that solemn judicature? Trained
up in chimerical exercises, strangers to the municipal laws,
unacquainted with the principles of natural justice and the rights of
nations, they will bring with them that false taste which they have
been for years acquiring, but nothing worthy of the public ear,
nothing useful to their clients. They have succeeded in nothing but
the art of making themselves ridiculous. The peculiar quality of the
teacher [a], whatever it be, is sure to transfuse itself into the
performance of the pupil. Is the master haughty, fierce, and arrogant;
the scholar swells with confidence; his eye threatens prodigious
things, and his harangue is an ostentatious display of the
common-places of school oratory, dressed up with dazzling splendour,
and thundered forth with emphasis. On the other hand, does the master
value himself for the delicacy of his taste, for the foppery of
glittering conceits and tinsel ornament; the youth who has been
educated under him, sets out with the same artificial prettiness, the
same foppery of style and manner. A simper plays on his countenance;
his elocution is soft and delicate; his action pathetic; his sentences
entangled in a maze of sweet perplexity; he plays off the whole of his
theatrical skill, and hopes to elevate and surprise.


2. This love of finery, this ambition to shine and glitter, has
destroyed all true eloquence. Oratory is not the child of hireling
teachers; it springs from another source, from a love of liberty, from
a mind replete with moral science, and a thorough knowledge of the
laws; from a due respect for the best examples, from profound
meditation [a], and a style formed by constant practice. While these
were thought essential requisites, eloquence flourished. But the true
beauties of language fell into disuse, and oratory went to ruin. The
spirit evaporated; I fear, to revive no more. I wish I may prove a
false prophet, but we know the progress of art in every age and
country. Rude at first, it rises from low beginnings, and goes on
improving, till it reaches the highest perfection in the kind. But at
that point it is never stationary: it soon declines, and from the
corruption of what is good, it is not in the nature of man, nor in the
power of human faculties, to rise again to the same degree of
excellence.


3. Messala closed with a degree of vehemence, and then turning to
Maternus and Secundus [a], It is yours, he said, to pursue this train
of argument; or if any cause of the decay of eloquence lies still
deeper, you will oblige us by bringing it to light. Maternus, I
presume, will find no difficulty: a poetic genius holds commerce with
the gods, and to him nothing will remain a secret. As for Secundus, he
has been long a shining ornament of the forum, and by his own
experience knows how to distinguish genuine eloquence from the corrupt
and vicious. Maternus heard this sally of his friend's good humour
with a smile. The task, he said, which you have imposed upon us, we
will endeavour to execute. But though I am the interpreter of the
gods, I must notwithstanding request that Secundus may take the lead.
He is master of the subject, and, in questions of this kind,
experience is better than inspiration.


4. Secundus [a] complied with his friend's request. I yield, he said,
the more willingly, as I shall hazard no new opinion, but rather
confirm what has been urged by Messala. It is certain, that, as
painters are formed by painters, and poets by the example of poets, so
the young orator must learn his art from orators only. In the schools
of rhetoricians [b], who think themselves the fountain-head of
eloquence, every thing is false and vitiated. The true principles of
the persuasive art are never known to the professor, or if at any time
there may be found a preceptor of superior genius, can it be expected
that he shall be able to transfuse into the mind of his pupil all his
own conceptions, pure, unmixed, and free from error? The sensibility
of the master, since we have allowed him genius, will be an
impediment: the uniformity of the same dull tedious round will give
him disgust, and the student will turn from it with aversion. And yet
I am inclined to think, that the decay of eloquence would not have
been so rapid, if other causes, more fatal than the corruption of the
schools, had not co-operated. When the worst models became the objects
of imitation, and not only the young men of the age, but even the
whole body of the people, admired the new way of speaking, eloquence
fell at once into that state of degeneracy, from which nothing can
recover it. We, who came afterwards, found ourselves in a hopeless
situation: we were driven to wretched expedients, to forced conceits,
and the glitter of frivolous sentences; we were obliged to hunt after
wit, when we could be no longer eloquent. By what pernicious examples
this was accomplished, has been explained by our friend Messala.


5. We are none of us strangers to those unhappy times, when Rome,
grown weary of her vast renown in arms, began to think of striking
into new paths of fame, no longer willing to depend on the glory of
our ancestors. The whole power of the state was centred in a single
ruler, and by the policy of the prince, men were taught to think no
more of ancient honour. Invention was on the stretch for novelty, and
all looked for something better than perfection; something rare,
far-fetched, and exquisite. New modes of pleasure were devised. In
that period of luxury and dissipation, when the rage for new
inventions was grown epidemic, Seneca arose. His talents were of a
peculiar sort, acute, refined and polished; but polished to a degree
that made him prefer affectation and wit to truth and nature. The
predominance of his genius was great, and, by consequence, he gave the
mortal stab to all true eloquence [a]. When I say this, let me not be
suspected of that low malignity which would tarnish the fame of a
great character. I admire the man, and the philosopher. The undaunted
firmness with which he braved the tyrant's frown, will do immortal
honour to his memory. But the fact is (and why should I disguise it? ),
the virtues of the writer have undone his country.


6. To bring about this unhappy revolution, no man was so eminently
qualified [a]. His understanding was large and comprehensive; his
genius rich and powerful; his way of thinking ingenious, elegant, and
even charming. His researches in moral philosophy excited the
admiration of all; and moral philosophy is never so highly praised, as
when the manners are in a state of degeneracy. Seneca knew the taste
of the times. He had the art to gratify the public ear. His style is
neat, yet animated; concise, yet clear; familiar, yet seldom
inelegant. Free from redundancy, his periods are often abrupt, but
they surprise by their vivacity. He shines in pointed sentences; and
that unceasing persecution of vice, which is kept up with uncommon
ardour, spreads a lustre over all his writings. His brilliant style
charmed by its novelty. Every page sparkles with wit, with gay
allusions, and sentiments of virtue. No wonder that the graceful ease,
and sometimes the dignity of his expression, made their way into the
forum. What pleased universally, soon found a number of imitators. Add
to this the advantages of rank and honours. He mixed in the splendour,
and perhaps in the vices, of the court. The resentment of Caligula,
and the acts of oppression which soon after followed, served only to
adorn his name. To crown all, Nero was his pupil, and his murderer.
Hence the character and genius of the man rose to the highest
eminence. What was admired, was imitated, and true oratory was heard
no more. The love of novelty prevailed, and for the dignified
simplicity of ancient eloquence no taste remained. The art itself, and
all its necessary discipline, became ridiculous. In that black period,
when vice triumphed at large, and virtue had every thing to fear, the
temper of the times was propitious to the corruptors of taste and
liberal science. The dignity of composition was no longer of use. It
had no power to stop the torrent of vice which deluged the city of
Rome, and virtue found it a feeble protection. In such a conjuncture
it was not safe to speak the sentiments of the heart. To be obscure,
abrupt, and dark, was the best expedient. Then it was that the
affected sententious brevity came into vogue. To speak concisely, and
with an air of precipitation, was the general practice. To work the
ruin of a person accused, a single sentence, or a splendid phrase, was
sufficient. Men defended themselves in a short brilliant expression;
and if that did not protect them, they died with a lively apophthegm,
and their last words were wit. This was the fashion introduced by
Seneca. The peculiar, but agreeable vices of his style, wrought the
downfall of eloquence. The solid was exchanged for the brilliant, and
they, who ceased to be orators, studied to be ingenious.


7. Of late, indeed, we have seen the dawn of better times. In the
course of the last six years Vespasian has revived our hopes [a]. The
friend of regular manners, and the encourager of ancient virtue, by
which Rome was raised to the highest pinnacle of glory, he has
restored the public peace, and with it the blessings of liberty. Under
his propitious influence, the arts and sciences begin once more to
flourish, and genius has been honoured with his munificence. The
example of his sons [b] has helped to kindle a spirit of emulation. We
beheld, with pleasure, the two princes adding to the dignity of their
rank, and their fame in arms, all the grace and elegance of polite
literature. But it is fatally true, that when the public taste is once
corrupted, the mind which has been warped, seldom recovers its former
tone. This difficulty was rendered still more insurmountable by the
licentious spirit of our young men, and the popular applause, that
encouraged the false taste of the times. I need not, in this company,
call to mind the unbridled presumption, with which, as soon as genuine
eloquence expired, the young men of the age took possession of the
forum. Of modest worth and ancient manners nothing remained. We know
that in former times the youthful candidate was introduced in the
forum by a person of consular rank [c], and by him set forward in his
road to fame. That laudable custom being at an end, all fences were
thrown down: no sense of shame remained, no respect for the tribunals
of justice. The aspiring genius wanted no patronage; he scorned the
usual forms of a regular introduction; and, with full confidence in
his own powers, he obtruded himself on the court. Neither the
solemnity of the place, nor the sanctity of laws, nor the importance
of the oratorical character, could restrain the impetuosity of young
ambition. Unconscious of the importance of the undertaking, and less
sensible of his own incapacity, the bold adventurer rushed at once
into the most arduous business. Arrogance supplied the place of
talents.


8. To oppose the torrent, that bore down every thing, the danger of
losing all fair and honest fame was the only circumstance that could
afford a ray of hope. But even that slender fence was soon removed by
the arts of [a] Largius Licinius. He was the first that opened a new
road to ambition. He intrigued for fame, and filled the benches with
an audience suborned to applaud his declamations. He had his circle
round him, and shouts of approbation followed. It was upon that
occasion that Domitius Afer [b] emphatically said, Eloquence is now at
the last gasp. It had, indeed, at that time shewn manifest symptoms of
decay, but its total ruin may be dated from the introduction of a
mercenary band [c] to flatter and applaud. If we except a chosen few,
whose superior genius has not as yet been seduced from truth and
nature, the rest are followed by their partisans, like actors on the
stage, subsisting altogether on the bought suffrages of mean and
prostitute hirelings. Nor is this sordid traffic carried on with
secrecy: we see the bargain made in the face of the court; the bribe
is distributed with as little ceremony as if they were in a private
party at the orator's own house. Having sold their voices, this venal
crew rush forward from one tribunal to another, the distributors of
fame, and the sole judges of literary merit. The practice is, no
doubt, disgraceful. To brand it with infamy, two new terms have been
invented [d], one in the Greek language, importing the venders of
praise, and the other in the Latin idiom, signifying the parasites who
sell their applause for a supper. But sarcastic expressions have not
been able to cure the mischief: the applauders by profession have
taken courage, and the name, which was intended as a stroke of
ridicule, is now become an honourable appellation.


9. This infamous practice rages at present with increasing violence.
The party no longer consists of freeborn citizens; our very slaves are
hired. Even before they arrive at full age, we see them distributing
the rewards of eloquence. Without attending to what is said, and
without sense enough to understand, they are sure to crowd the courts
of justice, whenever a raw young man, stung with the love of fame, but
without talents to deserve it, obtrudes himself in the character of an
advocate. The hall resounds with acclamations, or rather with a kind
of bellowing; for I know not by what term to express that savage
uproar, which would disgrace a theatre.

Upon the whole, when I consider these infamous practices, which have
brought so much dishonour upon a liberal profession, I am far from
wondering that you, Maternus, judged it time to sound your retreat.
When you could no longer attend with honour, you did well, my friend,
to devote yourself entirely to the muses. And now, since you are to
close the debate, permit me to request, that, besides unfolding the
causes of corrupt eloquence, you will fairly tell us, whether you
entertain any hopes of better times, and, if you do, by what means a
reformation may be accomplished.


10. It is true [a], said Maternus, that seeing the forum deluged by an
inundation of vices, I was glad, as my friend expressed it, to sound
my retreat. I saw corruption rushing on with hasty strides, too
shameful to be defended, and too powerful to be resisted. And yet,
though urged by all those motives, I should hardly have renounced the
business of the bar, if the bias of my nature had not inclined me to
other studies. I balanced, however, for some time. It was, at first,
my fixed resolution to stand to the last a poor remnant of that
integrity and manly eloquence, which still lingered at the bar, and
shewed some signs of life. It was my intention to emulate, not,
indeed, with equal powers, but certainly with equal firmness, the
bright models of ancient times, and, in that course of practice, to
defend the fortunes, the dignity, and the innocence of my
fellow-citizens. But the strong impulse of inclination was not to be
resisted. I laid down my arms, and deserted to the safe and tranquil
camp of the muses. But though a deserter, I have not quite forgot the
service in which I was enlisted. I honour the professors of real
eloquence, and that sentiment, I hope, will be always warm in my
heart.


11. In my solitary walks, and moments of meditation, it often happens,
that I fall into a train of thinking on the flourishing state of
ancient eloquence, and the abject condition to which it is reduced in
modern times. The result of my reflections I shall venture to unfold,
not with a spirit of controversy, nor yet dogmatically to enforce my
own opinion. I may differ in some points, but from a collision of
sentiments it is possible that some new light may be struck out. My
friend Aper will, therefore, excuse me, if I do not, with him, prefer
the false glitter of the moderns to the solid vigour of ancient
genius. At the same time, it is not my intention to disparage his
friends. Messala too, whom you, Secundus, have closely followed, will
forgive me, if I do not, in every thing, coincide with his opinion.
The vices of the forum, which you have both, as becomes men of
integrity, attacked with vehemence, will not have me for their
apologist. But still I may be allowed to ask, have not you been too
much exasperated against the rhetoricians?

I will not say in their favour, that I think them equal to the task of
reviving the honours of eloquence; but I have known among them, men of
unblemished morals, of regular discipline, great erudition, and
talents every way fit to form the minds of youth to a just taste for
science and the persuasive arts. In this number one in particular [a]
has lately shone forth with superior lustre. From his abilities, all
that is in the power of man may fairly be expected. A genius like his
would have been the ornament of better times. Posterity will admire
and honour him. And yet I would not have Secundus amuse himself with
ill-grounded hopes: neither the learning of that most excellent man,
nor the industry of such as may follow him, will be able to promote
the interests of Eloquence, or to establish her former glory. It is a
lost cause. Before the vices, which have been so ably described, had
spread a general infection, all true oratory was at an end. The
revolutions in our government, and the violence of the times, began
the mischief, and, in the end, gave the fatal blow.


12. Nor are we to wonder at this event. In the course of human affairs
there is no stability, nothing secure or permanent. It is with our
minds as with our bodies: the latter, as soon as they have attained
their full growth, and seem to flourish in the vigour of health,
begin, from that moment, to feel the gradual approaches of decay. Our
intellectual powers proceed in the same manner; they gain strength by
degrees, they arrive at maturity, and, when they can no longer
improve, they languish, droop, and fade away. This is the law of
nature, to which every age, and every nation, of which we have any
historical records, have been obliged to submit. There is besides
another general law, hard perhaps, but wonderfully ordained, and it is
this: nature, whose operations are always simple and uniform, never
suffers in any age or country, more than one great example of
perfection in the kind [a]. This was the case in Greece, that prolific
parent of genius and of science. She had but one Homer, one Plato, one
Demosthenes. The same has happened at Rome: Virgil stands at the head
of his art, and Cicero is still unrivalled. During a space of seven
hundred years our ancestors were struggling to reach the summit of
perfection: Cicero at length arose; he thundered forth his immortal
energy, and nature was satisfied with the wonder she had made. The
force of genius could go no further. A new road to fame was to be
found. We aimed at wit, and gay conceit, and glittering sentences. The
change, indeed, was great; but it naturally followed the new form of
government.