No More Learning

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


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

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


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

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

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


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

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

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


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


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

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


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


13. We find that the discourse of men always conforms to the temper of
the times. Among savage nations [a] language is never copious. A few
words serve the purpose of barbarians, and those are always uncouth
and harsh, without the artifice of connection; short, abrupt, and
nervous. In a state of polished society, where a single ruler sways
the sceptre, the powers of the mind take a softer tone, and language
grows more refined. But affectation follows, and precision gives way
to delicacy. The just and natural expression is no longer the fashion.
Living in ease and luxury, men look for elegance, and hope by novelty
to give a grace to adulation. In other nations, where the first
principles of the civil union are maintained in vigour; where the
people live under the government of laws, and not the will of man;
where the spirit of liberty pervades all ranks and orders of the
state; where every individual holds himself bound, at the hazard of
his life, to defend the constitution framed by his ancestors; where,
without being guilty of an impious crime, no man dares to violate the
rights of the whole community; in such a state, the national eloquence
will be prompt, bold, and animated. Should internal dissensions shake
the public peace, or foreign enemies threaten to invade the land,
Eloquence comes forth arrayed in terror; she wields her thunder, and
commands all hearts. It is true, that upon those occasions men of
ambition endeavour, for their own purposes, to spread the flame of
sedition; while the good and virtuous combine their force to quell the
turbulent, and repel the menaces of a foreign enemy. Liberty gains new
strength by the conflict, and the true patriot has the glory of
serving his country, distinguished by his valour in the field, and in
debate no less terrible by his eloquence.


14. Hence it is that in free governments we see a constellation of
orators. Hence Demosthenes displayed the powers of his amazing genius,
and acquired immortal honour. He saw a quick and lively people,
dissolved in luxury, open to the seductions of wealth, and ready to
submit to a master; he saw a great and warlike monarch threatening
destruction to the liberties of his country; he saw that prince at the
head of powerful armies, renowned for victory, possessed of an opulent
treasury, formidable in battle, and, by his secret arts, still more so
in the cabinet; he saw that king, inflamed by ambition and the lust of
dominion, determined to destroy the liberties of Greece. It was that
alarming crisis that called forth the powers of Demosthenes. Armed
with eloquence, and with eloquence only, he stood as a bulwark against
a combination of enemies foreign and domestic. He roused his
countrymen from their lethargy: he kindled the holy flame of liberty;
he counteracted the machinations of Philip, detected his clandestine
frauds, and fired the men of Athens with indignation. To effect these
generous purposes, and defeat the policy of a subtle enemy, what
powers of mind were necessary! how vast, how copious, how sublime! He
thundered and lightened in his discourse; he faced every danger with
undaunted resolution. Difficulties served only to inspire him with new
ardour. The love of his country glowed in his heart; liberty roused
all his powers, and Fame held forth her immortal wreath to reward his
labours. These were the fine incentives that roused his genius, and no
wonder that his mind expanded with vast conceptions. He thought for
his country, and, by consequence, every sentiment was sublime; every
expression was grand and magnificent.


XXXVI. The true spirit of genuine eloquence [a], like an intense fire,
is kept alive by fresh materials: every new commotion gives it vigour,
and in proportion as it burns, it expands and brightens to a purer
flame. The same causes at Rome produced the same effect. Tempestuous
times called forth the genius of our ancestors. The moderns, it is
true, have taken fire, and rose above themselves, as often as a quiet,
settled, and uniform government gave a fair opportunity; but
eloquence, it is certain, flourishes most under a bold and turbulent
democracy, where the ambitious citizen, who best can mould to his
purposes a fierce and contentious multitude, is sure to be the idol of
the people. In the conflict of parties, that kept our ancestors in
agitation, laws were multiplied; the leading chiefs were the favourite
demagogues; the magistrates were often engaged in midnight debate;
eminent citizens were brought to a public trial; families were set at
variance; the nobles were split into factions, and the senate waged
incessant war against the people. Hence that flame of eloquence which
blazed out under the republican government, and hence that constant
fuel that kept the flame alive.

The state, it is true, was often thrown into convulsions: but talents
were exercised, and genius opened the way to public honours. He who
possessed the powers of persuasion, rose to eminence, and by the arts
which gave him popularity, he was sure to eclipse his colleagues. He
strengthened his interest with the leading men, and gained weight and
influence not only in the senate, but in all assemblies of the people.
Foreign nations [b] courted his friendship. The magistrates, setting
out for their provinces, made it their business to ingratiate
themselves with the popular speaker, and, at their return, took care
to renew their homage. The powerful orator had no occasion to solicit
for preferment: the offices of prætor and consul stood open to receive
him. He was invited to those exalted stations. Even in the rank of a
private citizen he had a considerable share of power, since his
authority swayed at once the senate and the people. It was in those
days a settled maxim, that no man could either rise to dignities, or
support himself in office, without possessing, in an eminent degree, a
power of words, and dignity of language.

Nor can this be a matter of wonder, when we recollect, that persons of
distinguished genius were, on various occasions, called forth by the
voice of the people, and in their presence obliged to act an important
part. Eloquence was the ruling passion of all. The reason is, it was
not then sufficient merely to vote in the senate; it was necessary to
support that vote with strength of reasoning, and a flow of language.
Moreover, in all prosecutions, the party accused was expected to make
his defence in person, and to examine the witnesses [c], who at that
time were not allowed to speak in written depositions, but were
obliged to give their testimony in open court. In this manner,
necessity, no less than the temptation of bright rewards, conspired to
make men cultivate the arts of oratory. He who was known to possess
the powers of speech, was held in the highest veneration. The mute and
silent character fell into contempt. The dread of shame was a motive
not less powerful than the ambition that aimed at honours. To sink
into the humiliating rank of a client, instead of maintaining the
dignity of a patron, was a degrading thought. Men were unwilling to
see the followers of their ancestors transferred to other families for
protection. Above all, they dreaded the disgrace of being thought
unworthy of civil honours; and, if by intrigue they attained their
wishes, the fear of being despised for incapacity was a spur to
quicken their ardour in the pursuit of literary fame and commanding
eloquence.


XXXVII. I do not know whether you have as yet seen the historical
memoirs which Mucianus [a] has collected, and lately published,
containing, in eleven volumes, the transactions of the times, and, in
three more, the letters of eminent men who figured on the stage of
public business. This portion of history is well authenticated by the
original papers, still extant in the libraries of the curious. From
this valuable collection it appears, that Pompey and Crassus [b] owed
their elevation as much to their talents as to their fame in arms; and
that Lentulus [c], Metellus, Lucullus, Curio, and others of that
class, took care to enlarge their minds, and distinguish themselves by
their powers of speech. To say all in one word, no man, in those
times, rose to eminence in the state, who had not given proof of his
genius in the forum and the tribunals of justice.

To this it may be added, that the importance, the splendour, and
magnitude of the questions discussed in that period, served to animate
the public orator. The subject, beyond all doubt, lifts the mind above
itself: it gives vigour to sentiment, and energy to expression. Let
the topic be a paltry theft, a dry form of pleading, or a petty
misdemeanor; will not the orator feel himself cramped and chilled by
the meanness of the question? Give him a cause of magnitude, such as
bribery in the election of magistrates, a charge for plundering the
allies of Rome, or the murder of Roman citizens, how different then
his emotions! how sublime each sentiment! what dignity of language!
The effect, it must be admitted, springs from the disasters of
society. It is true, that form of government, in which no such evils
occur, must, beyond all question, be allowed to be the best; but
since, in the course of human affairs, sudden convulsions must happen,
my position is, that they produced, at Rome, that flame of eloquence
which at this hour is so much admired. The mind of the orator grows
and expands with his subject. Without ample materials no splendid
oration was ever yet produced. Demosthenes, I believe, did not owe his
vast reputation to the speeches which he made against his guardians
[d]; nor was it either the oration in defence of Quinctius, or that
for Archias the poet, that established the character of Cicero. It was
Catiline, it was Verres, it was Milo and Mark Antony, that spread so
much glory round him.

Let me not be misunderstood: I do not say, that for the sake of
hearing a bright display of eloquence, it is fit that the public peace
should be disturbed by the machinations of turbulent and lawless men.
But, not to lose sight of the question before us, let it be
remembered, that we are enquiring about an art which thrives and
flourishes most in tempestuous times. It were, no doubt, better that
the public should enjoy the sweets of peace, than be harassed by the
calamities of war: but still it is war that produces the soldier and
great commander. It is the same with Eloquence. The oftener she is
obliged, if I may so express it, to take the field, the more frequent
the engagement, in which she gives and receives alternate wounds, and
the more formidable her adversary; the more she rises in pomp and
grandeur, and returns from the warfare of the forum crowned with
unfading laurels. He, who encounters danger, is ever sure to win the
suffrages of mankind. For such is the nature of the human mind, that,
in general, we choose a state of security for ourselves, but never
fail to gaze with admiration on the man, whom we see, in the conflict
of parties, facing his adversaries, and surmounting difficulties.


XXXVIII. I proceed to another advantage of the ancient forum; I mean
the form of proceeding and the rules of practice observed in those
days. Our modern custom is, I grant, more conducive to truth and
justice; but that of former times gave to eloquence a free career,
and, by consequence, greater weight and splendour. The advocate was
not, as now, confined to a few hours [a]; he might adjourn as often as
it suited his convenience; he might expatiate, as his genius prompted
him: and the number of days, like that of the several patrons, was
unlimited. Pompey was the first who circumscribed the genius of men
within narrower limits [b]. In his third consulship he gave a check to
eloquence, and, as it were, bridled its spirit, but still left all
causes to be tried according to law in the forum, and before the
prætors. The importance of the business, which was decided in that
court of justice, will be evident, if we compare it with the
transactions before the centumvirs [c], who at present have cognizance
of all matters whatever. We have not so much as one oration of Cicero
or Cæsar, of Brutus, Cælius, or Calvus, or any other person famous for
his eloquence, which was delivered before the last-mentioned
jurisdiction, excepting only the speeches of Asinius Pollio [d] for
the heirs of Urbinia. But those speeches were delivered about the
middle of the reign of Augustus, when, after a long peace with foreign
nations, and a profound tranquillity at home, that wise and politic
prince had conquered all opposition, and not only triumphed over party
and faction, but subdued eloquence itself.


XXXIX. What I am going to say will appear, perhaps, too minute; it may
border on the ridiculous, and excite your mirth: with all my heart; I
will hazard it for that very reason. The dress now in use at the bar
has an air of meanness: the speaker is confined in a close robe [a],
and loses all the grace of action. The very courts of judicature are
another objection; all causes are heard, at present, in little narrow
rooms, where spirit and strenuous exertion are unnecessary. The
orator, like a generous steed, requires liberty and ample space:
before a scanty tribunal his spirit droops, and the dullness of the
scene damps the powers of genius. Add to this, we pay no attention to
style; and indeed how should we? No time is allowed for the beauties
of composition: the judge calls upon you to begin, and you must obey,
liable, at the same time, to frequent interruptions, while documents
are read, and witnesses examined.

During all this formality, what kind of an audience has the orator to
invigorate his faculties? Two or three stragglers drop in by chance,
and to them the whole business seems to be transacted in solitude. But
the orator requires a different scene. He delights in clamour, tumult,
and bursts of applause. Eloquence must have her theatre, as was the
case in ancient times, when the forum was crowded with the first men
in Rome; when a numerous train of clients pressed forward with eager
expectation; when the people, in their several tribes; when
ambassadors from the colonies, and a great part of Italy; attended to
hear the debate; in short, when all Rome was interested in the event.
We know that in the cases of Cornelius, Scaurus, Milo, Bestia, and
Vatinius, the concourse was so great, that those several causes were
tried before the whole body of the people. A scene so vast and
magnificent was enough to inflame the most languid orator. The
speeches delivered upon those occasions are in every body's hands,
and, by their intrinsic excellence, we of this day estimate the genius
of the respective authors.


XL. If we now consider the frequent assemblies of the people, and the
right of prosecuting the most eminent men in the state; if we reflect
on the glory that sprung from the declared hostility of the most
illustrious characters; if we recollect, that even Scipio, Sylla, and
Pompey, were not sheltered from the storms of eloquence, what a number
of causes shall we see conspiring to rouse the spirit of the ancient
forum! The malignity of the human heart, always adverse to superior
characters, encouraged the orator to persist. The very players, by
sarcastic allusions to men in power, gratified the public ear, and, by
consequence, sharpened the wit and acrimony of the bold declaimer.

Need I observe to you, that in all I have said, I have not been
speaking of that temperate faculty [a] which delights in quiet times,
supported by its own integrity, and the virtues of moderation? I speak
of popular eloquence, the genuine offspring of that licentiousness, to
which fools and ill-designing men have given the name of liberty: I
speak of bold and turbulent oratory, that inflamer of the people, and
constant companion of sedition; that fierce incendiary, that knows no
compliance, and scorns to temporize; busy, rash, and arrogant, but, in
quiet and well regulated governments, utterly unknown. Who ever heard
of an orator at Crete or Lacedæmon? In those states a system of
rigorous discipline was established by the first principles of the
constitution. Macedonian and Persian eloquence are equally unknown.
The same may be said of every country, where the plan of government
was fixed and uniform.

At Rhodes, indeed, and also at Athens, orators existed without number,
and the reason is, in those communities the people directed every
thing; a giddy multitude governed, and, to say the truth, all things
were in the power of all. In like manner, while Rome was engaged in
one perpetual scene of contention; while parties, factions, and
internal divisions, convulsed the state; no peace in the forum, in the
senate no union of sentiment; while the tribunals of justice acted
without moderation; while the magistrates knew no bounds, and no man
paid respect to eminent merit; in such times it must be acknowledged
that Rome produced a race of noble orators; as in the wild
uncultivated field the richest vegetables will often shoot up, and
flourish with uncommon vigour. And yet it is fair to ask, Could all
the eloquence of the Gracchi atone for the laws which they imposed on
their country? Could the fame which Cicero obtained by his eloquence,
compensate for the tragic end to which it brought him [b]?


XLI. The forum, at present, is the last sad relic of ancient oratory.
But does that epitome of former greatness give the idea of a city so
well regulated, that we may rest contented with our form of
government, without wishing for a reformation of abuses? If we except
the man of guilt, or such as labour under the hard hand of oppression,
who resorts to us for our assistance? If a municipal city applies for
protection, it is, when the inhabitants, harassed by the adjacent
states, or rent and torn by intestine divisions, sue for protection.
The province, that addresses the senate for a redress of grievances,
has been oppressed and plundered, before we hear of the complaint. It
is true, we vindicate the injured, but to suffer no oppression would
surely be better than to obtain relief. Find, if you can, in any part
of the world a wise and happy community, where no man offends against
the laws: in such a nation what can be the use of oratory? You may as
well profess the healing art where ill health is never known. Let men
enjoy bodily vigour, and the practice of physic will have no
encouragement. In like manner, where sober manners prevail, and
submission to the authority of government is the national virtue, the
powers of persuasion are rendered useless. Eloquence has lost her
field of glory. In the senate, what need of elaborate speeches, when
all good men are already of one mind? What occasion for studied
harangues before a popular assembly, where the form of government
leaves nothing to the decision of a wild democracy, but the whole
administration is conducted by the wisdom of a single ruler? And
again; when crimes are rare, and in fact of no great moment, what
avails the boasted right of individuals to commence a voluntary
prosecution? What necessity for a studied defence, often composed in a
style of vehemence, artfully addressed to the passions, and generally
stretched beyond all bounds, when justice is executed in mercy, and
the judge is of himself disposed to succour the distressed?

Believe me, my very good, and (as far as the times will admit) my
eloquent friends, had it been your lot to live under the old republic,
and the men whom we so much admire had been reserved for the present
age; if some god had changed the period of theirs and your existence,
the flame of genius had been yours, and the chiefs of antiquity would
now be acting with minds subdued to the temper of the times. Upon the
whole, since no man can enjoy a state of calm tranquillity, and, at
the same time, raise a great and splendid reputation; to be content
with the benefits of the age in which we live, without detracting from
our ancestors, is the virtue that best becomes us.


XLII. Maternus concluded [a] his discourse. There have been, said
Messala, some points advanced, to which I do not entirely accede; and
others, which I think require farther explanation. But the day is well
nigh spent. We will, therefore, adjourn the debate. Be it as you think
proper, replied Maternus; and if, in what I have said, you find any
thing not sufficiently clear, we will adjust those matters in some
future conference. Hereupon he rose from his seat, and embracing Aper,
I am afraid, he said, that it will fare hardly with you, my good
friend. I shall cite you to answer before the poets, and Messala will
arraign you at the bar of the antiquarians. And I, replied Aper, shall
make reprisals on you both before the school professors and the
rhetoricians. This occasioned some mirth and raillery. We laughed, and
parted in good humour.


END OF THE DIALOGUE.




NOTES ON THE DIALOGUE CONCERNING ORATORY.


The scene of the following Dialogue is laid in the sixth year of
Vespasian, A. U. C. 828. A. D. 75. The commentators are much divided in
their opinions about the real author; his work they all agree is a
masterpiece in the kind; written with taste and judgement;
entertaining, profound, and elegant. But whether it is to be ascribed
to Tacitus, Quintilian, or any other person whom they cannot name, is
a question upon which they have exhausted a store of learning. They
have given us, according to their custom, much controversy, and little
decision. In this field of conjecture Lipsius led the way. He
published, in 1574, the first good edition of Tacitus, with
emendations of the text, and not removed; he still remains in
suspense. _Cum multa dixerim, claudo tamen omnia hoc responso; MIHI
NON LIQUERE. _ Gronovius Pichena, Ryckius, Rhenanus, and others, have
entered warmly into the dispute. An elegant modern writer has hazarded
a new conjecture. The last of Sir Thomas Fitzosborne's Letters is a
kind of preface to Mr. Melmoth's Translation of the Dialogue before
us. He says; of all the conversation pieces, whether ancient or
modern, either of the moral or polite kind, he knows not one more
elegantly written than the little anonymous Dialogue concerning the
rise and decline of eloquence among the Romans. He calls it anonymous,
though he is aware, that it has been ascribed not only to Tacitus and
Quintilian, but even to Suetonius. The reasons, however, are so
inconclusive, that he is inclined to give it to the younger Pliny. He
thinks it perfectly coincides with Pliny's age; it is addressed to one
of his particular friends, and is marked with similar expressions and
sentiments. But, with all due submission to Mr. Melmoth, his new
candidate cannot long hold us in suspense. It appears in the account
of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, in which Pliny's uncle lost his
life. A. U. C. 832. A.