No More Learning

Let us escape!
I wish to
The Crowd [following Christ, who is carrying the cross]-
Salutation to the king, to the fine king of Judea! Lead him
to the summit of Calvary, that he may see farther-see all his
―


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EDGAR QUINET
11971
empire. Has the king of Babylon, or Egypt, or Persia, ever
mounted a throne so elevated? The precincts of the city are
not good enough for him at present. When our high towers
are fallen, when serpents are climbing our stairs instead of us,
when the desert is at our table, then he shall return if he wishes,
with his crown of thorns, with his torn robe, his bleeding feet,
to be the king of our ruin.
Ahasuerus-
They are coming. I can hear their steps. My heart beats in
my breast.
The Crowd-
Have they restored to Barabbas his sword, his cloak, his horse,
and his quiver full of arrows? Give him in his purse ten demers
of shining silver. Dress him in red as a messenger; he shall go
through the town to tell the robbers, the weavers, the slaves who
turn the mills, "Do you know the news? Your king is await-
ing you on the platform of his tower of Golgotha. "
Ahasuerus-
The voices of these people intoxicate me like a leathern bot-
tle of the wine of Carmel. Their wrath is surely just.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
――――――――
The Crowd-
Pilate, wise Pilate, hast thou taken thy golden ewer? Again,
again, see that spot thou hast not removed. Rome washes her
hands, that innocent virgin, who has held only the spindle in
her mother's chamber, does not wish to wear a bloody ring on
her finger; but we without delay will follow the steps of our
King's son. Truly, is he not greater than David? See, he weeps,
and he has neither sword nor sling; his cup-bearers are two rob-
bers. If he wishes to punish us, let him command: perhaps this
time he will not send us as far as the willows of Babylon. Must
we return, with hands tied behind our backs, to the desert, to
Egypt? Let us start; for a long time we have known the way
-and a short path to return.
Ahasuerus
They come - they are there- they pass-they recede; their
cries fill the street: if this man was indeed a soothsayer, the
wind which blows from the desert would overturn the terraces
with the towers. He is an impostor: death to him!
――


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11972
EDGAR QUINET
The Crowd-
If he is a Chaldean, magician, he has as servants-in the
desert, under the remains of cities-marble unicorns, winged
lions, whose manes have been trimmed by spirits with scissors
of gold; he has as messengers, sphinxes which repose from their
courses at the doors of temples in blocks of rock. Let him tell
his griffins to come and escort him; - but the wings of his grif-
fins are too heavy, the sleep of his sphinxes is too profound.
Before his enchanted troop of unicorns and winged lions leap
about him, before the stone hawks and ibises descend from their
obelisks to defend him, behold the vultures of Judea who to-
morrow shall take the crown from his head to carry it to their
nest in the woods. Oh no, do not pause at thy nest, my vulture
of Carmel! mount higher than the roc, higher than the cloud,
higher than the star; mount to Jehovah! "Knowest thou what
I bear in my beak? O Jehovah! in truth, it is not a bit of
Joppa wool, it is not a twig of heather, it is the crown of
thorns of Judea, which I took at Calvary from the head of thy
son of Nazareth. "
Christ-
Ahasuerus-
As he advances, his halo shines more brightly than that of an
elect prophet: that is one of his enchantments.
-
It is thou, Ahasuerus?
Ahasuerus-
—
I do not know you.
Ahasuerus-
Christ-
I am thirsty: give me a little water from thy spring.
-
My well is empty.
Christ-
Take thy cup: thou shalt find it full.
Ahasuerus-
It is broken.
-
―
Christ
Help me to carry my cross by this hard way.


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EDGAR QUINET
11973
Ahasuerus
I am not your cross-bearer: call a griffin from the
-
Christ-
Ahasuerus-
My bench is full: there is no place for any one.
Christ-
Let me sit down on thy bench, at the door of thy house.
And on thy sill?
-
Ahasuerus-
It is empty, and the door is bolted.
Christ-
Touch it with thy finger, and thou shalt enter to get a stool.
Ahasuerus
-
Go your way.
Christ-
sert.
Christ-
If thou desired, thy bench should become a golden stool at
the door of my father's house.
―
Ahasuerus-
Go, blaspheme where you will. Already you are making my
vine and fig-tree to wither. Do not lean on the railing of my
steps: it would crumble at hearing you speak.
You wish to
enchant me.
I wished to save thee.
Ahasuerus-
Soothsayer, depart from my shadow. Your way is before you.
Go, go!
Christ-
Why didst thou say it, Ahasuerus? It is thou who shalt con-
tinue to go until the last judgment, during more than a thou-
sand years.
Go take thy sandals, and thy garments for travel:
everywhere thou passest, they shall call thee "The Wandering
Jew. " Thou shalt not find a place to sit down, or a mountain
spring to quench thy thirst. In my stead thou shalt bear the


## p. 11974 (#608) ##########################################

I 1974
EDGAR QUINET
burden which I leave on the cross. For thy thirst, thou shalt
drink what I leave in my chalice. Others shall take my tunic,
thou shalt inherit my eternal sorrow. Hyssop shall sprout from
thy traveler's staff, absinth shall come in thy leather bottle,
despair shall press thy loins in thy leather belt. Thou shalt be
the man who never dies. Thy age shall be mine. To see thee
pass, the eagles will perch on the edge of their eyries; the
little birds will half hide themselves under the crests of the
rocks; the star will stoop from its cloud to hear thy tears fall-
ing drop by drop in the abyss. I am going to Golgotha: thou
shalt walk from ruin to ruin, from kingdom to kingdom, without
ever reaching thy Calvary. Thou shalt break thy staircase under
thy feet, and be no longer able to descend. The gate of the
city shall say to thee, "Go farther, my bench is occupied;" and
the stream where thou wishest to sit shall say, "Go farther, go
farther, to the sea: my bank is full of brambles. " And the sea
too—"Farther, farther: are you not the eternal traveler who goes
from nation to nation, from century to century, drinking his
tears from his cup, who never sleeps day or night either on
silk or on stone, and who cannot return on the path by which
he came? " The griffins will sit down, the sphinxes will sleep.
Thou shalt have neither seat nor sleep. Thou shalt ask for me
from temple to temple without ever meeting me. Thou shalt
cry "Where is he? " until the dead show you the way to the
last judgment. When thou beholdest me again, my eyes will be
flaming, my finger will issue from under my robe to summon
thee to the valley of Jehoshaphat.
A Roman Soldier-
Did you hear? While he spoke my sword groaned in its
scabbard; my lance sweated blood; my horse wept. I have car-
ried my sword and my lance long enough.
As I listened, my
heart was consumed in my bosom.
little ones, that I may hide in my
The Crowd-
Open the door, my wife and
Calabrian hut.
—
Why climb farther to Calvary? What if he were perchance a
God in an unknown country, or yet a Son whom the Eternal in
his old age has forgotten? Let us go hide in our courts before
he can recognize us. Put out the lamps on our tables. Did you
see the hand of steel which wrote on the house of Ahasuerus,-
The Wandering Jew? Let not this name remain on the stone!


## p. 11975 (#609) ##########################################

EDGAR QUINET
11975
Let him who bears it be the scapegoat of Judea. When he
passes, Babylon, Thebes, and the surrounding country shall
gather a stone from their ruins to hurl at him. But for us,
without ever quitting again our homes and our vines, we will fill
our bottles for the Passover, with our wine of Carmel.
Translated for A Library of the World's Best Literature,' by Jane
Grosvenor Cooke
THE STRUGGLE AGAINST ENVIRONMENT
From The Story of My Thoughts'
MY
Y PEACE was especially troubled when I listened to the inner
voice which called me to letters; for I distrusted this
voice, I regarded it as a tempting demon wishing to de-
ceive me.
Or if I yielded to it, I felt my powerlessness almost
at once. I saw myself alone, with no guide, no model, whom I
wished to follow. Everything hindered. I began in several ways
at the same time, and could not tell upon which to decide.
My age, my weakness, my ignorance, my isolation, counted
for much in this grievous perplexity. The situation of France
also had something to do with it. To understand the exhaustion
of a poor mind like mine at this first awakening, one must figure
to oneself that none of the traces which have been stamped upon
the moral world by our generation were then visible.
This gen-
eration which was to renew so many ideas, so many opinions,
and the language itself, had as yet produced nothing.
Not one of the new ideas, of the new forms, had as yet
brilliantly burst forth. None of the new names which we have
been accustomed to pronounce for forty years had then emerged
from obscurity. Those who were to make them illustrious cer-
tainly were distrustful of themselves. Every year I spent several
weeks with friends at Ouilly, on the other side of the valley
of Saint-Point. Who knew that on the opposite side of the hill
there was a great poet named Lamartine, hidden under those
trees whose shadow reached even to where I was? Did he him-
self know it then?
Whichever way I looked, I found a great void on the horizon.
I felt this void in poetry, in history, in philosophy, in everything.
I suffered from it, because I was incapable of filling it, and I
did not know that others were suffering from the same ill. Each


## p. 11976 (#610) ##########################################

11976
EDGAR QUINET
in his own obscurity was working to fill the voids of which I
was at least conscious.
In my first fever I attempted all the ways at once. Upon
each I met the same aridity, the same sterility, through all the
moral world, without any work to indicate what direction to fol-
low, or any man to say authoritatively, "This is the way. "
I was then sadly distressed at my own impotence, and I may
say at the impotence of my time; since I did not see a guide in
whom I could trust, or even a companion upon the way which
I both trembled and burned to enter. I had a presentiment of
an almost entire renewal of the things of the mind. And as I
saw no one working at it, I believed myself alone. This solitude.
was crushing me just at the moment when so many imperishable
works were being silently prepared and secretly brooded over.
Although this suffering often became despair, there was noth-
ing in it resembling spleen, weariness of life, all that brought on
the wave of passions toward the end of the last century. It seems
to me that it was in many ways the opposite of weariness and
satiety. It was rather a blind impatience to live, a feverish ex-
pectation, a premature ambition for the future, a kind of intoxi-
cation of renascent thought, a frenzied thirst of the soul after
the desert of the Empire. All that, joined to a consuming desire
to produce, to create, to do something, in the midst of a world.
still empty.
Those whom I questioned later upon those years told me they
experienced something similar.
Each one thought himself alone as I did; each one was
musing as in a desert island. The renascent force of the century
was stirring them all at once, and they were experiencing the
pains of moral growth, piercing to the very bones. How many
plaints were then exhaled! How many sincere tears were shed!
Nature too laments when about to bring forth.
The generation of which I am speaking did not understand
itself as yet; that was why it was groaning: but it was about to
do its work. At least the seeds were sown; they were beginning
to sprout. France resembled the earth in the first days of March
after a long winter. Not a leaf, not a flower. Nothing more
than short grass piercing the last snows. The birds have not
yet returned; all is silent, but all is in expectation of the new
season; the good grain germinates silently in the furrow. The
laborer has a sure presentiment that the corn is coming up.


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EDGAR QUINET
11977
I too in my isolation felt-towards the autumn of 1820, in
the midst of the forest of Seillon, on the borders of the ponds, in
the company of teal and heron-that profound moral vegetating
process which, obscurely, silently, was tormenting French brains
from one frontier to the other. And this vegetating process, still
hidden, intoxicated me with a mysterious irresistible breath.
I was ignorant of all the names which were about to arise, I
loved them in advance. I had a morbid desire to anticipate these
minds that I was summoning; I experienced all the impatience
of a bird at the moment of migration. Not that I wished to
depart for a foreign land. I desired to emigrate toward that new
moral world—toward those half-seen ideas which escaped me as
I approached them. I rushed forward, I fell back almost at once;
I had not wings for so great a flight.
I rose again, however; and the idea which we were all then
forming of France furnished me with a great resource against
this first oppression. France, after her two downfalls, her two
invasions, distressed, pierced to the heart, all bleeding, appeared
to us so beautiful, so noble, so proud, in her calamities! Her
disgraces did not count: they rendered her a hundred times
more touching in our eyes. There was not then in the whole
world a single man who did not believe her made for truth, for
liberty, for all that honors human-kind. With what filial tender-
ness we looked at and counted her wounds! Who did not wish
to cure them at the price of his life? Who did not wish to
carry her as homage his work, his book, his sketch, his mite of
ideas; or in default of these, a part of his heart?
France was to be reborn,-I could not doubt it. And what
prevented us from aiding this renascence? Why should not I
too bring to it my grain of sand? Scarcely had this thought
appeared to me than I felt myself transformed. What strength
to endure everything! What a spur! At those moments I be-
lieved myself to be, and I was in truth, capable of something.
I beheld as though it were accomplished what I so fervently
desired.
I applied myself again to the work. But alas! At once two
minds which I found within me embarrassed me, and prevented
me from advancing: that of the eighteenth century which de-
sired to go on living, with which I had been reared, nourished;
and that of the nineteenth, which claimed its birth. Which
should I obey? which heed? There were indeed two spirits


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11978
EDGAR QUINET
who took for their battle-ground the soul of every man of that
time.
I did not want to renounce either the one or the other;
and I was too new, too unarmed as yet, to attempt to conciliate
them. What then did I do? I yielded now to one, now to the
other, at the risk of dissipating myself. This violent combat,
which I was incapable of determining, was another cause of
anguish and profound grief; it was like the torture of Brune-
hault.
To direct us in this conflict of the two centuries which were
enveloping us at the same time, we had two figures only, those
of Châteaubriand and Madame de Staël. But with them the
combat, far from ceasing, recommenced. For they differed from
each other as much as can be imagined: the one Catholic, the
other Protestant; the one turned toward the Middle Ages, the
other toward the uncertain regions of the future. In seeing
them so opposed in ideas, in sentiments, even in hopes, one felt
more astray, more deserted than ever. The choice between such
diverse ways, far from being decided by their example, became
practically impossible.
By another contradiction, the language of Châteaubriand was
emancipated while his thought did not seem to be. His colors
dazzled without enlightening me, and his ideas repelled me. I
followed them only with distrust, and scarcely admitted them to
my mind. On the contrary, the genius of Madame de Staël was
free while her expression seemed enchained. In the confused
clearness of her oracles I said to myself, "This is the side for
me to advance. Here is the century of life; here are all my
expectations. " I expected the sunrise; but I saw nothing but a
vague twilight, never penetrated by the full light of the new day.
From these two figures, if I gazed upon what were then called
the masses, I had uncertainty on one side and complete night on
the other. On the latter was no apparent desire, no enthusiasm
for other ideas than those they believed themselves to possess:
on the contrary, doubt, sneers, mockery, at the least effort to
leave the beaten paths; the old names opposed to the new like
an invincible barrier; no expectation, no presentiment of some-
thing unknown; the language impoverished by silence, weakened,
become so timid that all thought frightened it.
If a literary philosophical revolution was in preparation, evi-
dently it was to be accomplished not by the will of the greatest


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EDGAR QUINET
11979
number, but by the ardor, the daring of a few solitary spirits who
would undertake at their own risk and peril to reawaken the
drowsy crowd. But who would dare begin? I sought far off, I
listened, I cried inwardly with anguish, "Is there no one, then? "
The astonishment, the incredulity of others, the anxiety of my
mother, were my only answer. These sentiments won me in my
turn.
Who? I? Write? What madness!
Had I well considered?
Even if I could, dare I? Did I know even what an author was?
Had I ever beheld one with my eyes? To follow the trail of
ideas which existed nowhere in the air, to make one's life and
occupation of them, to embark one's destiny on this plank,- was
it not the vainest, most senseless of enterprises, perhaps even the
most culpable, to judge by the dismay of all my friends?
I awoke with a start as from a beautiful dream. All those
vivid lights of our generation which had appeared to me sud-
denly went out. The premature glories of which I had caught
sight disappeared one after another. All the hidden movement,
developed in a solitary and inexperienced spirit, made way for
reality. Of that expectation, of that presentiment, of that fever
of hope, there remained a naked, despoiled land, gleams of will-o'-
the-wisps on great leaden lakes, and the eternal sighing of our
forests.
Translated for A Library of the World's Best Literature,' by Jane
Grosvenor Cooke


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11980
QUINTILIAN
(35-95? A. D. )
BY HARRIET WATERS PRESTON
M
ARCUS FABIUS QUINTILIANUS, for many years teacher of rheto-
ric and pleader of causes at Rome, and author of the most
exhaustive treatise upon the art of oratory ever written,
offers a marked example of that even balance of qualities and mild
uniformity of moral and intellectual tint, which render it peculiarly
difficult after a lapse of time either to form a vivid idea of a writer's
personality, or to receive a pungent impression from his work. Like
his friend the epigrammatist, Martial, Quintilian was a native of
Spain; and the two men were very nearly of the same age. Quin-
tilian was born at Catagurris, now Calahorra, on the Ebro, about the
year 40 A. D.
He was educated at Rome, studying first under one
Palæmon, a grammaticus or grammar-master, of worthless character
but great ability, who had been born a slave; later with the noted
rhetorician Domitius Afer of Nîmes, who flourished in the reigns
of Caligula, Claudius, and Nero. Concerning the latter, Quintilian
once told a class of his own pupils a striking anecdote. Domitius
greatly resented, in his old age, the fashion which had sprung up of
interrupting a speaker by rounds of applause,-"as if," says Pliny
junior, who has preserved the incident, "he were an actor, with a
hired claque. " On one occasion, when Domitius was pleading a case
before the Centumviri in his usual grave and deliberate manner,
his voice was suddenly drowned by an unseemly uproar. He stopped
short until the noise had subsided; then resumed, and was again
interrupted. When this had happened for the third time, he abruptly
concluded his harangue with the remark,- "Centumvirs, our art is
dead! "
The father of Quintilian had also some reputation as a public
speaker in Rome. Seneca speaks of having once listened to a decla-
mation "by the Old Quintilian"; and the son, in that part of his
magnum opus which treats of rhetorical ornament, quotes as a speci-
men of paronomasia, or play upon words, a not particularly brilliant
pun of his father's on the verbs immorier and immoror. Quintilian
returned to Spain after his studies were finished, and presumably
began the practice of his profession there; but went again to Rome


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QUINTILIAN
11981
in the train of Galba, the governor of Spain, when the latter was
proclaimed Emperor, upon Nero's death. Quintilian was now (68
A. D. ) not far from thirty; and for the twenty succeeding years,
though Rome changed rulers five times during the interval, he con-
tinued to prosper at the capital, as an orator and instructor in rhet-
oric. The younger Pliny was one of his pupils; Tacitus the historian
was probably another. Quintilian had as a client, upon one occas-
ion, that same Queen Berenice who once went, "with great pomp,
to hear Paul of Tarsus plead at Cæsarea;" and the Spaniard also
enjoyed the privilege of speaking apud ipsam,- in the presence of the
royal, though no longer youthful, charmer.
The two collections of speeches which once passed under Quin-
tilian's name are now held to be all spurious; but he himself speaks
of having been driven, by the nuisance of garbled reports and un-
authorized publications, to edit his plea in the case of one Nævius of
Arpinum; and he also makes repeated reference, in his main work,
to a previous essay on the Decline of Oratory - which has perished.
At the age of about fifty, he retired from the practice of his twofold
calling, and applied himself to the composition of the treatise by
which his name is remembered, 'Institutionis Oratoriæ XII Libri ›
(Twelve Books concerning the Education of an Orator), commonly
known as the 'Institutes. ' Thanks to heavy fees and imperial bounty,
-
- for he was granted by Vespasian a handsome salary from the
imperial treasury, and was the first rhetorician ever so endowed,-
Quintilian was now a rich man, and had lately married a very young
wife; probably out of that senatorial family into which one of his
beloved and deeply mourned sons was early adopted. Beside a short
preface addressed to his bookseller Trypho, and a general introduc-
tion, there are separate introductions to eight out of the twelve books
of the 'Institutio'; and from them we gather almost all the remain-
ing facts which are to be learned concerning the life of Quintilian.
In the proem to the fourth book he tells his friend Marcellus Victor,
to whom the whole work is inscribed, that he finds a fresh incentive
to care in its composition, in the fact that the Emperor Domitian has
appointed him tutor to his grandnephews, the sons of Flavius Clem-
ens and Vespasian's granddaughter Domatilla. These boys had lately
been adopted by the potentate, and named for succession to the
throne; and Quintilian also received, at the request of their father,
the appointment of Honorary Consul. He does not appear to have
been particularly a sycophant; but he would have been more than
human, and much more than first-century Roman, if he had not gone
on to write of his imperial patron in a strain which is a little sick-
ening when compared with what we know, from other sources, of
that dull and ruthless tyrant.


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11982
QUINTILIAN
In the preface to the sixth book of the Institutes' we see Quin-
tilian in a nobler light, and are brought near for a moment to the
unspoiled heart of the man. Very simply and affectingly he makes
the avowal that he had all but abandoned, at this point, the labor
of his life, in the despair occasioned by those crushing domestic
breavements which made his latter days desolate. The girl-wife had
died at nineteen, after giving birth to two boys: one of whom fol-
lowed his mother in early infancy; while the other, a remarkably
brilliant and promising child, lived to be only nine, and then suc-
cumbed to a long illness attended by great suffering, which he bore
with the utmost courage and sweetness. "What shall I do? " cries
the stricken father, "or what further use can there be in life for one
to whom the gods are so hostile ? What good parent could forgive
me, if I could go calmly on with my studies, after having survived
all my own? " Nevertheless, in the end, like Job when similarly
afflicted, he "girded up his loins like a man," and "answered" the
Power which had bereft him, by renewed devotion to his work;
finding there, no doubt, as many another sufferer has done, the best
antidote to pain. It has been supposed by some, on the strength of
an epistle of Pliny's (Book vi. , xxxi. ), that Quintilian married again
after sixty, and had a daughter who lived to maturity; but this is
most unlikely. The Quintilian for whose daughter the Complete
Letter-Writer incloses a wedding present of fifty thousand nummi
(about $2500) was plainly another man. Pliny does allude in several
places to the orator and his valued instructions, but always as though
he were already dead; and the probability is that he did not long sur-
vive the accession of Trajan.
The contemporaries of Quintilian,, even the most caustic of them,
have nothing but good to say of the man. Martial decorates him
with a honeyed epigram (Book xi. , xc. ):
"Quintiliane vagæ moderator summe juventæ
Gloria Romanæ, Quintiliane togæ. "
And even Juvenal, though protesting in his sixth satire, that only
through unparalleled good fortune could a teacher of rhetoric ever
have become a consul and a large landed proprietor, yet admits,
very handsomely for him, that these distinctions were deserved in
Quintilian's case; and that he was "fortunate and handsome and
clever; fortunate [again! ] and wise, high-minded and open-hearted. "
In his own writings Quintilian shows himself not merely the loving
husband and father, but indulgent and sympathetic with all child-
ren; and remarkably gentle in his judgments, and temperate in his
strictures upon other writers, -even on one whose foibles, personal
and literary, were as distasteful to him as those of Seneca. He knew,


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QUINTILIAN
11983
so to speak, all that had been written in his day; and his own taste
was excellent. He loved the best, and he loved it unaffectedly. Him-
self the purest Latin prose-writer of the "silver age," his heart was in
the "golden age"; and his feeling for Cicero and Virgil, as well as for
Homer and the great Greeks, was almost a religion.
are
The most interesting portions of the 'Institutionis Oratoriæ
the General Introduction, in which the scheme of the work is un-
folded; the first and second books, which are devoted to infantile and
primary-school education; the tenth, which enumerates the authors
with whom an accomplished speaker should be familiar, and gives
brief but often admirable criticisms of their best-known works; the
eleventh, which deals with the personal graces an orator ought most
to cultivate; and the twelfth, which amplifies the proposition laid
down at the outset, that the orator who would achieve success must
be essentially a good man. We note the fact that Quintilian, like the
ancients generally, conceives of human knowledge as one organic
whole, each of whose parts has a vital and necessary dependence
upon all the rest. In Cicero's time, he says, it was taken for granted
that a great orator would also be a cultivated and conscientious man:
but now Quintilian has to deplore what he rather affectedly calls "a
most inartistic division of the great art"; insomuch that the mere
causidicus, who will talk upon any side for pay, is considered as much
an orator as he who gives eloquent expression to his own convictions.
When he comes to treat of elementary instruction, Quintilian starts
with the cheerful assumption that the vast majority of children are
naturally clever and capable. A dull mind he thinks as rare among
them as a deformed body. He would have the future orator's train-
ing begin in the cradle; and insists that the nurse to whose charge
he is committed for his first three years should be a woman of some
instruction, and especially of refined speech, else he will never artic-
ulate properly. Our author observes, at this point, that it might be
well for the infant also to have had a highly educated father, and
a mother as able as the celebrated Cornelia, and the daughters of
Lælius the wise. But he seems to admit that this is rather a pluper-
fect requirement, not easy to be met after the child is an accom-
plished fact.
Let him have, at all events, an ivory alphabet among
his playthings; for Quintilian thinks, though he does not clearly say
why, that it is better to know the form of the letters by sight, before
one learns the sound of them by the ear. He would have the little
one taught to speak Greek first; yet not to use it so exclusively as to
affect his pronunciation of Latin. He scouts the apparently favorite
idea that regular study should not begin before the age of seven. A
child, he says, is expected to have learned good manners before he
leaves his nurse's hands at three; and why not a little book knowledge


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as well?
Nevertheless, he is always for a mild, encouraging, indul-
gent system. Let the child engage in little contests of skill with his
elders; and be allowed to suppose, he naïvely adds, that he has won the
victory.
Quintilian is totally opposed, however, to the idea of private or
home instruction for a boy, after his tenderest years are past. Let
him be sent early to school. It is all-important that one who is to
live and strive with men, especially one who aspires to influence
them by his persuasive power, should learn betimes to fight his way
and find his level among his kind. Quintilian does not blink the
danger that a boy will have his morals corrupted at school, but he
thinks it less than that of being permanently enervated by the sense-
less luxury of a wealthy Roman home. "What will he not expect
in after years,” he says, "who has crept upon purple? " Yet that the
little one may have all reasonable defense against the perils of the
street and the playground, Quintilian would have the pædagogus, or
slave who was told off to help the pupil prepare his lessons and at-
tend him to his class, as rare a being in his way, as the ideal bonne.
The requirements appear excessive; and one wonders how the supply
of these highly accomplished attendants can have borne any propor-
tion to the demand, until one remembers the multitude of cultured
captives of both sexes, and fugitives from conquered Greek cities,
who were then to be had in Rome almost for the asking.
To commit to memory and recite, under careful correction, pass-
ages from the best writers, Quintilian considers an indispensable ex-
ercise in early youth. Tragedy is in the main good reading for boys.
The lyric poetry of Horace (he never so much as names Catullus)
will not hurt them if carefully expurgated. Elegy, and sentimental
verse generally, he thinks very bad for them; comedy, useful in the
way of widening their knowledge of men and things. The archaic
Latin authors are healthful, "though most of them are stronger in
genius than in art. "
When the child has learned of his primary teachers to "read,
write, and cipher," and but little more, Quintilian would have him
placed in a rhetorical school at an earlier age than is usually thought
desirable. Here he would have him learn both music and geometry;
using the words in their comprehensive Greek sense, the former to
include the whole range of the liberal arts; the latter, every branch
of what then passed for physical science. Quintilian makes very light
of the fear that the powers of a growing lad will be too heavily
taxed by this extensive curriculum. Overstudy, in fairly vigorous
youth, seems to him almost an impossibility. At no period of life, he
truly says, is there so little suffering from fatigue; at none are
impressions received and facts and precepts acquired so easily.


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But all this broad and varied culture is only preliminary to the
special training which will be needful for the finished orator. That
part of the 'Institutio' (Books iv. to ix. inclusive) which treats of the
subject-matter and proper arrangement of a speech, and of elocution,
gestures, and the outward graces of oratory, is excessively technical
and minute; and Quintilian, with habitual humility before his idol,
almost apologizes in his last book for having ventured so far beyond
the bound observed by Cicero in his more popular essay 'De Oratore. '
Of the maxims laid down in this main body of the work, some are
now entirely obsolete; while others perhaps only appear trivial be-
cause they have so long been accepted without question. Quintilian
writes always with the same good sense, good temper, and carefully
chosen language; in a style which is as like Cicero's as reverent
imitation can make it. But then Cicero has a dozen styles-ranging
all the way from the closest argumentation to the lightest chaff -
and Quintilian has only one. He abounds in figures and illustrations;
but these disappoint the reader a little by being taken so much more
from other authors than from daily life and personal experience,
whereby they shed little light upon Roman scenes and the manners
of the time. Vivid pictures caught in passing, like that of the patri-
cian baby upon its purple rug, and the "smooth-faced" dandy, with
"hair fresh from the curling-tongs, and an unnaturally brilliant com-
plexion," are extremely rare in Quintilian. Now and then, however,
he estimates a talent, or sums up a reputation, in a few strong and
very apt words: as where he says that if Julius Cæsar had chosen
to devote himself wholly to the forum he could have had no rival
except Cicero, and that he spoke with the same fire with which he
fought; and of Cicero's friend Cælius, that he had much ability and a
pleasant wit, and was "a man worthy to have had better thoughts
and a longer life. ”
After the series of literary appreciations (Book x. ), which the his-
torian Gibbon said he had read many times, and never without both
pleasure and profit, Quintilian returns, at the end of his treatise,
to the moral qualifications of the perfect orator; and argues with
much cogency and skill for the original proposition, that a great
speaker must needs be a good man. When he descends to particu-
lars under this head, it becomes evident that his standards were not
always those which are held in our own time to be the highest. He
thinks that one may sometimes tell a lie, or even excuse a vice, to
promote a virtuous object; and he quite approves of endeavoring
ingeniously to divert the attention of a judge from inconvenient
aspects of the truth. He is an impenitent utilitarian, yet a high-
minded one; and the sophisms which he gravely permits are mostly
of the kind which are more apt, even now, to be condemned in theory
than scrupulously avoided in forensic and parliamentary practice.
XX-750


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The resurrection of the Institutes' at the Renaissance was due
to the ardent researches of the humanist, Gian Francesco Poggio
Bracciolini, in the convent library of St. Gall. He copied the whole
of the MS. with his own hand, and that copy is still preserved in the
Laurentian Library at Florence. The Editio Princeps of Quintilian
was printed in Rome in 1470; but he has been much less frequently
edited than most of the acknowledged Latin classics, and the only
complete and trustworthy English translation of his works is that
of the Rev. John Selby Watson, head-master of Stockwell Grammar
School (included in Bohn's Classical Library), from which the follow-
ing quotations have been made.
ON THE OBJECT AND SCOPE OF THE WORK
From the Institutes'
WⓇ
E ARE to form, then, the perfect orator, who cannot exist
unless as a good man; and we require in him, therefore,
not only consummate ability in speaking, but every excel-
lence of mind. For I cannot admit that the principles of moral
and honorable conduct are, as some have thought, to be left to
the philosophers; since the man who can duly sustain his charac-
ter as a citizen, who is qualified for the management of public
and private affairs, and who can govern communities by his
counsels, settle them by means of laws, and improve them by
judicial enactments, can certainly be nothing else but an orator.
Although I acknowledge, therefore, that I shall adopt some pre-
cepts which are contained in the writings of the philosophers,
yet I shall maintain, with justice and truth, that they belong to
my subject, and have a peculiar relation to the art of oratory.
If we have constantly occasion to discourse of justice, fortitude,
temperance, and other similar topics, so that a cause can scarce
be found in which some such discussion does not occur; and if
all such subjects are to be illustrated by invention and elocution,
can it be doubted that wherever power of intellect and copi-
ousness of language are required, the art of the orator is to
be there pre-eminently exerted? These two accomplishments, as
Cicero very plainly proves, were, as they are joined by nature, so
also united in practice, so that the same persons were thought
at once wise and eloquent. Subsequently the study divided it-
self, and through want of art it came to pass that the arts were
considered to be diverse: for as soon as the tongue became an


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11987
instrument of gain, and it was made a practice to abuse the gifts
of eloquence, those who were esteemed as eloquent abandoned
the care of morals; which, when thus neglected, became as it
were the prize of the less robust intellects. Some, disliking the
toil of cultivating eloquence, afterwards returned to the discipline
of the mind and the establishment of rules of life, retaining to
themselves the better part, if it could be divided into two: but
assuming at the same time the most presumptuous of titles, so
as to be called the only cultivators of wisdom,- a distinction
which neither the most eminent commanders, nor men who were
engaged with the utmost distinction in the direction of the great-
est affairs and in the management of whole commonwealths, ever
ventured to claim for themselves; for they preferred rather to
practice excellence of conduct than to profess it. That many of
the ancient professors of wisdom, indeed, both delivered virtuous
precepts, and even lived as they directed others to live, I will
readily admit; but in our own times the greatest vices have been
hid under this name in many of the professors: for they did
not strive, by virtue and study, to be esteemed philosophers; but
adopted a peculiarity of look, austerity of demeanor, and a dress
different from that of other men, as cloaks for the vilest immor-
alities.
But those topics which are claimed as peculiar to philosophy,
we all everywhere discuss; for what person (if he be not an
utterly corrupt character) does not sometimes speak of justice,
equity, and goodness? who, even among rustics, does not make
some inquiries about the causes of the operations of nature? As
to the proper use and distinction of words, it ought to be com-
mon to all who make their language at all an object of care.
Translation in Bohn's Library.
ON THE EARLY PRACTICE OF COMPOSITION
From the Institutes>
F
ROM boys perfection of style can neither be required nor
expected; but the fertile genius, fond of noble efforts, and
conceiving at times a more than reasonable degree of
ardor, is greatly to be preferred. Nor, if there be something of
exuberance in a pupil of that age, would it at all displease me.


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QUINTILIAN
I would even have it an object with teachers themselves to
nourish minds that are still tender with more indulgence, and
to allow them to be satiated, as it were, with the milk of more
liberal studies. The body which mature age may afterwards
nerve, may for a time be somewhat plumper than seems desira-
ble,- hence there is hope of strength; while a child that has
the outline of all his limbs exact commonly portends weakness
in subsequent years. Let that age be daring; invent much, and
delight in what it invents, though it be often not sufficiently
severe and correct. The remedy for exuberance is easy: barren-
ness is incurable by any labor. That temper in boys will afford
me little hope, in which mental effort is prematurely restrained
by judgment. I like what is produced to be extremely copious,
profuse even beyond the limits of propriety. Years will greatly
reduce superfluity; judgment will smooth away much of it;
something will be worn off, as it were, by use, if there be but
metal from which something may be hewn and polished off,-
and such metal there will be if we do not make the plate too
thin at first, so that deep cutting may break it. That I hold
such opinions concerning this age, he will be less likely to won-
der who shall have read what Cicero says: "I wish fecundity in
a young man to give itself full scope. "
Above all, therefore, and especially for boys, a dry master is
to be avoided, not less than a dry soil, void of all moisture, for
plants that are still tender. Under the influence of such a tutor
they at once become dwarfish; looking, as it were, towards the
ground, and daring to aspire to nothing above every-day talk.
To them leanness is in place of health, and weakness instead
of judgment; and while they think it sufficient to be free from
fault, they fall into the fault of being free from all merit. Let
not even maturity itself, therefore, come too fast; let not the
must, while yet in the vat, become mellow; for so it will bear
years, and be improved by age.
――――――
Nor is it improper for me, moreover, to offer this admonition:
that the powers of boys sometimes sink under too great severity
in correction; for they despond, and grieve, and at last hate
their work, and what is most prejudicial, while they fear every-
thing they cease to attempt anything. There is a similar con-
viction in the minds of the cultivators of trees in the country,
who think that the knife must not be applied to tender shoots,
as they appear to shrink from the steel, and to be unable as yet


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11989
to bear an incision. A teacher ought therefore to be as agree-
able as possible, that remedies which are rough in their own
nature may be rendered soothing by gentleness of hand: he
ought to praise some parts of his pupils' performances, to toler
ate some, and to alter others, giving his reasons why the alter-
ations are made; and also to make some passages clearer by
adding something of his own. It will be of service at times,
also, for the master to dictate whole subjects himself, which the
pupil may imitate and admire for the present as his own. But
if a boy's composition were so faulty as not to admit of correc-
tion, I have found him benefited whenever I told him to write
on the same subject again, after it had received fresh treatment
from me, observing that he could do still better"; since study
is cheered by nothing more than hope. Different ages, however,
are to be corrected in different ways; and work is to be required
and amended according to the degree of the pupil's abilities.
used to say to boys when they attempted anything extravagant
or verbose, that "I was satisfied with it for the present; but that
a time would come when I should not allow them to produce
compositions of such a character. " Thus they were satisfied with
their abilities, and yet not led to form a wrong judgment.
I
Translation in Bohn's Library.
ON NATURE AND ART IN ORATORY
From the Institutes'
I
AM aware that it is also a question whether nature or learning
contributes most to oratory. This inquiry, however, has
no concern with the subject of my work, for a perfect orator
can be formed only with the aid of both; but I think it of great
importance how far we consider that there is a question on the
point. If you suppose either to be independent of the other,
nature will be able to do much without learning, but learning
will be of no avail without the assistance of nature.
But if they
be united in equal parts, I shall be inclined to think that when
both are but moderate, the influence of nature is nevertheless the
greater; but finished orators, I consider, owe more to learning
than to nature. Thus the best husbandman cannot improve soil
of no fertility, while from fertile ground something good will be


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QUINTILIAN
produced even without the aid of the husbandman; yet if the
husbandman bestows his labor on rich land, he will produce
more effect than the goodness of the soil of itself. Had Praxite-
les attempted to hew a statue out of a millstone, I should have
preferred to it an unhewn block of Parian marble; but if that
statuary had fashioned the marble, more value would have ac-
crued to it from his workmanship than was in the marble itself.
In a word, nature is the material for learning; the one forms
and the other is formed. Art can do nothing without material;
material has its value even independent of art: but perfection of
art is of more consequence than perfection of material.
Translation in Bohn's Library.
ON EMBELLISHMENTS OF STYLE
From the Institutes >
I
COME now to the subject of embellishment; in which doubtless,
more than in any other department of oratory, the speaker
is apt to give play to his fancy. For the praise of such as
speak merely with correctness and perspicuity is but small; since
they are thought rather to have avoided faults than to have at-
tained any great excellence. Invention of matter is often common
to the orator and to the illiterate alike; arrangement may be con-
sidered to require but moderate learning, and whatever high arts
are used, are generally concealed, or they would cease to deserve
the name of art: and all these qualities are directed to the sup-
port of causes alone. But by polish and embellishment of style,
the orator recommends himself to his auditors in his proper
character; in his other efforts he courts the approbation of the
learned, in this the applause of the multitude. Cicero, in plead-
ing the cause of Cornelius, fought with arms that were not
only stout, but dazzling; nor would he merely by instructing the
judge, or by speaking to the purpose and in pure Latin and with
perspicuity, have caused the Roman people to testify their admi-
ration of him not only by acclamations, but even tumults of
applause. It was the sublimity, magnificence, splendor, and dig-
nity of his eloquence, which drew forth that thunder of approba-
tion. No such extraordinary commendation would have attended
on the speaker if his speech had been of an every-day character,


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11991
and similar to ordinary speeches. I even believe that his audi-
ence were insensible of what they were doing; and that they
gave their applause neither voluntarily nor with any exercise
of judgment, but that, being carried away by enthusiasm, and
unconscious of the place in which they stood, they burst forth
instinctively into such transports of delight.
But this grace of style may contribute in no small degree to
the success of a cause, for those who listen with pleasure are
both more attentive and more ready to believe: they are very
frequently captivated with pleasure, and sometimes hurried away
in admiration. Thus the glitter of a sword strikes something of
terror into the eyes; and thunder-storms themselves would not
alarm us so much as they do if it were their force only, and not
also their flame, that was dreaded. Cicero, accordingly, in one of
his letters to Brutus, makes with good reason the following re-
mark: "That eloquence which excites no admiration, I account as
nothing. " Aristotle also thinks that to excite admiration should
be one of our greatest objects.
But let the embellishment of our style (for I will repeat what
I said) be manly, noble, and chaste; let it not affect effeminate
delicacy, or a complexion counterfeited by paint, but let it glow
with genuine health and vigor. Such is the justice of this rule,
that though, in ornament, vices closely border on virtues, yet
those who adopt what is vicious disguise it with the name of
some virtue. Let no one of those, therefore, who indulge in a
vicious style, say that I am an enemy to those who speak with
good taste. I do not deny that judicious embellishment is an
excellence, but I do not allow that excellence to them. Should
I think a piece of land better cultivated, in which the owner
should show me lilies, and violets, and anemones, and fount-
ains playing, than one in which there is a plentiful harvest, or
vines laden with grapes? Should I prefer barren plane-trees,
or clipped myrtles, to elms embraced with vines, and fruitful
olive-trees? The rich may have such unproductive gratifications;
but what would they be if they had nothing else?
Shall not beauty, then, it may be asked, be regarded in the
planting of fruit-trees? Undoubtedly: I would arrange my trees
in a certain order, and observe regular intervals between them.
What is more beautiful than the well-known quincunx, which, in
whatever direction you view it, presents straight lines?
But a
regular arrangement of trees is of advantage to their growth, as


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QUINTILIAN
each of them then attracts an equal portion of the juices of the
soil. The tops of my olive, that rise too high, I shall lop off
with my knife; it will spread itself more gracefully in a round
form, and will at the same time produce fruit from more branches.
The horse that has thin flanks is thought handsomer than one of
a different shape, and is also more swift. The athlete, whose
muscles have been developed by exercise, is pleasing to the
sight, and is so much the better prepared for the combat. True
beauty is never separate from utility. But to perceive this
requires but a moderate portion of sagacity.
What is of more importance to be observed, is, that the grace-
ful dress of our thoughts is still more becoming when varied
with the nature of the subject. Recurring to our first division,
we may remark that the same kind of embellishment will not be
alike suitable for demonstrative, deliberative, and judicial topics.
The first of these three kinds, adapted only for display, has no
object but the pleasure of the audience; and it accordingly dis-
closes all the resources of art, and all the pomp of language: it
is not intended to steal into the mind, or to secure a victory, but
strives only to gain applause and honor. Whatever, therefore,
may be attractive in conception, elegant in expression, pleas-
ing in figures, rich in metaphor, or polished in composition, the
orator-like a dealer in eloquence, as it were-will lay before
his audience for them to inspect, and almost to handle; for his
success entirely concerns his reputation, and not his cause.