Rhetorica ad Herennium, Liber Quartus
Book Four
I. Since in this book, Herennius, I have written on style, and have used examples of my own composition wherever examples were needed, and have done so contrary to the custom of the Greeks who have written on this subject, I must briefly give an account of my plan. That I do this from necessity and not from eagerness will be sufficiently shown by the fact that in the earlier books I said nothing before the matter or beside the matter. Now, if I say the little that the subject requires, I shall pay you the remainder of the art, as we undertook. But you will understand our reasoning more easily if you first learn what they say.
For many reasons they think that, when they have taught how style ought to be embellished, they should set down for each kind an example taken from an approved orator or poet. And first they say they do this from modesty, because it seems a kind of display not to be content with giving precepts on the art, but to wish to produce examples artfully oneself; that is, they say, to show oneself off, not to show the art. Hence a sense of shame is the chief hindrance in this matter, lest we seem to approve only ourselves, to love ourselves, and to despise and deride others. For since we can take an example from Ennius or set one from a Greek, it seems arrogance to leave these and come to our own.
Moreover, examples hold the place of testimonies. For what a precept has pointed out and made lightly, it confirms by an example, as by a testimony. Would it not be absurd if someone in a lawsuit or trial fought with testimonies from his own household? For as a testimony, so an example is taken to confirm a thing. It ought not, therefore, to be taken except from the most approved source, lest that which is to confirm something else itself need confirmation. For they must either set themselves before all and approve their own work above all, or deny that the best examples are those taken from the most approved orators or poets. If they set themselves before all, their arrogance is intolerable; if they put certain men before themselves and do not think their own examples better than theirs, they cannot say why they put them before themselves.
II. What of this? Does not the very authority of the ancients make the matters more credible and the zeal of men for imitation more eager? Indeed it rouses the desires of all and sharpens industry, when the hope is cast before them that by imitation they can attain the skill of a Greek or a Crassus.
Finally, this itself is the highest art: to choose with such care things various and unlike, scattered through so many poems and speeches and widely strewn, that you can place each kind of example under the single heads of the art. If this could be done by industry alone, we should still deserve praise for not having shunned such labour; but now it cannot be done without the highest art. For who is there who, unless he has the art thoroughly, can note and separate what the art requires from so great and so diffuse a body of writing? Others, when they read good speeches or poems, approve the orators and poets, and do not understand what moves them to approve, because they cannot know where, or what, or how it is done that delights them most; but he who understands all this, and chooses the most suitable examples, and reduces everything that must be written in an art to the separate heads of precept, must of necessity be a supreme master of the matter. This, then, is itself the greatest art: to be able, in one’s own art, to use the examples of others as well. When they say this, they move us more by their authority than by the truth of their argument. For we fear that someone may think it enough to prove the opposite view that those who invented this art, and who are by now approved by all through their antiquity, stood on its side. But if, setting aside their authority, they will compare each matter with the facts, they will understand that not everything is to be conceded to antiquity.
III. First, then, let us see that what they say about modesty is not put forward too childishly. For if modesty means to be silent or to write nothing, why do they write or speak anything? But if they write something of their own, why are they hindered by modesty from writing everything? It is as if someone came to Olympia, and stood at the starting line to be sent off, and called those who began to run shameless, while he himself stood within the barrier and told others how Ladas or Boiscus ran at the Isthmian games; so these men, when they have come down into the course of the art, say that those who labour in what belongs to the art act immodestly, while they themselves praise some ancient orator or poet or writing, so that they dare not advance into the field of rhetoric.
I would not dare to say it, yet I fear that in the very thing in which they hunt for praise of modesty they are shameless. “What do you mean?” someone may say. “You write your art; you produce new precepts for us; you cannot confirm them yourself; you take examples from others. See that you do not act shamelessly, wishing to take praise for your own name from the labours of others.” For if the ancient orators and poets took up their volumes, and each took away from the books what is his own, nothing would be left to those men that they could call their own.
“It is likewise fitting that testimonies be taken from the most approved men.” First of all, examples are set down not for confirming or for bearing witness, but for showing. For when we say that there is an embellishment which consists, for instance, of similarly ending words, and we take this example from Crassus: “which we can and ought,” we are not setting down a testimony but an example. This, then, is the difference between a testimony and an example: by an example it is shown what sort of thing it is that we are speaking of; by a testimony it is confirmed that the matter is as we say. Besides, a testimony must agree with the matter; otherwise it cannot confirm it. But what they do does not agree with the matter. Why so? Because they promise that they are writing an art, yet they bring forward examples for the most part from those who did not know the art. Then who can prove what he has written about the art unless he writes something according to the art? And they do the opposite of what they seem to promise. For when they undertake to write an art, they seem to say that they have devised what they teach others; but when they write, they show us what others have devised.
IV. “But this itself is difficult,” they say, “to choose from many.” What do you call difficult: laborious, or artful? What is laborious is not at once splendid. For there are many laborious things which, if you did them, you would not at once boast; unless you would think it glorious even if you had copied whole plays or speeches out with your own hand. But if you call that artful and excellent, see that you do not seem unaccustomed to greater things, if a small matter delights you as if it were great. For in that way an unskilled man indeed cannot choose, but many can without the highest art. For whoever has heard a little more about the art, especially in style, will be able to see everything that will be said according to the art; but no one can produce it unless he is trained. So if you wished to choose sentiments from the tragedies of Ennius, or messengers’ speeches from those of Pacuvius, and since a wholly unskilled man could not do it, you thought yourself most learned when you had done it, you would be foolish, because anyone moderately lettered can easily do it; likewise, if, when you have chosen from speeches or poems examples marked with sure signs of art, you think, because an unskilled man could not do it, that you have acted with the highest art, you are mistaken, because by this sign we see that you know something, and by other signs we shall understand that you know much. But if it is artful to understand what has been written according to art, it is much more artful to write according to art oneself. For he who writes artfully will easily be able to understand what others have written well; he who chooses easily will not necessarily write well himself. And if it is indeed most artful, let them use that faculty at another time, not when they ought to bring forth and produce for themselves. Finally, let them spend the force of their art on this, that they themselves be thought rather choosers from others than good selectors of others’ work.
Enough has been said against those who say that the examples of others ought to be used. Now let us consider what can be said separately.
V. We say, then, that they err not only because they use the examples of others, but still more because they take examples from many. Let us first look at what we said afterwards. If I conceded that the examples of others ought to be taken, I should still prove that they ought to be taken from one, first because their whole argument would stand against this, for they could choose and approve any one they liked who would supply examples for all matters, whether poet or orator, on whose authority they might rely. Next, it matters greatly to the one who wishes to learn whether all can be attained. For if he thinks that everything can rest with one man, he too will strive for the ability of all. If he despairs of this, he will practise himself in a few; for he will be content with them, and no wonder, since the teacher of the art himself could not find everything in one man. Likewise, when examples have been taken from other poets and writers of history, the learner will necessarily think that from all men everything, from one man scarcely a few things, could be taken. Therefore he will be content to be like some one man, and will doubt that he alone can have all that all have had. It is therefore harmful to one who wishes to learn not to think that one man can do everything. No one would fall into this opinion if they had taken examples from one. Now this is a sign that the writers of the art themselves did not think that one man could excel in all parts of style, since they set forth neither their own examples nor those of any one man, or even of two, but took examples from all orators and poets.
Then, if someone wished to show that art is of no use for speaking, he would not use badly this help, that no one man has been able to attain all parts of the art. What therefore helps the case of those who do not approve art at all, is it not absurd that the writer of the art should himself confirm it by his own judgment?
We have shown, then, that the examples ought to have been taken from one man; if they ought not to have been taken from elsewhere, we shall understand thus.
First of all, the example which is brought forward by the writer of an art ought to belong to that art. As if someone selling purple or something else should say, “Take from me, but I shall ask elsewhere for a sample of it to show you,” so those who sell their wares themselves seek elsewhere a sample of their ware; they say they have heaps of wheat, yet have not a handful of it to show. If Triptolemus, when he was giving seed to men, himself borrowed it from other men, or if Prometheus, when he wished to share fire among mortals, went about with a potsherd begging coals from his neighbours, he would seem ridiculous.
These masters, teachers of all speaking, do they not seem to themselves to act ridiculously when they seek from others what they promise to others? If someone said he had opened the greatest springs hidden deep within, and while saying so were very thirsty and had nothing to quench his thirst, would he not be laughed at? These men, who say they are not only lords of the springs but the springs themselves, and who ought to water the minds of all, do they not think it will be ridiculous if, while promising this, they themselves dry up with drought? Chares did not learn to make statues from Lysippus in the way that Lysippus showed him the head of Myron, the arms of Praxiteles, the chest of Polyclitus, but he watched the master making everything before his eyes; the works of the others he could consider of his own accord. These men believe that those who wish to learn this can be taught more conveniently in another way. VII. Besides, the examples taken from others cannot even be so adapted to the art as to be fitted to it, because in speaking each topic is for the most part touched lightly, that the art may not appear; in teaching, examples must be set down expressly written, so that they can fit the form of the art, and afterwards in speaking, lest the art stand out and be seen by all, it is hidden by the orator’s skill. Therefore, so that the art may be better known, it is better to use one’s own examples.
Finally, this also led us to this plan, that the Greek names of things which we have translated are remote from common usage. For the things which were not among our people could not have names in common use. Therefore these terms must at first seem rather harsh, and this will be due to the matter, not to any difficulty of ours. The rest of the work will be spent on examples; but if we had set down these examples from others, it would have come about that what is convenient in this book would not be ours, and what is harsher and unusual would be attributed to us in particular. We have therefore avoided this inconvenience also.
For these reasons, having approved the Greeks’ invention of the art, we have followed a different plan in the matter of examples, and Our teaching of style, then, will be twofold. First we shall say in what kinds all oratorical style ought always to be; then we shall show what qualities it ought always to have.
VIII. There are, then, three kinds, which we call types, in which all faultless oratory is comprised: one we call the grand, the second the middle, the third the plain. The grand is that which consists of a smooth and ornate arrangement of weighty words. The middle is that which consists of words of a lower, yet not the lowest and most common, dignity. The plain is that which is brought down to the most ordinary usage of pure speech.
For who among you, judges, can devise a penalty adequate to the man who has planned to betray his country to its enemies? What wrong can be compared with this crime, what punishment can be found worthy of this wrong? Against those who had outraged a freeborn person, defiled a matron, wounded someone, or finally killed him, our ancestors exhausted the greatest punishments; for this most savage and impious deed they left no singular penalty. And in other wrongs the injury passes from another’s fault to one person or a few; but those who are partners in this crime plot, by a single design, the most atrocious calamities for all the citizens together. O savage hearts! O cruel designs! O men abandoned by humanity! What have they dared to do, or what can they conceive? How the enemy, the tombs of our ancestors torn up, the walls thrown down, would rush exulting into the city; how, the temples of the gods plundered, the nobles butchered, others carried off into slavery, matrons and freeborn children subjected to the enemy’s lust, the city would fall, consumed in the bitterest conflagration; and they do not think they have brought to its end what they wished unless, wicked men, they have seen the pitiable ashes of their most sacred country. I cannot, judges, reach the enormity of the thing in words; but I bear this the more lightly because you do not need me. For your own heart, most loving toward the republic, readily teaches you to hurl headlong from that state the man who wished to betray the fortunes of all, and who wished to overwhelm it with the impious tyranny of the foulest enemies.”
thither and can neither be made firm nor extricate itself like a man. It is of this sort: “Our allies, when they wished to wage war with us, would doubtless have reasoned again and again what they could do, if indeed they acted of their own accord and did not have many helpers here, wicked and daring men. For all who wish to undertake great affairs are accustomed to think for a long time.” Speech of this sort cannot hold the attention of a hearer; for it flows away entirely and, grasping nothing, embraces nothing in finished words.
Those who cannot move suitably in that most elegant refinement of the plain style fall into a dry and bloodless kind of speech, which may fittingly be called thin, of this sort: “For there in the baths he came up to this man. Then he says: ‘This slave of yours struck me.’ Then this man says to him: ‘I will think it over.’ Then he made an uproar, and more and more, with many present, he shouted.” This speech is by now trivial and unbecoming; for it has not attained what the plain style has, a speech composed in pure and chosen words.
Every kind of speech, grand, middle and plain, is given dignity by embellishments, of which we shall speak later; if these are arranged sparingly they make the speech variegated as if with colours; if they are placed thickly they make it sidelong and strained. But the style in speaking should be changed, so that the middle follows the grand and the plain follows the middle, and then they are changed in turn, so that weariness is easily avoided by variety. XII. Since it has been said in what kinds style ought to move, let us now see what qualities suitable and perfect style ought to have. The style most fitted to an orator ought to have three things in it: elegance, arrangement, dignity.
Elegance is that which makes each point seem to be put purely and plainly. It is divided into correctness and clearness.
Correctness is that which preserves pure speech, free from every fault. The faults in speech that keep it from being correct can be two: solecism and barbarism. Solecism is when, in a number of words, the following word is not made to agree with the preceding. Barbarism is when something is uttered faultily in a word. How we can avoid these we shall explain clearly in the art of grammar.
Clearness is that which makes the speech open and lucid. It is secured by two things, by customary words and by proper words. Customary words are those that are in daily use; proper words are those that are or can be the words for the thing of which we are speaking. Arrangement is the construction of words that makes all parts of the speech evenly polished. It will be preserved if we avoid frequent collisions of vowels, which make a speech gaping and hollow, such as this: “Bronze berries hung most pleasantly”; and if we avoid too constant repetition of the same letter, for which fault this verse will serve as an example, for here nothing prevents our using the examples of others for faults:
O Titus, you yourself, Tatius, you tyrant, have brought upon yourself such great things; and this by the same poet: that anyone, anything, anyone, and each should agree, should deny; and if we avoid too constant repetition of the same word, of this sort:
For a reason whose reason does not exist, it is by no means reasonable to put faith in that reason; and if we do not use words with similar endings continuously, as in this way:
Weeping, wailing, shedding tears, entreating; and if we avoid transposition of words, except where it is elegant, of which we shall speak later; in which fault Coelius is constant, as in this: “In the earlier book these matters written to you, Lucius, we sent, Aelius.” Likewise one should avoid a long continuous run of words, which hurts both the hearer’s ears and the speaker’s breath.
These faults in arrangement having been avoided, the remaining effort must be spent on dignity. XIII. Dignity is that which makes the speech ornate by distinguishing it with variety. It is divided into embellishments of words and embellishments of thought. An embellishment of words is that which consists in the marked polish of the language itself. An embellishment of thought is that which has a certain dignity not in the words but in the matters themselves.
19 Repetition is when successive clauses, in similar and different matters, begin continually with one and the same word, thus: “To you this must be attributed, to you thanks must be given, to you this matter will be an honour.” Likewise: “Scipio destroyed Numantia, Scipio razed Carthage, Scipio brought peace, Scipio saved the state.” Likewise: “You try to come forth into the forum, you to look upon the light, you to come into the sight of these men? Do you dare to utter a word? Do you dare to ask anything of them? Do you dare to beg off punishment? What is there that you can defend? What is there that you dare to demand? What is there that you think ought to be granted you? Did you not abandon your oath? Did you not betray your friends? Did you not lay hands on your parent? Did you not, in short, wallow in every disgrace?” This embellishment has much charm, and also very much weight and sharpness; therefore it seems to be employed both to adorn and to enlarge the speech.
Conversion is that by which we do not, as before, repeat a word at the beginning, but return continually to it at the end, thus: “The Roman people conquered the Carthaginians by justice, conquered by arms, conquered by generosity.” Likewise: “Liberty is taken away, faith is taken away, friendship is taken away, the republic is taken away.” Likewise: “Gaius Laelius was a new man, he was gifted, he was learned, he was a friend to good men and to learning; therefore he was first in the state.” Likewise: “For when you ask them to acquit you, you ask them to perjure themselves, you ask them to disregard their good name, you ask them to give up the laws of the Roman people to your caprice.” 20 XIV. Combination is that which embraces both embellishments, so that we use both conversion and the repetition we explained before, and the same word is repeated oftener and we return often to the same word at the end, thus: “Who are they who have often broken treaties? The Carthaginians. Who are they who have waged war most cruelly? The Carthaginians. Who are they who have laid waste Italy? The Carthaginians. Who are they who ask to be forgiven? The Carthaginians. See, then, how fitting it is that they obtain it.” Likewise: “The man whom the senate has condemned, whom the people has condemned, whom the judgment of all has condemned, will you acquit him by your votes?”
Transplacement is that which brings it about that, when the same word is placed rather often, it not only does not offend the mind but even makes the speech more elegant, in this way: “He who has nothing in life more pleasant than life, with virtue cannot live his life.” Likewise: “Do you call him a man who, had he been a man, would never have so ... Did he wish, then, to avenge himself on an enemy in such a way that he himself was found to be his own enemy?” Likewise: “... Put virtue before riches; for if you wish to compare riches with virtue, riches will scarcely seem fit to you to be virtue’s attendants.” 21 Of the same kind of embellishment is it when the same word is placed now in this matter, now in that, thus: “Why do you care so eagerly for a thing that will give you many cares?” Likewise: “For to be loved would be pleasant, if care were taken that nothing bitter be in it.” In these four kinds of embellishment that have been set out so far, it is not from poverty of words that we return often to the same word; there is in them a charm that can more easily be judged by the ears than shown in words.
If you know what love is worth, if you know you are a man, take pity on me, grant me leave that I may come.
XV. Contrast is when the speech is built out of opposites, thus: “Flattery has pleasant beginnings, and the same brings most bitter endings.” Likewise: “To enemies you show yourself placable, to friends inexorable.” Likewise: “In peace you make a tumult, in tumult you are at peace; in the coldest matter you glow, in the hottest you are cold; when silence is needed, you shout; when it is fitting to speak, you are struck dumb; you are present, you wish to be absent; you are absent, you long to return; in peace you seek war, in war you long for peace; in the assembly you speak of courage, in battle you cannot, from cowardice, endure the sound of the trumpet.” If we distinguish our speech by this kind, we shall be able to be both weighty and ornate. 22 Exclamation is that which expresses some grief or indignation by addressing a man, a city, a place, or some thing, thus: “Your most illustrious descendants fed the cruelty of enemies with their own blood.” Likewise: “Faithless Fregellae, how easily you have wasted away through your crime, so that of the city whose splendour lately illumined Italy scarcely the remains of the foundations now stand.” Likewise: “You have attacked the possessions of good men with ambushes and robberies, the life of every most innocent man; have you taken so great a power from the injustice of the courts and from your slanders?” If we use this exclamation in its place, rarely, and when the greatness of the matter seems to call for it, we shall lead the hearer’s mind to whatever indignation we wish.
Not every interrogation is weighty or elegant, but this one is, which, when the things that harm the adversaries’ case have been enumerated, confirms the preceding speech, thus: “When, therefore, you were doing, saying and managing all these things, were you or were you not turning the minds of the allies away from the republic and alienating them? And was it fitting that someone be appointed to forbid these things and not allow them to be done, or not?” 23 XVI. Reasoning is that by which we ask ourselves for the reason why we say each thing, and often an explanation of it. It is of this sort: “Our ancestors, if they condemned a woman for a single offence, thought her convicted by a single judgment of many crimes. How so? Whom they had judged unchaste, she was also held to be condemned of poisoning. Why so? Because a woman who has given her body over to the basest passion must fear many. Whom? Her husband, her parents, the others to whom she sees the disgrace of her dishonour extends. What then? Those whom she so greatly fears she must wish to kill. Why must she? Because no honourable principle can restrain one whom the greatness of her offence makes timid, whom her want of restraint makes bold, whom a woman’s nature makes thoughtless. What? One condemned of poisoning, what did they think her? Unchaste also, necessarily. Why? Because no cause could more readily move to that crime than base love and unrestrained lust; and they did not think the body of a woman whose mind was corrupted to be chaste. What? Did they observe the same in men? Not at all. Why so? Because for men single passions drive them to each single crime, but in a woman one passion leads to all crimes.” Likewise: “Our ancestors made it a good rule that they would deprive of life no king whom they had taken in arms. Why so? Because it was unjust to use the power that fortune had given us for the punishment of those whom the same fortune a little before had placed in the highest station. What of the fact that he led an army against us? I cease to remember it. Why so? Because it is the part of a brave man to regard as enemies those who contend for victory, and to judge as men those who have been conquered, so that courage may lessen war and humanity increase peace. And if he had won, would he not have done the same? Surely he would not have been so wise. Why then do you spare him? Because I am accustomed to despise such folly, not to imitate it.” 24 This embellishment is exceedingly well suited to conversational speech, and it holds the hearer’s attention both by the charm of the style and by the expectation of the reasons.
XVII. A maxim is a saying drawn from life which briefly shows what is, or what ought to be, in life, thus: “Every beginning is difficult.” Likewise: “He who has always enjoyed good fortune is not apt to revere virtues above all.” Likewise: “He is to be thought free who is a slave to no baseness.” Likewise: “He who has not enough is as needy as he for whom nothing can be enough.” Likewise: “The best way of life is to be chosen; custom will make it pleasant.” Simple maxims of this kind are not to be disapproved, because a brief statement, if it needs no reason, gives great pleasure.
But that kind of maxim also is to be approved which is confirmed by the addition of a reason, thus: “... to be placed, because virtue alone is in one’s own power; everything else is subject to the dominion of fortune.” Likewise: “Those who, drawn by someone’s fortunes, have followed his friendship, all fly off as soon as his fortune has slipped away. For when the thing that was the cause of the intimacy has gone, nothing remains by which they could be held in friendship.”
There are likewise maxims that are expressed in two ways. Without a reason, thus: “They err who in prosperity think they have escaped all the assaults of fortune; they think wisely who in favourable times dread adverse chances.” With a reason, thus: 25 “Those who think that the faults of the young ought to be pardoned are deceived, because that age is no hindrance to good pursuits. But those act wisely who chastise the young most severely, so that the virtues by which they can guard their whole life they may wish to acquire in the most ripe age.” It is fitting that maxims be inserted rarely, that we may seem pleaders of the case, not teachers of how to live. When they are inserted in this way, they will bring much ornament. And the hearer must approve it in his mind. XVIII. The Contrary is that which, of two different matters, confirms the one briefly and easily by the opposite, thus: “For how can you hope that he who has always been an enemy to his own interests will be a friend to the interests of others?” Likewise: “For one whom you have found faithless in friendship, why should you think he can conduct enmities faithfully? Or how can you hope that one who as a private man was of intolerable pride will be, in power, agreeable and mindful of himself?” Likewise: “Those whom we drove down from the hills, do we fear to fight with them on the plain? Those who, when they were more numerous, could not match us, do we fear, now that they are fewer, that they may be stronger?” 26 This kind of embellishment ought to be completed briefly and in continuous words; and when it is pleasant to hear because of its brief and complete conclusion, it also strongly proves what the orator needs by means of the opposite, and from what is not in doubt it clears up what is in doubt, so that it cannot be dissolved, or only with the greatest difficulty.
XIX. A member of a speech is called a matter briefly completed without showing the whole thought, which is then taken up by another member of the speech, thus: “...” member; then this must be followed by a second: “And you injured a friend.” This embellishment can consist of two members, but the most suitable and complete is that which consists of three, thus: “You both betrayed your enemy and injured your friend and did not look to your own interest.” Likewise: “You neither took thought for the republic, nor helped your friends, nor withstood your enemies.”
A phrase is spoken of when single words are distinguished by pauses, the speech being cut up, thus: “By sharpness, by voice, by countenance you terrified your adversaries.”
This kind differs from the more vehement kind above in that the latter comes more slowly and rarely, the former more often and more swiftly. Thus in the latter it seems that a sword is brought against the body by drawing back the arm and twisting the right hand; in the former the body seems to be wounded again and again, quickly. 27 Continuance is a dense and unbroken run of words, with the sentences completed. We shall use it most fittingly in three parts: in the statement, in the contrary, and in the conclusion. In the statement thus: “Fortune cannot do much harm to the man who has placed his defence more firmly in virtue than in chance.” In the contrary thus: “For if a man has not placed much hope in chance, what is there by which chance could greatly harm him?” In the conclusion thus: “But if fortune has the greatest power over those who have put all their calculations in chance, then not everything should be entrusted to fortune, lest she hold too great a dominion over us.” In these three forms an unbroken run of words is so necessary to the force of continuance that the orator’s ability seems weak unless he sets out the statement, the contrary and the conclusion in an abundance of words; yet at other times too it is not out of place, though not necessary, to set out certain matters through such continuances.
XX. Equal Members is the name given when the members of the sentence, of which we spoke before, consist of a nearly equal number of syllables. This will not be done by our counting—for that would be childish—but the practice and exercise of our faculty will bring such a sense of the mind that we can match a member to the one before it, thus: “In battle the father met his death, at home the son was arranging his marriage; such ill omens did grave misfortune bring.” Likewise: “To one man fortune gave prosperity, to another industry procured virtue.” In this kind it often happens that the number of syllables is not exactly equal and yet seems so, if one or even two syllables make one member shorter, or if, when the other has more syllables, it has longer or fuller ones, so that their length or fullness makes up and equals the number of the other.
Similar Case-Endings is the name given when in the same construction two or more words are uttered in similar and identical cases, thus: “All his hope is in money, his mind is far from wisdom; diligence procures riches, neglect ruins the mind, and yet, living as he does, he thinks no man his superior.”
Similar Endings is when, although there are no cases in the words, the endings are nevertheless alike, thus: “Boldly you terrify, humbly you appease.”
These are the paronomasias that turn on a slight change, lengthening or transposition of letters, or some such kind. 30 XXII. There are others, however, which have not so close a likeness in the words and yet are not unlike; of these kinds one is of this sort: “Why I have come, who I am, whom I accuse, whom I benefit, what I demand, you will shortly learn.” For here there is in certain words a certain likeness, not so perfect as in the former, but yet to be employed at times. Another kind is of this sort: “Let us take pains, citizens, lest the conscript fathers be thought altogether circumvented.” This paronomasia comes nearer to likeness than the former, but less than the earlier ones, because letters are not only added but also, at one and the same time, taken away.
A third kind turns on the change of case in one or several names. For one name, thus: “Alexander of Macedon from boyhood strengthened his mind with the utmost labour for virtue. The virtues of Alexander were spread abroad over the whole world with praise and glory. All men feared Alexander most, and the same men loved him most. O Alexander, if a longer life had been given you, the spears of the Macedonians would have flown across the Ocean.” Here one name has been turned through the changes of case. With several names the paronomasia will be made by changing the cases thus: “An unworthy death prevented Tiberius Gracchus, as he administered the commonwealth, from remaining longer in it. A like slaughter was dealt to Gaius Gracchus, which suddenly snatched from the bosom of the state a man most devoted to the republic. Saturninus, who had been taken in good faith, the treachery of evil men deprived of life by crime. Your blood, O Drusus, spattered the walls of your house and your father’s face. Sulpicius, to whom a little before all things were conceded, they would not allow in a short space not only to live but even to be buried.”
32 These three kinds of figures, of which one lies in words of similar case-endings, another in words of similar endings, and the third in paronomasias, are very rarely to be used when we speak in a cause of truth, because they seem not to be found without labour and the taking of pains; XXIII. and such studies seem better suited to delight than to truth. Therefore the credit, weight and severity of the orator are lessened when these figures are often set down, and not only is authority in speaking taken away, but offence is given in speech of that kind, because there is in them charm and gaiety, not dignity or beauty. Therefore what is grand and beautiful can please for long; what is pretty and neat soon wearies the ear, whose sense is most fastidious. Hence, as we seem to take a boyish delight in style if we use these kinds often, so, if we scatter these figures sparingly and spread them variously through the whole cause, we shall adorn the speech suitably with distinct lights.
33 Rejoinder is when we question our adversaries or ask ourselves what can be said by them or against us; then we add what ought or ought not to be said, or what will be a help to us or the same thing a harm to the opposite side, thus: “I ask, then, how this man became so wealthy. Was a large estate left him? But his father’s goods were sold. Did some inheritance come to him? That cannot be said, for he was even disinherited by all his kinsmen. Did he win some reward from a lawsuit or trial? Not only did he not do so, but he was himself beaten in a heavy wager besides. Therefore, if he has not grown rich by these means, as you all see, either gold is born in his house, or he took money from where it was not lawful.”
From the same kind, to apply the rejoinder to our own person also, thus: “For what was I to do when I was besieged by so great a multitude of Gauls? Fight? But we would then have been going out with a small force; and the ground, too, was most unfavourable to us. Stay in camp? But we had no relief to await, nor was there anyone to…” Rejoinders of this kind follow one upon another, so that it seems to be shown from every side that nothing else than what was done ought to have been done.
XXV. Climax is where one does not descend to the next word before one has ascended to the one above, thus: “For what hope of freedom remains, if they may do what they please, and can do what they may, and dare what they can, and carry out what they dare, and what they carry out is no trouble to you?” Likewise: “I did not perceive this, and did not advise it; nor did I advise it and not begin to do it at once; nor did I begin to do it and not complete it; nor did I complete it and not win approval.” Likewise: “Industry won Africanus virtue, virtue glory, glory rivals.” Likewise: “The command of Greece was in the hands of the Athenians; the Athenians were mastered by the Spartans; the Spartans were conquered by the Thebans; the Thebans were beaten by the Macedonians, who in a short time added Asia, subdued in war, to their command of Greece.”
Definition is that which embraces briefly and completely the peculiar properties of a thing, thus: “The majesty of the republic is that in which the dignity and greatness of the state are contained.” Likewise: “Injuries are those things which wrong a man’s life by blows to the body, by abuse to the ear, or by some disgrace.” Likewise: “That is not carefulness but avarice, because carefulness is the diligent keeping of one’s own, avarice the unjust seeking of another’s.” Likewise: “That is not courage but rashness, because courage is contempt of toil and danger with regard to advantage and a weighing of benefits, rashness is the gladiatorial taking on of dangers with thoughtless endurance of pain.” This figure is thought useful because it sets forth the whole force and nature of a thing so clearly and briefly that it seems it could not have been said in more words nor be thought capable of being said more briefly.
XXVI. Transition is the name given to that figure which, while it briefly shows what has been said, likewise briefly states what follows, thus: “You have heard what manner of man he was toward his country; now consider how he showed himself toward his parents.” Likewise: “You know my kindnesses to him; now hear how he has repaid me.” This figure is of some use for two things: for it recalls what has been said, and prepares the hearer for what remains. 36 Correction is that which takes back what has been said and puts in its place what seems more fitting, thus: “…easily this could be accomplished.” Likewise: “For after these men conquered—or rather were conquered—how shall I call it a victory, which gave the victors more calamity than good?” Likewise: “O envy, companion of virtue, who follow the good for the most part—or rather pursue them!” The hearer’s mind is moved by this kind. For a thing put in a common word seems merely said more lightly; after the orator’s own correction it becomes more striking and more fitting in delivery. “Would it not be better,” someone will say, “to have come at the outset to the best and choicest word, especially as you write?” Sometimes it is not better, if the change of word is going to show that the matter is of such a kind that, when you come to the choicer word, you make it more striking. But if you had come at once to that word, neither the matter nor the word would have been noticed. 37 XXVII. Suppression is when we say that we pass over, or do not know, or are unwilling to say, the very thing we are now chiefly saying, thus: “Of your boyhood, which you gave over wholly to every kind of excess, I would speak, if I thought this the fitting time; now I deliberately leave it. And that I pass over, that the military tribunes reported you absent from duty. Then that you made satisfaction to L. Labeo for injuries I think has nothing to do with this matter. I say nothing of all this; I return to that on which the trial turns.” Likewise: “I do not say that you took money from the allies; I am not occupied with the fact that you plundered cities, kingdoms, the houses of all; your thefts and robberies I all omit.” This figure is useful if, in a matter that does not concern the others, it helps to give a hint by suggestion, or the matter is long or discreditable, or cannot be made plain, or can easily be refuted; so that it is more useful to have created suspicion by a hint than to have embarked on a speech of the kind that may be refuted.
Disjunction is when of the things we speak of either both or each one is closed with its own verb, thus: “The Roman people destroyed Numantia, razed Carthage, shattered Corinth, overthrew Fregellae. Bodily strength did not help the Numantines, knowledge of war was no aid to the Carthaginians, learned cunning brought the Corinthians no protection, community of manners and speech did not help the Fregellans.” Likewise: “The beauty of form either fades through disease or is extinguished by age.” Here we see that both, and in the former example each single thing, is closed with its own verb. 38 Conjunction is when by inserting a verb both the earlier and the later parts of the sentence are held together, thus: “The beauty of form fades either through disease or through age.”
Adjunction is when we do not place the verb that holds the matter together in the middle, but put it either first or last. First, thus: “Fades the beauty of form, either through disease or through age.” Last, thus: “Either through disease or through age the beauty of form fades.”
Disjunction is suited to elegance, and so we shall use it rather rarely, lest it breed weariness; conjunction to brevity, and so should be employed more often. These three figures spring from the simple kind.
XXVIII. Reduplication is the repetition, for the sake of amplification or pity, of one word or several, thus: “Tumults, Gaius Gracchus, tumults at home and within the state you are preparing!” Likewise: “You were not moved when your mother embraced your feet—you were not moved?” Likewise: “Now do you dare even to come into the sight of these men, traitor to your country? Traitor, I say, to your country, do you dare to come into their sight?” The renewal of the same word greatly moves the hearer and makes a deeper wound in the opponent’s case, as though a weapon struck again and again the same part of the body.
Interpretation is that which, not repeating the same word, renews it by changing what has been put for another word of equal meaning, thus: “You have overthrown the republic from its roots, you have cast down the state from its foundations.” Likewise: “You struck your father wickedly, you laid impious hands on your parent.” The mind of the hearer must needs be moved when the weight of the former saying is renewed by a change of words. 39 Transposition is when two sentences differing from each other are so uttered by a change of order that the latter, contrary to the former, arises from the former, thus: “You must eat to live, not live to eat.” Likewise: “I do not make poems for this reason, that I cannot make such as I wish, and such as I can I do not wish.” Likewise: “…cannot be said.” Likewise: “A poem should be a speaking picture, a picture a silent poem.” Likewise: “…you are a fool.” It cannot be denied that it is done fittingly when the words too are turned about with the reversal of the contrary sentence. We have given several examples so that, since this kind of figure is hard to invent, it might be made clear, and once well understood be more easily found in speaking.
XXIX. Concession is when we show in speaking that we hand over and yield some matter wholly to the will of another, thus: “Since, all else being taken from me, only mind and body remain, these very things, which alone of many are left to me, I surrender to you and to your power. Use me and abuse me as seems good to you; it shall be allowed; punish me as you will without penalty; speak and give the sign:
and I shall obey.” Though this kind is sometimes to be handled at other times too, it is nevertheless most suited to moving pity.
40 Hesitation is when the orator seems to ask which of two he should say rather, or which of many he should say first, thus: “At that time the folly of the consuls—or should I say their malice, or both—did the republic the greatest harm.” Likewise: “You dared to say that, you, of all mortals—by what name worthy of your character shall I call you?”
Elimination is when, after several ways have been listed in which some thing could have come about, the others are removed and the one we are pressing is left, thus: “Since it is agreed that this farm was ours, you must show that you either possessed it when vacant, or made it yours by use, or bought it, or that it came to you by inheritance. When I was present you could not have possessed it vacant; by use you cannot even now have made it yours; no purchase is produced; by inheritance, while I live, my property could not come to you. It remains, therefore, that you 41 drove me by force from my farm.” This figure will help conjectural arguments most. But it will not always be possible, as in most figures, to use it when we wish; for we generally cannot, unless the nature of the case itself gives us the opportunity.
XXX. Asyndeton is that which is uttered with the conjunctions of the words removed from the middle, the parts being separated, thus: “Obey your parent, yield to your kinsmen, comply with your friends, submit to the laws.” Likewise: “…to find.” This kind has sharpness in it, is most vehement, and is suited to brevity.
Breaking Off is when by the words said the remainder of what was begun is left unfinished, thus: “I am no match for you in this contest, because the Roman people—I am unwilling to say, lest I seem arrogant to anyone; but you they often thought deserving of disgrace.” Likewise: “You dare to say that, you who lately in another’s house—I would not venture to say, lest, in saying what is worthy of you, I seem to have said something unworthy of myself.” Here an unspoken suspicion has been made more dreadful than an explicit explanation.
Conclusion is that which by a brief argument from what has been said or done before draws what necessarily follows, thus: “But if an oracle had been given to the Greeks that Troy could not be taken without the arrows of Philoctetes, and these did nothing else than strike Alexander, then to kill him was surely to take Troy.” 42 XXXI. There remain also ten figures of words, which we have not scattered at random but separated from the others, because all are placed in one class. For this is peculiar to all of them, that the usual force of words is departed from and the speech is turned into another manner with a certain charm.
Of these figures the first is naming, which warns us that, for a thing whose name does not exist or is not sufficiently suitable, we ourselves should name it with a suitable word, either for the sake of imitation or of expressing meaning: for imitation, thus, as our ancestors said “to bray” and “to hiss”; for expressing the thing, thus: “After this man made an attack on the republic, the crash of the state…” This kind is to be used rarely, so that the constant use of a new word does not breed dislike; but if anyone uses it suitably and rarely, he will not only give no offence by novelty but will even adorn the speech.
Antonomasia is that which, as by some outside surname, points out what cannot be called by its own name; as if someone, speaking of the Greeks, were to say, “But the grandsons of Africanus were not like that.” Likewise if someone, speaking of an adversary, says, “See now, judges, how that Swordsman has treated me.” In this way we can, not without ornament, both in praising and in blaming, speak of the body or mind or outward things as by a surname which we set in place of a fixed name. 43 XXXII. Metonymy is that which draws language from near and neighbouring things, by which a thing not called by its own word can be understood. It is made either from a superior thing, as if someone, speaking of Tarpeius, were to call him Capitoline; … ; or from an invention, as if someone were to call wine Liber and grain Ceres; … ; or from an instrument the master, as if someone… Thus the Gauls call them—“The spears of Greece did not take it so quickly,” or the same signifying the Gauls; or what is done, by the one who does it, as if someone, wishing to show that a man has done something in war, were to say, “Mars forced you to do that”; or, again, what makes by what is made, as when we call an art idle because it makes men idle, and cold sluggish because it makes men sluggish. From that which contains, that which is contained will be named thus: “Italy cannot be conquered by arms nor Greece by schools”—for here the containers are marked out for the Greeks and Italians; and from that which is contained, that which contains, as if someone were to name gold or silver or ivory when he wishes to name riches. The division of all these denominations is easier in teaching than their invention in seeking, because the use of such denominations is abundant not only among poets and orators but in daily speech.
Periphrasis is speech that circumscribes a simple thing by an assumed style of expression, thus: “The foresight of Scipio broke the power of Carthage.” For here, unless some regard for adornment had been had, Scipio and Carthage could have been named plainly. 44 Hyperbaton is that which disturbs the order of words by inversion or transposition. By inversion, thus: “…on your behalf.” By transposition, thus: “Unstable fortune had the greatest power against that man. Chance enviously snatched away from all the means of living well.” Transposition of this kind, which does not make the matter obscure, will help much in the continuances of which we spoke before; in them the words ought to be built up as to a kind of poetic rhythm, so that they may be completed perfectly and most finely.
XXXIII. Hyperbole is speech exceeding the truth for the sake of magnifying or lessening something. It is taken either separately or with comparison. Separately, thus: “…fortune had power. Chance enviously snatched away from all the means of living well.” With comparison, hyperbole is taken either from likeness or from superiority. From likeness, thus: “In body he matched the whiteness of snow, in look the heat of fire.” From superiority, thus: “From whose mouth speech flowed sweeter than honey.” Of the same kind is this: “So great was the splendour in arms that the brightness of the sun seemed dimmer.”
Synecdoche is when the whole is understood from a small part or the part from the whole. The whole is understood from the part thus: “Did not those wedding flutes remind you of that marriage?” For here all the sanctity of the wedding is understood from one sign, the flutes. The part from the whole, as if someone were to say to a man displaying costly dress or ornament, “You show me riches and boast of wealthy stores.” 45 Many are understood from one thus: “…a man from beyond the Alps; in Italy too, some man in a toga felt the same.” One from many will be understood thus: “Grievous calamity beat their breasts with grief; and so, panting, he drew breath from the depths of his lungs with care.” For in the former, several Spaniards and Gauls and men in the toga are understood, and in the latter, one breast and one lung; and in the former the number is reduced for the sake of elegance, in the latter increased for the sake of weight.
These are nearly all the things that seemed to need saying about figures of words. Now the subject itself reminds us to pass next to the figures of thought. 47 XXXV. Distribution is when certain definite duties are apportioned among several things or persons, thus: “Whoever of you, judges, loves the name of the senate must hate this man; for he has always most insolently attacked the senate. Whoever wishes the equestrian rank to be most splendid in the state must wish this man to have paid the heaviest penalty, lest by his baseness he be a stain and disgrace to a most honourable order. You who have parents, show by his punishment that impious men do not please you. You who have children, set an example of how great punishments are prepared in the state for men of this sort.” Likewise: “It is the duty of the senate to help the state by counsel; the duty of the magistrate to carry out the will of the senate by effort and diligence; the duty of the people to choose and approve with its votes the best measures and the fittest men.” And: “The duty of the accuser is to bring charges; of the defender to refute and repel them; of the witness to say what he knows or has heard; of the examiner to keep each of these to his duty. Therefore, Lucius Cassius, if you allow a witness to argue and pursue conjecture beyond what he knows or has heard, you will mix the right of the accuser with the right of testimony, you will strengthen the zeal of a bad witness, and you will prepare a double defence for the accused.” This figure is copious, for it embraces much in little, and by assigning to each his duty separates and divides many things. 48 XXXVI. Frankness is when, before those whom we ought to revere or fear, we nevertheless say something by our right, because we seem truly to blame them, or those they love, for some fault, thus: “…that your affairs are abandoned? that no one takes up your cause? that no one professes himself your defender? Ascribe it to your own fault, cease to wonder. For why should not all men flee and avoid that business? Remember what defenders you have had; set their zeal before your eyes; then consider the end of them all. Then let it come to your mind, to speak the truth, that through your negligence, or rather your sloth, they were all slaughtered before your eyes, and their enemies by your votes came to the highest place.” Likewise: “For what reason was there, judges, for you to hesitate in giving your votes, or to adjourn the case of this wicked man? Were not the charges laid most plain? Were they not all proved by witnesses? Was not the reply feeble and trifling? Did you here fear that you would be thought cruel if you condemned him at the first sitting? While avoiding that reproach, which would have been far from you, you have found one by which you are thought timid and slothful. After receiving the greatest private and public calamities, when even greater seem to threaten, you sit and yawn. You wait for night from day, for day from night. Every day something bitter and troublesome is reported; and still you delay longer the man by whose doing these things befall us, and nourish him to the ruin of the republic, and keep him as long as you can in the state?” 49 XXXVII. If frankness of this kind seems to have too much sharpness, it will be softened by many mitigations; for it will be allowed at once to add something like this: “Here I seek your virtue, I miss your wisdom, I look for your old custom,” so that what has been disturbed by frankness may be settled by praise, so that the one thing may remove anger and annoyance, the other deter from the fault. This, as in friendship so in speaking, if it is done in its place, does most to make the hearers keep from fault, and us who speak seem friends both of them and of the truth.
There is, moreover, a certain kind of frankness in speaking which is contrived by a shrewder method, when either we rebuke the hearers in the way they themselves wish to be rebuked, or say that we fear how they will take what we know all will readily hear, yet are moved by the truth to say it nonetheless. We shall give examples of both kinds; of the former, of this sort:
“You are too simple and gentle in spirit, citizens; you trust each man too much. You think that each man strives to accomplish what he has promised you. You err, and have long been held by a false hope, through your own folly, who preferred to ask from others what it was in your power to take yourselves.” Of the latter frankness this will be an example: “I had a friendship with that man, judges; but, though I fear how you will take it, I will say it: you deprived me of that friendship. Why so? Because, to win your approval, I preferred to have as an enemy rather than as a friend the man who was attacking you.”
50 Therefore this figure, whose name is frankness, will, as we have shown, be handled in two ways: by sharpness, which if it is too harsh is softened by praise; and by pretence, of which we spoke afterwards, which needs no softening, because it imitates frankness and is by its own nature suited to the hearer’s mind.
XXXVIII. Understatement is when we say that there is in us, or in those we defend, something outstanding, by nature or fortune or industry, which, so that no appearance of arrogant display be conveyed, is lessened and toned down in speech, thus: “For I say this by my right, judges, that by labour and industry I took care to hold military discipline not in the last place.” If someone had said “to hold it in the best way,” although he had spoken truly, he would nevertheless have seemed arrogant. As it is, enough has been said both to avoid envy and to win praise. Likewise: “Did he come to the crime, then, from avarice or from want? From avarice? But he was most lavish to his friends; which is a sign of generosity, the contrary of avarice. From want? His father—I would not say too much—left him no very slender estate.” Here too care has been taken not to be offensive in bringing forward our own outstanding advantages, or those of the men we defend. For things of this kind draw envy in life and dislike in speech if you handle them thoughtlessly. Therefore as in living envy is shunned by reason, so in speaking dislike is avoided by design. 51 XXXIX. Description is the name for the clear and lucid exposition, with weight, of the consequences of things, thus: “But if you, judges, set that man free by your votes, at once, like a lion let out of its cage or some most foul beast loosed from its chains, he will flit and roam in the forum, sharpening his teeth against the fortunes of every man, rushing upon all, friends and enemies, known and unknown, plundering the good name of some, attacking the life of others, shattering the house and whole household of others, shaking the republic to its foundations. Therefore, judges, cast him out of the state; free all from fear; in short, take thought for yourselves. For if you let him go unpunished, believe me, judges, you will have let loose upon yourselves a savage and truculent beast.”
Likewise: “For if you pass a severe sentence on this man, judges, by one judgment you will at once have cut the throats of many: an aged parent, whose whole hope for his old age rests on this young man, will have no reason to wish to remain in life; little children, deprived of their father’s aid, will be set before their father’s enemies as a sport and scorn; the whole house of this man will fall unworthily… miseries, and the proud will be found so in deed and word alike.” Likewise: “For it escapes none of you, citizens, what miseries are wont to follow the capture of a city: those who bore arms against the enemy are at once most cruelly slaughtered; the rest who can bear toil by age and strength are carried off into slavery, those who cannot are deprived of life; at one and the same time the house is burning with the enemy’s fire, and those whom nature or choice has joined by kinship and goodwill are dragged apart; children are torn partly from their parents’ laps, partly slain in their bosom, partly defiled at their feet. There is no one, judges, who could do justice to the matter in words or express in speech the greatness of the calamity.”
By this kind of figure either indignation or pity can be stirred, when the consequences, taken together, are plainly and briefly set forth in speech.
52 XL. Division is that which, separating one thing from another, frees both by a reason added, thus: “Why should I now reproach you with anything? If you are upright, you have not deserved it; if wicked, you will not be moved.” Likewise: “If you remember, I shall weary you; if you have forgotten, since I have accomplished nothing with the facts, what can I gain by words?” Likewise: “There are two things that can move men to a shameful gain: poverty and avarice. You we have known avaricious in the division with your brother; poor and in need we now see you. How, then, can you show that there was no cause for the crime?” The difference between this division and that third part of a speech, of which we spoke in the first book after the narration, is this: that one divides by enumeration or exposition the matters on which the discussion will be held throughout the whole speech; this explains itself at once, and, briefly adding reasons to two or more parts, adorns the speech.
XLI. ‘If the advantage came to this man from that man’s death; and his life is most disgraceful, his mind most greedy, his family fortunes most reduced; and the affair was of benefit to no one but him; and no one else could so conveniently, nor could he by more convenient means, have done it; and nothing was omitted by him that was needed for the crime, and nothing done that was not needed; and a place most suitable was carefully sought, then an opportune occasion for attack, a most favourable time for approach; the longest span for the doing of it was taken, not without the greatest hope of concealing and completing the crime; and besides, before the man was killed, this man was seen alone in the place where the killing was done; a little later, at the very moment of the crime, the voice of the man who was being killed was heard; then it is agreed that after the killing this man returned home late at night; that on the next day he spoke hesitantly and inconsistently about the killing; and all this is established partly by testimonies, partly by examinations, by arguments, and by the report of the people, which, being born of arguments, must needs be true—it is for you, judges, by bringing these things together into one place, to gain certain knowledge, not mere suspicion, of the crime. For one thing or another might by chance have fallen against him so as to raise suspicion; but that all things should agree with one another from first to last means that this man must have been connected with the crime; by chance it cannot happen.” This figure is forceful, and in the conjectural issue of a case it is almost always necessary, and in other kinds of cases and in every speech it should sometimes be employed. 54 XLII. Refining is when we remain in the same topic and seem to say something new and new. It is done in two ways: if we say either exactly the same thing, or something about the same thing. We shall say the same thing not in the same manner—for that is to batter the hearer, not to refine the matter—but with variation. We shall vary it in three ways: in words, in delivery, in treatment.
We shall vary in words when, a thing having been said once, we say the same thing a second time or more often in other words of the same force.
set forth, in this way: “No danger is so great that the wise man would think it must be avoided for the safety of his country. When the lasting safety of the state is at stake, a man endowed with good principles will surely think that no peril of life is to be shunned for the fortunes of the commonwealth, and he will always hold the opinion that for his country he should eagerly descend into the greatest struggle for his life.”
We shall vary in delivery if, saying the same things in different words, we also change the delivery more vehemently, now in the conversational tone, now in a sharper one, now in one kind of voice and gesture and then another. This can neither be written down very conveniently nor is it hard to understand; so it needs no example. 55 The third kind of variation is that which is effected by treatment, if we shift the thought either to dialogue or to arousal.
XLIII. Dialogue is—of which I shall speak more fully a little later in its proper place, and now touch briefly as much as suffices for this matter—that in which a speech suited to the dignity of some person is composed, in this way, so that, in order that the matter may be more easily understood, we do not depart from the same thought: “The wise man will think that every danger must be undertaken for the sake of the commonwealth. He will often say to himself: ‘I was born not for myself alone, but much rather for my country; this life, which is owed to fate, should be paid above all for my country’s safety. She nourished me; she brought me safely and honourably to this age; she fortified my interests with good laws, the best customs, the most honourable training. What is there by which I could repay enough to her from whom I received these things?’ Thereafter, as the wise man often says these things to himself, he will not shrink from any danger in the perils of the commonwealth.”
The matter is likewise changed by treatment if it is turned to arousal, when we seem to speak moved ourselves and move the hearer’s mind, thus: “Who is so poor in thought, whose mind is so confined within the narrow limits of envy, as not to praise this man most eagerly and judge him most wise, who for the safety of his country, for the security of the state, for the fortunes of the commonwealth, willingly undertakes and gladly endures any danger however great and terrible? as far as I can, and I know for certain that the same is true for all of you.”
The same thing, then, will be varied in speaking by these three means: in words, in delivery, in treatment; and in treatment in two ways: by dialogue and by arousal.
But when we speak on the same subject, we shall use very many variations. For when we have stated the matter plainly, we can add the reason; then state it in two forms, either without reasons or with reasons; then bring in the contrary—about which the simile and the example—about which we shall say more in their place; XLIV. then the conclusion—about which in the second book I have said what was needed, showing how arguments should be concluded; in this book we have taught of what sort is the figure of diction whose name is conclusion. Thus a refining of this kind can be made forcefully ornate, consisting of frequent figures of diction and of thought.
In this way, then, it will be treated in seven parts—so that we do not depart from the example of the same thought, and that you may know how easily, by the teaching of rhetoric, a simple matter may be handled in many ways: 57 “The wise man will avoid no danger for the commonwealth, because often, if he is unwilling to perish for the commonwealth, he will necessarily perish with the commonwealth; and since all advantages have been received from his country, no disadvantage suffered for his country is to be thought grievous.
must be undergone for the commonwealth act foolishly; for they can neither escape the disadvantages and are found ungrateful to the state. But those who seek their country’s dangers at the cost of their own danger are to be thought wise, since they both render to the commonwealth the honour they owe and prefer to die for many rather than with many. For it is exceedingly unjust that a life received from nature, and preserved thanks to one’s country, one should, when nature compels, give back to nature, but when one’s country asks, not give to one’s country; and that when one can die for one’s country with the highest virtue and honour, one should prefer to live in disgrace and cowardice; and that when one is willing to meet danger for friends and parents and other close ones, one should be unwilling to enter the struggle for the commonwealth, in which both these and that most sacred name of country are contained.
As a man is to be despised who in a ship prefers his own safety to the ship’s, so is he to be blamed who in the crisis of the commonwealth consults his own interest rather than the common safety. For when a ship is wrecked many have escaped unharmed; from the shipwreck of one’s country no one can swim out safe.
is said to have devoted himself and to have hurled himself into the midst of the enemy for the legions. He lost his life, yet did not waste it. For at a very cheap price he bought a certain and great gain at a small cost. He gave his life, he received his country; he lost his breath, he gained glory, which, handed down with the highest praise, shines forth more brightly every day with age.
has been shown by reasoning and confirmed by example, those are to be thought wise who avoid no danger for their country’s safety.” 58 In these kinds, then, refining is employed; about which I have been led to say more because not only does it help and adorn the speech when we plead a case, but above all through it we are trained in the faculty of expression. Therefore it will be fitting, in practising outside a case, to employ the methods of refining, and in speaking to use them when we are adorning an argument, a matter on which I spoke in the second book.
XLV. Dwelling on the point is when we stay longer at the strongest place, on which the whole case rests, and return to it more often. It is most fitting to use this, and it is above all the mark of a good orator, for the hearer is given no power to turn his mind from the strongest point. A fully suitable example of this could not be supplied, because this topic is not separated from the whole case like some limb, but is spread like blood through the whole body of the speech.
Antithesis is that by which contraries are set against each other. In figures of diction it is, as we taught before, of this kind: “You show yourself placable to enemies, inexorable to friends.” In figures of thought, of this kind: “You mourn his misfortunes; he rejoices in the calamity of the state. You distrust your fortunes; he alone is all the more confident in his own.” Between these two kinds of antithesis this is the difference: the former consists of words quickly set against each other; here the contrary thoughts must be brought out by comparison. 59 Simile is a speech that carries over to some matter something similar from a dissimilar matter. It is taken either for ornament or for proof or to speak more clearly or to set before the eyes. And as it is taken for four reasons, so it is expressed in four ways: by contrast, by negation, by comparison, by brevity. To each reason for taking a simile we shall adapt a particular manner of delivery.
XLVI. For ornament it is taken by contrast thus: “For as in the race a runner who receives the blazing torches is swifter in the continuous course than the one who hands them on, so a new general who takes over an army is not better than the one who leaves; because a weary runner hands the torch to a fresh one, but here a skilled general hands the army to an unskilled one.”
could have been said plainly, clearly and convincingly in this way: “It is said that worse generals commonly receive their armies from better ones”; but the simile was taken for ornament, to give the speech a certain dignity. It was expressed by contrast. For a simile is taken by contrast when we deny that anything is like the thing which we approve.
It will be expressed by negation for the sake of proof in this way: “…is well trained, it can be suited to the uses required of a horse; nor can an unlearned man, however gifted, attain to virtue.” This is made more persuasive because it is more likely that virtue cannot be acquired without instruction, since not even an untamed horse could be suitable. Thus it was taken for proof but expressed by negation; for this is plain from the first word of the simile. 60 XLVII. A simile will also be taken to speak more clearly—it is expressed by brevity—in this way: “In the conduct of friendship, as in a running contest, the training should not be only so that you can reach the point where it is necessary, but that, carried on by zeal and strength, you may easily run beyond.” For this simile is so that it may be more clearly understood that those act wrongly who find fault with people who, for example, after a friend’s death take care of his children; because in a runner there ought to be so much speed that he is carried beyond the finish, and in a friend so much goodwill that he runs on in zeal of friendship beyond what the friend can feel. It is expressed by brevity, for the two things are not separated one from the other as in other cases, but both are stated joined and mingled together.
A simile will be taken to set a matter before the eyes—it will be expressed by comparison—thus: “As when a harp-player has come forward splendidly dressed, in a gilded robe, with a purple mantle woven in various colours, and a golden crown lit by great shining jewels, holding a harp most beautifully adorned with gold and ivory, and himself besides of a form and appearance and stature suited to his dignity, if, after he has stirred the people to great expectation by these things, suddenly, in the silence, he utters a harsh voice with a most ugly movement of the body, the better he was adorned and the more he was expected, the more he is mocked and scorned and cast out; so if anyone placed in a lofty position and in great and rich resources, abounding in all the gifts of fortune and advantages of nature, should lack virtue and the arts which are the teachers of virtue, the more he is rich and distinguished and expected in other things, the more he will be mocked and scorned and cast out from the whole company of good men.” This simile is adorned in each of its parts, and sets the idleness of the one and the other before the eyes. It is expressed by comparison, because, the simile having been proposed, all the particulars are related in correspondence.
61 XLVIII. In similes one must carefully observe that, when we bring forward a thing similar to that for whose sake we have brought the simile, we use words suited to the simile. It is of this kind: “As swallows are at hand in summer and, driven by cold, withdraw, …” From the same simile we now take words by transference: “so false friends are at hand in the calm time of life; as soon as they have seen the winter of fortune, they all fly away.” But the finding of similes will be easy if one can frequently set before his eyes all things, living and lifeless, mute and speaking, wild and tame, of earth, of heaven, of the sea, made by art, by chance, by nature, usual and unusual, and from these hunt out some likeness which can either adorn or teach or make the matter clearer or set it before the eyes. For it is not necessary that the whole of one thing be like the whole of the other, but that the very point that is compared have the likeness.
62 XLIX. An example is the setting forth of some deed or saying of the past with the name of a definite author.
It is taken for the same reasons as a simile. It makes a speech more ornate when it is taken for nothing but dignity; clearer, when it makes more lucid what is rather obscure; more convincing, when it makes it more probable; it sets before the eyes, when it expresses everything so plainly that the matter can, so to speak, be handled. We would have supplied single examples of each kind, had we not already shown in the refining what an example is and explained in the simile the reasons for taking it. Therefore I was unwilling to write few, so that it might not be understood, or more once it was understood.
Comparison of likeness is the setting of a form beside a form with a certain resemblance. It is taken either for praise or for blame. For praise, thus: “He went into battle with the body of the strongest bull, with the charge of the fiercest lion.” For blame, to bring into hatred, in this manner: “That man who every day through the middle of the forum, like a serpent with poisonous breath and raging spirit,
L. Character-sketch is when someone’s nature is described by certain signs, which, like marks, are attributed to the nature …of a person; as if you wished to describe not a rich man but a man who makes a display of his wealth: “This man,” you will say, “judges, who thinks himself a splendid person because he is called rich—first of all see now with what a look he regards us. Does he not seem to you to say: ‘I would gladly give you what they give to clients, if you were not a nuisance to me’? When he has propped his chin on his left hand, he thinks he dazzles the eyes of all with the glitter of a jewel and the gleam of gold. When he looks at a slave—this one only, whom I know, though I think you do not—he calls him by one name, then by another and another. ‘Here, you, come, Sannio, lest those barbarians make a disturbance,’ so that strangers who hear may think one has been picked out of many. He says in his ear that couches are to be spread at home, or that an Ethiopian be asked from his uncle to come to the baths, or that a place be given for his Spanish pony before his door, or that some fragile stage-property of false glory be got together. Then he exclaims, so that all may hear: ‘See that it is carefully counted, if possible, before night.’ The slave, who already knows his master’s nature well, says: ‘You must send more than that, if you want it all counted today.’
…whom he had invited while making a splendid tour. Thereupon the man is, by Hercules, thoroughly embarrassed, but nonetheless does not depart from his natural fault. ‘You do well,’ he says, ‘to come, but you would have done better if you had gone straight to my house.’
‘Although at Tusculum I have indeed begun to be mad and to build on the same foundations.’ 64 LI. “While he says this, he comes to a certain house in which a banquet was to be held that same day; and he enters with his guests as if he knew the owner. ‘Here,’ he says, ‘I live.’ He looks at the silver that was laid out, sees the dining room spread, approves. A little slave comes up; he tells the man quietly that the master is about to arrive, if he wishes to go out. ‘Is that so?’ he says. ‘Let us go, guests; my brother is coming from Falernum; I shall go to meet him; you come here at the tenth hour.’ The guests leave. He hurries off to his own house; at the tenth hour, as he had ordered, they come. They look for him, they find whose house it is, and, mocked, betake themselves to an inn.
…his own until late at night he had waited. He had given the boy Sannio the task of asking for vessels, clothing and slaves; the little slave, not without wit, had procured them energetically and neatly. He leads the guests home; he says he has lent a very large house to a friend for a wedding. The boy announces that the silver is being asked for back, for the lender had become afraid. ‘Away with you,’ he says, ‘I lent the house, I gave the household; does he want the silver also? Although I have guests, still let him use it; we shall be content with Samian ware.’ …such is the man’s nature that what he does in single days out of vainglory and display I could scarcely recount in a year’s talk.” 65 Character-sketches of this kind, which describe what is consistent with each person’s nature, give great delight, for they set before the eyes the whole nature of someone, either of the boastful man, as we began by way of example, or of the envious or the conceited, the greedy, the ambitious, the lover, the profligate, the thief, the informer; in short, the pursuit of anyone whatever can be brought into the open by such a sketch.
LII. Dialogue is when speech is attributed to some person and is set forth in keeping with his dignity, in this manner: “When the city was overflowing with soldiers and all, oppressed with fear, were keeping to their houses, this man came in a military cloak, girt with a sword, holding a javelin; three young men followed a man of like equipment. He burst suddenly into the house, and then with a loud voice: ‘Where is that fortunate master of the house?’ he said. ‘Why was he not at hand for me? Why are you silent?’ At this all the others were struck dumb with fear. The wife of that most unhappy man threw herself with great weeping at his feet. ‘By whatever is sweetest to you in life,’ she said, ‘have pity on yourself; we too were fortunate; recognize that you are a man.’ ‘Why do you not give him to me, and cease to wail in my ears? He shall not get away.’
Meanwhile he is told that this man has come and is threatening death with a very loud cry. As soon as he heard this, … Scarcely had she said this when behold, the man was there: ‘Are you sitting there, bold fellow? Did not my voice take your life from you? Satisfy my enmity, and glut my anger with your blood.’ The other, with great spirit, said: ‘I feared that I would be plainly defeated. Now I see: you do not wish to contend with me by right, where to be overcome is most shameful and to overcome most glorious; you wish to kill. I shall be slain indeed, but not perish defeated.’ ‘How you utter maxims even at the last moment of life! Will you never beg of him whom you see as your master?’ Then the woman said: ‘Indeed, he begs and entreats; but you, I beg you, be moved; and you, by the gods,’ she said, ‘embrace him. He is master; he has conquered you; conquer now your own spirit.’ ‘Why do you not stop,’ he said, ‘wife, saying what is not worthy of me? Be silent and attend to what must be attended to. Do you delay to snatch my life from me, and from yourself all hope of living well, by my death?’ He pushed the woman away from him as she lamented; and as the other began to say something, worthy no doubt of his courage, he drove the sword into his side.”
I think in this example that to each person speeches were given suited to his dignity; and this is what should be preserved in this kind.
There are also dialogues that follow upon something, of this kind: “Will not all use this language?”—and then to add the speech. 66 LIII. Personification is when some person who is not present is feigned as though present, or when a mute or formless thing is made eloquent, and a form and a speech suited to its dignity, or some action, is attributed to it, in this manner: “But if now this unconquered city could utter a voice, would she not speak thus: ‘I, adorned with very many trophies, enriched with the most certain triumphs, made wealthy with most glorious victories, am now harassed by your seditions, citizens; I, whom treacherous Carthage by her wiles, Numantia proved in strength, Corinth schooled in the arts could not shake—do you now suffer me to be trampled and crushed by the basest little men?’” Likewise: “‘I begot liberty, which did not exist; you will not keep it, now that it is born. I at the risk of my own life freed my country; you take no care to be free without danger.’” This personification can be transferred to many things, even mute and lifeless ones. It is of great use in the parts of amplification and in arousing pity. 67 Suggestion is the leaving of more to suspicion than is stated in the speech. It is made by exaggeration, ambiguity, consequence, breaking off, and similarity.
By exaggeration, when more is said than the truth allows, in order to increase suspicion, thus:
“From so great a fortune this man has so quickly left himself not even a potsherd to ask for fire.”
By ambiguity, when a word can be taken in two or more senses, but is taken in the sense which the speaker wishes; as if you say of a man who has entered upon many inheritances: “Look ahead, you who see so much.” LIV. As ambiguities that make a speech obscure must be avoided, so these must be pursued which produce a suggestion of this kind. They will easily be found if we know and give attention to the double or manifold meanings of words.
Suggestion is made by consequence when things that follow upon something are mentioned, from which the whole matter is left to suspicion; as if you say to the son of a fishmonger: “Be quiet, you whose father used to wipe his nose with his elbow.”
By breaking off, if, when we begin to say something, we then cut short, and from what we have already said enough is left to suspicion, thus: “This man, of such looks and age, lately in another’s house—I do not wish to say more.”
By similarity, when a similar thing has been brought forward and we say nothing more, but from it indicate what we think, in this manner: “Do not, Saturninus, rely too much on the crowd of the people; the Greeks lie unavenged.”
LV. Vivid description is when a matter is so expressed in words that the business seems to be taking place and the thing to be before the eyes. This can be done if we take in what came before and after and in the act itself, or do not depart from what follows or surrounds it, in this manner:
“…the people, fearing that he himself, moved by the authority of the senate, would give up his proposal, orders an assembly to be called. Meanwhile that man, overflowing with crime and wicked thoughts, rushes out of the temple of Jupiter, sweating, with blazing eyes, hair on end, toga twisted, and with several others began to hasten. The crier was making silence for the other; this man, senselessly pressing his heel on a bench, breaks off a leg with his right hand and orders the others to do the same. When the Greek began to pray to the gods, they rush upon him at once and fly together from different quarters, and one of the people says: ‘Flee, flee, Tiberius. Do you not see? Look, I say.’ Then the straggling mob, foaming out crime from its mouth, panting cruelty from the depths of its breast, swings its arm and strikes the temple of the Greek, who was in doubt what was happening and yet did not leave the place where he had taken his stand. He, uttering no word, tasting his innate courage, fell silent. That man, spattered with the piteous blood of a most brave man, looking around as though he had done a most glorious deed, and gladly holding out his guilty hand to those who congratulated him, betook himself into the temple of Jupiter.” This figure is of great use in amplifying and arousing pity in narrations of this kind, for it presents the whole matter and almost sets it before the eyes.
LVI. We have eagerly gathered all the methods of adorning style; in which, Herennius, if you exercise yourself more diligently, you will be able to have in speaking both weight and dignity and charm, so that you may speak plainly as an orator, and your invention, bare and unadorned, may not be uttered in common speech.
Let us now urge ourselves on again and again—for it will be a common cause—so that we may often and steadily attain the method of the art by study and practice; which others, with annoyance, neglect for three chief reasons: either they have no one with whom to practise willingly, or they distrust themselves, or they do not know what way they ought to follow; all of which difficulties are far from us. For we practise together gladly, because of friendship, which kinship began and the principle of philosophy confirmed in the rest; and we do not distrust ourselves, because we have made some progress, and there are other better things which we pursue far more intently in life, so that, even if we do not reach in speaking the goal we wish, a small part of the most perfect life may be missing; and we have a way to follow, because in these books nothing of rhetorical teaching has been omitted.
For it has been shown how matters should be found in all kinds of cases; it has been said in what manner they should be arranged; it has been handed down by what method delivery should be done; it has been taught by what way we could remember; it has been shown by what means a perfect style is acquired. If we follow these, we shall find quickly and keenly, arrange distinctly and in order, deliver with weight and grace, remember firmly and lastingly, and express ourselves ornately and agreeably. There is therefore nothing more in the art of rhetoric. All this we shall attain if with diligent practice we follow the rules of instruction.