Having dealt with writing, the next point which claims our attention is premeditation, which itself derives force from the practice of writing and forms an intermediate stage between the labours of the pen and the more precarious fortunes of improvisation; indeed I am not sure that it is not more frequently of use than either. For there are places and occasions where writing is impossible, while both are available in abundance for premeditation. For but a few hours' thought will suffice to cover all the points even of cases of importance; if we wake at night, the very darkness will assist us, while even in the midst of legal proceedings our mind will find some vacant space for meditation, and will refuse to remain inactive.

Again, this practice will not merely secure the proper arrangement of our matter without any recourse to writing, which in itself is no small achievement, but will also set the words which we are going to use in their proper order, and bring the general texture of our speech to such a stage of completion that nothing further is required beyond the finishing touches. And as a rule the memory is more retentive of thoughts when the attention has not been relaxed by the fancied security which results from committing them to writing. But the concentration which this requires cannot be attained in a moment or even quickly.

For, in the first place, we must write much before we can form that ideal of style which must always be present to our minds even when engaged in premeditation. Secondly, we must gradually acquire the habit of thought: to begin with, we shall content ourselves with covering but a few details, which our minds are capable of reproducing with accuracy; then by advances so gradual that our labour is not sensibly increased we must develop our powers and confirm them by frequent practice, a task in which the most important part is played by the memory.

For this reason I must postpone some of my remarks to the portion of this work reserved for the treatment of that topic. XI. ii. 1 sqq. At length, however, our powers will have developed so far that the man who is not hampered by lack of natural ability will by dint of persistent study be enabled, when it comes to speaking, to rely no less on what he has thought out than what he has written out and learnt by heart. At any rate, Cicero records that Metrodorus of Scepsis, A philosopher of the Academic school, contemporary with Cicero, cp. de Or. ii. 360. Empylus of Rhodes, Empylus is not mentioned elsewhere. and our own Hortensius Cp. Brut. 301. were able to reproduce what they had thought out word for word when it came to actual pleading.

If, however, some brilliant improvisation should occur to us while speaking, we must not cling superstitiously to our premeditated scheme. For premeditation is not so accurate as to leave no room for happy inspiration: even when writing we often insert thoughts which occur to us on the spur of the moment. Consequently this form of preparation must be conceived on such lines that we shall find no difficulty either in departing from it or returning to it at will.

For, although it is essential to bring with us into court a supply of eloquence which has been prepared in advance in the study and on which we can confidently rely, there is no greater folly than the rejection of the gifts of the moment. Therefore our premeditation should be such that fortune may never be able to fool us, but may, on the contrary, be able to assist us. This end will be obtained by developing the power of memory so that our conceptions may flow from us without fear of disaster, and that we may be enabled to look ahead without anxious backward glances or the feeling that we are absolutely dependent on what we can call to mind. Otherwise I prefer the rashness of improvisation to the coherence given by premeditation.

For such backward glances place us at a disadvantage, because our search for our premeditated ideas makes us miss others, and we draw our matter from our memory rather than from the subject on which we are speaking. And even if we are to rely on our memory and our subject alike, there are more things that may be discovered than ever yet have been.

But the crown of all our study and the highest reward of our long labours is the power of improvisation. The man who fails to acquire this had better, in my opinion, abandon the task of advocacy and devote his powers of writing to other branches of literature. For it is scarcely decent for an honourable man to promise assistance to the public at large which he may be unable to provide in the most serious emergencies, or to attempt to enter a harbour which his ship cannot hope to make save when sailing before a gentle breeze.

For there are countless occasions when the sudden necessity may be imposed upon him of speaking without preparation before the magistrates or in a trial which comes on unexpectedly. And if any such sudden emergency befalls, I will not say any innocent citizen, but some one of the orator's friends or connexions, is he to stand tongue-tied and, in answer to those who seek salvation in his eloquence and are doomed, unless they secure assistance, to ask for delay of proceedings and time for silent and secluded study, till such moment as he can piece together the words that fail him, commit them to memory and prepare his voice and lungs for the effort?

What theory of the duties of an orator is there which permits him to ignore such sudden issues? What will happen when he has to reply to his opponent? For often the expected arguments to which we have written a reply fail us and the whole aspect of the case undergoes a sudden change; consequently the variation to which cases are liable makes it as necessary for us to change our methods as it is for a pilot to change his course before the oncoming storm.

Again, what use is much writing, assiduous reading and long years of study, if the difficulty is to remain as great as it was in the beginning? The man who is always faced with the same labour can only confess that his past labour has been spent in vain. I do not ask him to prefer to speak extempore, but merely that lie should be able to do so. And this capacity is best acquired by the following method.

In the first place, we must note the direction which the argument is likely to take, since we cannot run our race unless we know the goal and the course. It is not enough to know what are the parts See III. ix. 1. into which forensic pleadings are divided or the principles determining the order of the various questions, important though these points are. We must realise what should come first, second, and so on, in the several parts; for these points are so closely linked together by the very nature of things that they cannot be separated, nor their order changed, without giving rise to confusion.

The orator, who speaks methodically, will above all take the actual sequence of the various points as his guide, and it is for this reason that even but moderately trained speakers find it easiest to keep the natural order in the statement of facts. Secondly, the orator must know what to look for in each portion of his case: he must not beat about the bush or allow himself to be thrown off the track by thoughts which suggest themselves from irrelevant quarters, or produce a speech which is a confused mass of incongruities, owing to his habit of leaping this way and that, and never sticking to any one point.

Finally, he must confine himself to certain definite bounds, and for this division is absolutely necessary. When to the best of his ability he has dealt fully with all the points which he has advanced, he will know that he has reached his goal. The precepts just given are dependent on theory. Those to which I now come depend on individual study. We must acquire a store of the best words and phrases on lines that I have already laid down, while our style must be formed by continuous and conscientious practice in writing, so that even our improvisations may reproduce the tone of our writing, and after writing much, we must give ourselves frequent practice in speaking.

For facility is mainly the result of habit and exercise and, if it be lost only for a brief time, the result will be not merely that we fall short of the requisite rapidity, but that our lips will become clogged and slow to open. For although we need to possess a certain natural nimbleness of mind to enable us, while we are saying what the instant demands, to build up what is to follow and to secure that there will always be some thought formed and conceived in advance ready to serve our voice, none the less,

it is scarcely possible either for natural gifts or for methodic art to enable the mind to grapple simultaneously with such manifold duties, and to be equal at one and the same time to the tasks of invention, arrangement, and style, together with what we are uttering at the moment, what we have got to say next and what we have to look to still further on, not to mention the fact that it is necessary all the time to give close attention to voice, delivery and gesture.

For our mental activities must range far ahead and pursue the ideas which are still in front, and in proportion as the speaker pays out what he has in hand, he must make advances to himself from his reserve funds, in order that, until we reach our conclusion, our mind's eye may urge its gaze forward, keeping time with our advance: otherwise we shall halt and stumble, and pour forth short and broken phrases, like persons who can only gasp out what they have to say.

There is, therefore, a certain mechanical knack, which the Greeks call ἄλογος τριβή, which enables the hand to go on scribbling, while the eye takes in whole lines at once as it reads, observes the intonations and the stops, and sees what is coming before the reader has articulated to himself what precedes. It is a similar knack which makes possible those miraculous tricks which we see jugglers and masters of sleight of hand perform upon the stage, in such a manner that the spectator can scarcely help believing that the objects which they throw into the air come to hand of their own accord, and run where they are bidden.

But this knack will only be of real service if it be preceded by the art of which we have spoken, §§ 5–7. so that what is irrational in itself will nevertheless be founded on reason. For unless a man speaks in an orderly, ornate and fluent manner, I refuse to dignify his utterance with the name of speech, but consider it the merest rant.

Nor again shall I ever be induced to admire a continuous flow of random talk, such as I note streams in torrents even from the lips of women when they quarrel, although, if a speaker is swept away by warmth of feeling and genuine inspiration, it frequently happens that he attains a success from improvisation which would have been beyond the reach of the most careful preparation.