Quomodo historia conscribenda sit

That, then, is the sort of man the historian should be: fearless, incorruptible, free, a friend of free expression and the truth, intent, as the comic poet [*](Aristophanes, on the dubious authority of Tzetzes (see Kock, Comic. Graec. Fragm. III, p. 451).) says, on calling a fig a fig and a trough a trough, giving nothing to hatred or to friendship, sparing no one, showing neither pity nor shame nor obsequiousness, an impartial judge, well disposed to all men up to the point of not giving one side more than its due, in his books a stranger and a man without a country, independent, subject to no sovereign, not reckoning what this or that man will think, but stating the facts.

Thucydides laid down this law very well: he distinguished virtue and vice in historical writing, when he saw Herodotus greatly admired to the point where his books were named after the Muses. For Thucydides says that he is writing a possession for evermore rather than a prize-essay for the occasion, that he does not welcome fiction but is leaving to posterity the true account of what happened. He brings in, too, the question of usefulness and what is, surely, the purpose of sound history: that if ever again men find themselves in a like situation they may be

That then is the sort of mind the historian should have, please, when he comes along. Now as to his language and power of expression, he need not at the beginning of his work sharpen his teeth to perfect proficiency in that vehement, sharp-fanged style that you know, packed with periods, and intricate with logical reasoning or other features of clever rhetoric. No, his tone should be more pacific, his thought coherent and well-knit, his language exact and statesmanlike, of a kind to set forth the subject with the utmost clarity and accuracy.

For just as we set free expression and truthfulness as the target for the historian’s mind, so for his language this should be the first aim: to set forth the matter exactly and to expound it as lucidly as possible, using neither unknown or out-of-the-way words nor that vulgar language of the market-place, but such as ordinary folk may understand and the educated commend. Then, let figures adorn the work that give no offence and in particular appear unlaboured; otherwise he makes language seem like highly-seasoned sauces.

Let his mind have a touch and share of poetry, since that too is lofty and sublime, especially when he has to do with battle arrays, with land and sea fights; for then he will have need of a wind of poetry to fill his sails and help carry his ship along, high on the crest of the waves. Let his diction nevertheless keep its feet on the ground, rising with the beauty and greatness of his subjects and as far as possible resembling them, but without becoming more unfamiliar

Again, in putting words together one should cultivate a well-tempered moderation, without excessive separation or detachment—for that is harsh—and not, as most people, almost link them by means of rhythm; the latter deserves our censure, the former is unpleasant to the audience.

As to the facts themselves, he should not assemble them at random, but only after much laborious and painstaking investigation. He should for preference be an eyewitness, but, if not, listen to those who tell the more impartial story, those whom one would suppose least likely to subtract from the facts or add to them out of favour or malice. When this happens let him show shrewdness and skill in putting together the more credible story.

When he has collected all or most of the facts let him first make them into a series of notes, a body of material as yet with no beauty or continuity. Then, after arranging them into order, let him give it beauty and enhance it with the charms of expression, figure, and rhythm.

In brief let him be then like Homer’s Zeus, looking now at the land of the horse-rearing Thracians, now at

Above all, let him bring a mind like a mirror, clear, gleaming-bright, accurately centred, displaying the shape of things just as he receives them, free from distortion, false colouring, and misrepresentation. His concern is different from that of the orators—what historians have to relate is fact and will speak for itself, for it has already happened: what is required is arrangement

The task of the historian is similar: to give a fine arrangement to events and illuminate them as vividly as possible. And when a man who has heard him thinks thereafter that he is actually seeing what is being described and then praises him—then it is that the work of our Phidias of history is perfect and has received its proper praise.

After all his preparations are made he will sometimes begin without a preface, when the subject matter requires no preliminary exposition. But even then he will use a virtual preface to clarify what he is going to say.

Whenever he does use a preface, he will make two points only, not three like the orators. He will omit the appeal for a favourable hearing and give his audience what will interest and instruct them. For they will give him their attention if he shows that what he is going to say will be important, essential, personal, or useful. He will make what is to come easy to understand and quite clear, if he sets forth the causes

The best historians have written prefaces of this sort: Herodotus, writing history to preserve events from time’s decay, great and glorious as they were, telling of Greek victories and barbarian defeat; Thucydides too, with his expectation that the war would be great, more memorable, and more important than any that had gone before; and in fact the sufferings in that war were considerable.

After the preface, long or short in proportion to its subject matter, let the transition to the narrative be gentle and easy. For all the body of the history is simply a long narrative. So let it be adorned with the virtues proper to narrative, progressing smoothly, evenly and consistently, free from humps and hollows. Then let its clarity be limpid, achieved, as I have said, both by diction and the interweaving of the matter. For he will make everything distinct and complete, and when he has finished the first topic he will introduce the second, fastened to it and linked with it like a chain, to avoid breaks and a multiplicity of disjointed narratives; no, always the first and second topics must not merely be neighbours but have common matter and overlap.

Rapidity is everywhere useful, especially if there is no lack of material; and one must look to the subject matter to provide this rather than to the words and phrases—I mean, if you run quickly over small and

You need especial discretion in descriptions of mountains, fortifications, and rivers, to avoid the appearance of a tasteless display of your word-power and of indulging your own interests at the expense of the history; you will touch on them lightly for the sake of expediency or clarity, then change the subject, avoiding the limed twig set there and all temptation of this sort, as you see Homer doing in his greatness of mind: poet though he is he runs by Tantalus, and Ixion and Tityus and the rest. But if Parthenius or Euphorion or Callimachus were the narrator, think how many words he could have used to carry the water to Tantalus’ lips! How many to set Ixion whirling! Take Thucydides himself: he makes little use of this sort of writing, and see how quickly he gets away when he has been describing an engine or explaining a necessary and useful plan of investment, or the plan of Epipolae, or the harbour of Syracuse. When he appears long-winded in his account of the plague just think of the facts and you will realise his rapidity and how the pressure of events holds him as he tries to get away.

If a person has to be introduced to make a speech, above all let his language suit his person and his subject, and next let these also be as clear as possible. It is then, however, that you can play the orator and show your eloquence.

Eulogy and censure will be careful and considered, free from slander, supported by evidence, cursory, and not inopportune, for those involved are not in court, and you will receive the same censure as Theopompus, who impeached nearly everybody in a quarrelsome spirit and made a business of it, to the extent that he was a prosecutor rather than a recorder of events.

Again, if a myth comes along you must tell it but not believe it entirely; no, make it known for your audience to make of it what they will—you run no risk and lean to neither side.