Institutio Oratoria

When this occurred, the old orators, such as Cicero, [*](No such saying is found in Cicero's extant works.) used to say that some god had inspired the speaker. But the reason is obvious. For profound emotion and vivid imagination sweep on with unbroken force, whereas, if retarded by the slowness of the pen, they are liable to grow cold and, it put off for the moment, may never return. Above all, if we add to these obstacles an unhealthy tendency to quibble over the choice of words, and check our advance at each step, the vehemence of our onset loses its impetus; while even though our choice of individual words may be of the happiest, the style will be a mere patchwork with no regular pattern.

Consequently those vivid conceptions of which I spoke [*](VI. ii. 29.) and which, as I remarked, are called φαντασίαι, together with everything that we intend to say, the persons and questions involved, and the hopes and fears to which they give rise, must be kept clearly before our eyes and admitted to our hearts: for it is feeling and force of imagination that make us eloquent. It is for this reason that even the uneducated have no difficulty in finding words to express their meaning, if only they are stirred by some strong emotion.

Further the attention of the mind must be directed not to some one thing, but simultaneously to a number of things in continuous sequence. The result will be the same as when we cast our eyes along some straight road and see at once all that is on and near it, obtaining a view not merely of its end, but of the whole way there. Dread of the shame of failure is also a powerful stimulant to oratory,

For the sheer necessity of speaking thrusts forward and forces out our labouring thought, and the desire to win approbation kindles and fosters our efforts. So true is it that there is nothing which does not look for some reward, that eloquence, despite the fact that its activity is in itself productive of a strong feeling of pleasure, is influenced by nothing so much as the immediate acquisition of praise and renown.

Nor should any man put such trust in his native ability as to hope that this power will present itself to him at the outset of his career as an orator; for the precepts which I laid down for premeditation [*](Ch. vi. 3.) apply to improvisation also; we must develop it by gradual stages from small beginnings, until we have reached that perfection which can only be produced and maintained by practice.

Moreover, the orator should reach such a pitch of excellence that, while premeditation may still be the safer method, it will not necessarily be the better, since many have acquired the gift of improvisation not merely in prose, but in verse as well, as, for example, Antipater of Sidon and Licinius Archias (for whose powers we have the unquestionable authority of Cicero [*](De Or. iii. 194; Pro Arch. viii. 18. ) ), not to mention the fact that there are many, even in our own day, who have done this and are still doing it. I do not, however, regard this accomplishment as being particularly valuable in itself, for it is both unpractical and unnecessary, but mention it as a useful example to encourage students

Still our confidence in our power of speaking extempore should never be so great that we should neglect to devote a few minutes to the consideration of what we are going to say. There will but rarely be occasions when this is impossible, while in the lawsuits of the courts there is always some time allowed for the purpose. For no one can plead a cause with the facts of which be is unacquainted.

Some declaimers, it is true, are led by a perverse ambition to attempt to speak the moment their theme has been given them, and even ask for a word with which to start, an affectation which is in the worst and most theatrical taste. But eloquence has, in her turn, nothing but derision for those that insult her thus, and speakers who wish to seem learned to fools are merely regarded as fools by the learned.

If, however, chance should impose the necessity upon us of pleading a case at such short notice, we shall require to develop special mental agility, to give all our attention to the subject, and to make a temporary sacrifice of our care for the niceties of language, if we find it impossible to secure both. On such occasions a slower delivery and a style of speaking suggestive of a certain indecision and doubt will secure us time to think, but we must be careful to do this in such a way as to give the impression of thought, not of hesitation.

This precaution may be employed while we are clearing harbour, if the wind drive us forward before all our tackle is ready. Afterwards, as we proceed upon our course, we shall trim our sails, arrange our ropes, and pray that the breeze may fill our sails. Such a procedure is

But it requires no less careful study to maintain than to acquire this facility. Theory once mastered is not forgotten, and the pen loses but little of its speed by disuse: but this promptitude and readiness for action can be maintained by practice only. The best form of exercise is to speak daily before an audience of several persons, who should, as far as possible, be selected from those whose judgement and good opinion we value, since it is rare for anyone to be sufficiently critical of himself. It is even better to speak alone than not at all.

There is yet another method of exercising this faculty: it consists in going over our subjects in their entirety in silent thought, although we must all the time formulate the words to ourselves: such practice is possible at any moment or place that finds us unoccupied, and is, in some respects, more useful than that which I have just mentioned;

for we are more careful about our composition than when we are actually speaking and in momentary fear of interrupting the continuous flow of our language. On the other hand, the first method is more valuable for certain purposes, as it gives strength to our voice, fluency to our tongue and vigour to our gesture; and the latter, as I have already remarked, [*](Ch. iii. 21.) in itself excites the orator and spurs him on, as he waves his hand or stamps his foot: he is, in fact, like the lion, that is said to lash himself to fury with his tail. But we must study always and everywhere.

For there is scarce a single day in our lives that is so full of occupations that we may not, at some moment or other, snatch a few precious minutes, as Cicero [*](Or. 34. ) records that Brutus was

I must also mention the precept (which again has the approval of Cicero [*](There is no trace of this.) ) that we should never be careless about our language. Whatever we say, under whatever circumstances, should be perfect in its way. As regards writing, this is certainly never more necessary than when we have frequently to speak extempore. For it maintains the solidity of our speech and gives depth to superficial facility. We may compare the practice of husbandmen who cut away the uppermost roots of their vines, which run close to the surface of the soil, that the taproots may strike deeper and gain in strength.

Indeed I am not sure that, if we practise both with care and assiduity, mutual profit will not result, and writing will give us greater precision of speech, while speaking will make us write with greater facility. We must write, therefore, whenever possible; if we cannot write, we must meditate: if both are out of the question, we must still speak in such a manner that we shall not seem to be taken unawares nor our client to be left in the lurch.

It is, however, a common practice with those who have many cases to plead to write out the most necessary portions, more especially the beginnings of their speeches, to cover the remainder of that which they are able to prepare by careful premeditation and to trust to improvisation in emergency, a practice regularly adopted by Cicero, as is clear from his note-books. But the notes of other orators are also in circulation; some have been discovered by chance, just as they were jotted down previous to a speech, while others have been edited in book form,

But Cicero's notes were originally intended merely to meet the requirements of the moment, and were afterwards collected [*]( Or perhaps abbreviated. Tiro was Cicero's friend, freedman and secretary. ) by Tiro. In making this apology I do not mean to imply that I disapprove of them, but merely wish to make them more worthy of admiration. And in this connexion I must state that I admit the use of brief memoranda and note-books, which may even be held in the hand and referred to from time to time.

But I disapprove of the advice given by Laenas, that we should set down in our note-books, duly tabulated under the appropriate headings, summaries of what we propose to say, even in cases where we have already written it out in full. For reliance on such notes as these makes us careless in learning what we have written and mutilates and deforms our style. For my own part I think that we should never write out anything which we do not intend to commit to memory. For if we do, our thoughts will run back to what we have elaborated in writing and will not permit us to try the fortune of the moment.

Consequently, the mind will waver in doubt between the two alternatives, having forgotten what was committed to writing and being unable to think of anything fresh to say. However, as the topic of memory will be discussed in the next book, I will not introduce it here, as there are other points which require to be dealt with first.