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likewise atrocious acts committed against foreigners, guests, neighbors, and friends. Likewise we should make the judge see, as if he himself had been present and witnessed it. Likewise if it can be shown that the deed was done by one who least of all ought to have done it, and by one who, if another had done it, ought to have prevented it. By these and very many other ways, as the case, the place, the time, and the person present afford, you ought to stir up indignation or offense against your adversaries. K. I understand well that by speech of this kind the minds of the hearers can be incited to indignation. A. For, as I have said, from these arguments which come from persons or from circumstances, amplifications and indignations can arise. K. They can, as I hold for certain;

but tell me what the appeal for pity (conquestio) is, what it accomplishes, and how it is to be carried out. A. The appeal for pity is a speech that seeks to win the mercy of the hearers. In it, one must first render the hearer's mind gentle and merciful, which is done in many ways: by showing what advantages he has lost and in what misfortunes he now is — as in the death of a son: the love, the hope, the comfort, the upbringing — likewise how great were the goods he had done for the very one who did him such great evils; likewise what base and ignoble things the adversary alleges; likewise how wretched it would seem to you, O judges, had you been present; likewise, 'while I hoped for good things, evils came upon me.' Likewise the unhappiness of weakness is lamented; likewise the separation from a friend, parent, son, brother, wife, and beloved persons;

likewise that one is ill-treated by those by whom it is not fitting — by friends, by servants; likewise how merciful I was toward that man. For the gravity and authority of speech often avails more for mercy than humility and entreaty. But now you have learned about the first and greatest part of the rhetorical art, that is, invention; let us now pass on to the other parts. K. Let us pass on; but first tell me, what is sophistical speech? A. If someone else from the school of your palace had asked me, perhaps I would have shown him. K. Why someone else and not me? Do you begrudge my knowing it? A. I do not begrudge it, but I spare you and honor you. K. I do not see it to be an honor to me when, being asked, you refuse. A. May I question you? K. Why not? For to question wisely is to teach;

and even if it is one person who questions and another who teaches, yet from one source — that is, from the fountain of wisdom — the understanding proceeds to both. A. It proceeds indeed, even if it is one who questions and another who answers: then surely you are not the same one who questions as I who answer. K. By no means the same. A. What are you? K. I am a man. A. You see how I can corner you. K. How? A. If you say that I and you are not the same, and I am a man, it follows that you too are not a man. K. It follows. A. But how many syllables does 'homo' (man) have? K. Two. A. Are you, then, two syllables? K. By no means; but to what end is this? A. So that you may understand sophistical cunning and see how you can be cornered. K.

I see and understand: from what I previously conceded — when I granted both that I am a man, and that 'man' is two syllables — it can be concluded that I am these two syllables. And I marvel how stealthily you led me first to conclude of you that you were not a man, and afterwards of myself, that I was two syllables. I remember, master, that after invention you placed arrangement (dispositio), in which you taught that the orator should distribute in order the things he has found. If this too has any precepts, lay them open to me. A. This part has not many precepts of its own pertaining to itself alone, which are not found in the precepts of invention or of style.

For this too is of the greatest profit both to the matter and to the words, and lends ornament and credibility to the arguments and bestows praise upon the speech, since indeed all things are to be dispensed and composed not only with order but also with a certain weighing and judgment, according as the present consideration of usefulness, propriety, or necessity may demand. But as for what pertains to the arrangement of words, it is taught fully enough when style (elocutio) is treated; and concerning the arrangement of subject-matter through the several members of the speech, it has been handed down in the precepts of invention. K. Now the course of our discussion has led us to the inquiry into style, which lends great charm to a case and dignity to the rhetorician;

nor may you excuse yourself so easily from the answers concerning this, as you extricated yourself in the precepts of arrangement. A. I do not excuse myself, but I will follow your questions, my lord king, with slow foot perhaps, yet not with slow will. K. First, make plain what style ought to be like. A. It ought to be eloquent and clear. K. How clear? A. It will be clear if you use significant, proper, and customary words, without ambiguity, with metaphors not drawn from too far off, and with no hyperbaton interposed. K. How eloquent? A. It will be eloquent if it observes the rules of grammar and is upheld by the authority of the ancients. K. In what way can our speech attain to the authority of the ancients? A. The books of the authors are to be read, and their well-spoken sayings committed to memory;

those who have become accustomed to their manner of speech will not be able to speak otherwise than elegantly, even if they wished. Yet one must not use archaic words which our custom no longer uses, except rarely and sparingly for the sake of ornament; but eloquence is rather adorned by words in common use. K. Is eloquence adorned more in single words, or in the joining of words? A. In both; for the beauty of speech consists both in single words and in the joining of words. K. If it consists in both, speak of both. A. In single words there are two things that illuminate speech: whether the word is proper (literal) or transferred (metaphorical).

In proper (literal) words, the merit is this: that we shun base and unusual ones, and use choice and brilliant ones, in which there may appear to be something full and harmonious — wherein the habit of speaking well also avails very much. In transferred (metaphorical) words, ornament lies open far and wide; it was born of necessity, compelled by poverty and want, but afterwards delight and pleasantness made it frequent. For just as clothing, first devised for the sake of repelling cold, afterwards began to be employed also for the adornment and dignity of the body, so the transfer of words was instituted because of poverty, and thereafter became frequent for the sake of delight and ornament. For even rustics say that the vines 'gem,' the harvest 'runs riot,' the cornfields 'billow';

for what can scarcely be expressed by a proper word is illuminated by a transferred one. Yet one ought to transfer those things which make the matter clearer, as in 'the sea shudders' and 'the deep boils with heat.' Sometimes brevity too is achieved by metaphor, as in 'the dart flies from the hand'; for the suddenness of a hurled dart could not be expressed more briefly in proper words, since the highest merit of a transferred word is this: that it opens up the sense. K. Is it permitted to draw metaphors from anywhere at all? A. By no means, but only from honorable things. For one must above all shun every foulness of those things to which the comparison would draw the minds of the hearers, as when it was said 'the commonwealth was castrated by the death of Africanus' and 'the dung of the senate house';

in both, the thought of the comparison is unsightly. Likewise, let the metaphor not be greater than the matter requires, as in 'the tempest of the lawsuit,' nor on the contrary lesser, as in 'the air thunders, as one snoring while asleep.' Also beautiful is the metaphor by metonymy, when a thing is signified by its author, as 'Mars' for war and 'Ceres' for the crops; or when we name virtues and vices for the persons in whom they reside, as in 'into which house luxury burst and avarice penetrated.' Beautiful too is the synecdochic metaphor, when we signify the whole by a part or the part by the whole, as when we say 'roofs' for the whole house, or 'the sea' for the waves. K. What sort ought the joining of words to be? A.

Becoming, well-composed, and well-knit, so that it be not gaping with vowels, as 'placida aura adest' ('a gentle breeze is here'); nor harsh with consonants, as 'multum ille luget' ('he mourns much'); nor that the following word begin with the last syllable of the preceding word, as 'prima mater' ('first mother'); nor that the first word with the last produce indecency, as 'numerum numquam intellexi' ('the number I never understood'). One must also beware lest empty words be uttered not for the matter to be treated but only to fill out the structure; and, to come to the summit, just as wisdom is the foundation of all other things, so it is in eloquence too; for as in life, so in speech, nothing is more glorious than that all things be done wisely.

Wherefore the orator must above all foresee what is fitting for himself and suited to his case, not only in the sentiments but also in the words; for not every fortune, not every dignity, not every authority, not every age, nor indeed every place or time or hearer is to be treated with the same kind of words or sentiments; and always, in every part of the speech as of life, one must consider what is fitting. K. What do you say of that most noble part of rhetoric, as I reckon it — memory? A. What else but what Marcus Tullius (Cicero) says? That memory is the treasury of all things, and unless it is applied as a guardian to the things and words thought out and discovered, we understand that all, however splendid they may have been, will perish in the orator. K.

Are there any precepts for it, as to how it may be obtained or increased? A. We have no other precepts for it except the practice of learning by heart, the habit of writing, the zeal of reflection, and the avoidance of drunkenness, which most of all harms all good pursuits — which not only takes soundness from the body, but also takes integrity from the mind. K. These precepts suffice, if anyone is fit to fulfill them; for as I see, they are as arduous in their meaning as they are few in their words. A. Arduous indeed, and useful. K. But the order of my questioning requires that your answer proceed to delivery (pronuntiatio), which I remember you said, master, at the beginning of our discussion, to be the fifth part of the rhetorical art. A.

Delivery is the dignity of words, the accommodation of the voice to the sense, and the moderation of the body. For this excels to such a degree that, even according to the opinion of the greatest Tullius, an untaught speech nevertheless wins praise if it is delivered excellently, while one however polished, if it is delivered unbecomingly, deserves contempt and derision — unless perhaps it seems otherwise to you, my lord king. K. To me by no means otherwise; but I should wish you to tell the precepts of this part too that are to be followed, and the faults to be avoided. A. First, the moderation of the voice and breath, and the motion of body and tongue, ought to be exercised, which belong not so much to art as to toil. Also, whatever faults of the mouth there may be must be corrected with diligent care;

so that the words be not puffed up, nor gasped out, nor gnashed in the throat, nor resounding with the hollowness of the mouth, not made harsh by gnashing teeth, not uttered through gaping lips, but pronounced compactly and evenly and gently and clearly, so that each letter be enunciated with its own sounds, and every word be adorned with its proper accent, and not bawled out with immoderate shouting, nor the speech broken up for the sake of ostentation; rather it must be dispensed according to places, matters, persons, cases, and times. For some things are to be narrated with simplicity, others to be urged with authority, others to be brought forth with indignation, others to be swayed with pity, so that the voice and the speech may always suit their own case.

These precepts lead you to praise in delivery, and will procure honor for you and credibility for your case. K. What is it that a little while ago you said — that moderation of the body must be observed? A. I said it, because it must necessarily be observed that the face be straight, that the lips be not twisted, that an immoderate gaping not distend the mouth, that the countenance be not thrown back, that the eyes be not cast down to the ground, that the neck be not bent, and that the eyebrows be neither raised nor lowered. For in these matters too the influence is boundless, since nothing can please that is not becoming; and, as Marcus Tullius says, the head of the art is to make becoming what you do. To lick or bite the lips is unseemly, since even in forming the words their motion ought to be moderate;

for one ought to speak more with the mouth than with the lips. K. These things, venerable master, I confess to be pleasant and honorable and very agreeable to me; but, as I see and understand, they demand continual exercise and daily practice, and cannot attain to full completion except by constant meditation and unremitting exercise, without which I think no discipline can be illustrious. A. So it is, my lord king, as you say; for exercise often conquers natural talent and nature, and practice will surpass the precepts of all teachers. Wherefore let invention, arrangement, style, memory, and delivery grow strong by keen use and most intent exercise; for habit almost takes the place of nature.

For in any art, practiced habit begets confidence and constancy, without which no art profits at all. For what good are arms to the timid? Let the young man love praise, and know it to be a great thing, while many are silent, to be the only one heard; for although ambition itself is a fault, yet it is frequently the cause of virtues. Let him learn from youth not to dread speaking before many, so that neither fear may break him nor bashfulness beyond measure hold him back; so that, while he is equipped with all the resources of an orator, neither excellence of mind nor confidence of speech may be wanting to him. K.

Wherefore, as it seems to me, for those who are reckoned likely to be engaged in civil cases and worldly affairs, the practice of speech, of voice, and of words must be cultivated from boyhood with much zeal, so that from earliest age one may grow accustomed to confidence of voice, abundance of words, and becoming motion of the body — so that without dread he may do in public disputes what by habit he has performed in private. A. You understand truly and follow it out excellently. For as a soldier in the camp, so the orator in the home ought to be trained, that what he has practiced alone he may not dread to do among many. K. Now also I see it to be necessary that private practice begin to guard against whatever a public assembly might detract.

For he who desires to speak honorable words among strangers ought not to use dishonorable words among his own, since in every part of life honorableness is most necessary, especially in speech, because a man's speech generally proves his character — unless it seems otherwise to you, master. A. To me indeed nothing else can seem about this matter; and therefore in everyday conversation let words be choice, honorable, lucid, simple, uttered with even mouth, quiet countenance, composed face, without immoderate laughter, with no shouting.

For there is a good measure in speaking, as in walking — to go gently, without leaping, without dawdling — to the end that all things may shine with the temperance of a middle moderation, which is one of the four virtues, from which the other virtues proceed as if from roots, and in which lies the nobility of the soul, the dignity of life, the honorableness of morals, and the praise of discipline. K. I understand that famous philosophical proverb to be necessary not only for morals but also for words. A. Which one? K. 'Nothing in excess.' A. It is, and truly is, necessary in every thing, because whatever exceeds measure is in fault.

Therefore the virtues are placed in the mean; concerning them I could have said more to your venerable authority, were it not that our discussion hastens to its end, and were it not that it would seem superfluous to deal of virtues with you, whom not only the knowledge of virtues but also the practice of them adorns. K. Yet I will not let you, master, close the pen of your answering, before you set forth to me the names and parts of the four virtues, which you said to be the roots of the other virtues. A little while ago it was agreed between us that the exercise of conversation is necessary; in which is the zeal for speech better held than in the excellence of the virtues, which is greatly able to profit both writers and readers? A.

It profits, as you say, my lord king; but between the two I am hard pressed; for terse brevity demands few words, and an arduous subject desires more. K. Temper yourself toward both, lest either prolixity beget weariness or brevity beget ignorance. A. First it must be known that certain things are so glorious and so noble that they are not to be sought for the sake of any other profit, but are to be loved and pursued for their own dignity alone. K. These very things I should greatly like to know. A. They are these: virtue, knowledge, truth, good love. K. Does not the Christian religion eminently praise these? A. It praises and cherishes them. K. What have philosophers to do with these? A. They perceived them in human nature and cultivated them with the utmost zeal. K.

What then distinguishes such a philosopher from Christians? A. Faith and baptism. K. Yet pursue the philosophical definitions of the virtues, and first tell me what virtue itself is. A. Virtue is a habit of the soul, an ornament of nature, the rule of life, the nobility of morals. K. How many parts does it have? A. Four: prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance. K. What is prudence? A. The knowledge of things and natures. K. How many parts does it have? A. Three: memory, understanding, and foresight. K. Tell the definitions of these too. A. Memory is that by which the soul recalls those things which have been; understanding, that by which it perceives those things which are; foresight, that by which something future is foreseen before it comes to be. K.

Explain the principle of justice. A. Justice is a habit of the soul that assigns to each thing its proper dignity; in it are preserved the worship of the divine, the rights of human fellowship, and the equity of the whole of life. K. Lay open its parts too. A. It is partly from the law of nature, partly from the usage of custom. K. How from the law of nature? A. Because a certain force of nature instills its parts: namely religion, piety, gratitude, vindication, observance, and truth. K. Open up each of these more clearly. A. Religion is that which brings care and ceremony toward a certain higher nature, which men call divine; piety, that by which duty and diligent reverence are rendered to kindred by blood and to those well-disposed toward our country;

gratitude, in which is contained the remembrance of friendships and of another's services and the will to repay them; vindication, by which violence or injury, and in general everything that will be harmful, is repelled by defending or avenging; observance, by which men preeminent in some dignity are deemed worthy of a certain reverence and honor; truth, by which those things are spoken which are, or were before, or are to be. K. How is justice preserved from the usage of custom? A. From covenant, equality, judgment, and law. K. I ask more about these too. A. A covenant is what is agreed among certain persons; equality is what is impartial toward all; a judgment is what is established by the verdicts of some great man or of certain persons;

law is the written right for the whole people, of what they ought to guard against or observe. K. Now I urge you to bring forth fortitude with its parts. A. Fortitude is the endurance of dangers and labors with a great soul; its parts are magnificence, confidence, patience, and perseverance. K. Make plain the principles of these. A. Magnificence is the thinking out and carrying out of great and lofty things with a certain ample and splendid resolution of soul; confidence is that by which the soul, in great and honorable matters, has placed in itself much assurance with sure hope; patience is the voluntary and long-enduring endurance of arduous or difficult things for the sake of honor or usefulness;

perseverance is a steady and perpetual abiding in a well-considered course. K. It remains for you to speak of temperance, from which our inquiry into the virtues arose; whose property and parts I wait to hear. A. Temperance is the firm and moderate dominion of reason over lust and over the other unruly impulses of the soul; its parts are continence, clemency, and modesty. Continence is that by which every evil desire is governed and held down by the great steering of counsel; clemency is that by which injuries and hatreds are restrained with a gentle soul; modesty is that by which the measure of the whole of life, whether in the soul or in the motions of the body, the care of honorableness is everywhere preserved. K.

There is signal honor before men for him who keeps these things, and praise before God. But I marvel at us Christians: if those philosophers preserved these virtues merely for the sake of their dignity or the praise of life, why do we turn aside from them in many things by a devious wandering, when now, to those who observe them in faith and charity, the rewards of eternal glory are promised by Truth itself, Christ Jesus? A. We are more to be pitied than wondered at, because there are very many of ours whom neither the terror of punishments nor the glory of rewards calls back to the dignity of the virtues. K.

I acknowledge it, and not without tears do I say that many are such; nevertheless I beg that, as briefly as you can, you may set forth how these excellent virtues are to be understood and observed in our Christian religion. A. Does it not seem to you that wisdom is that by which God is understood and feared according to the measure of the human mind, and his future judgment believed? K. I understand and assent that nothing is more excellent than this wisdom; and I recall it written in Job: 'Behold, the wisdom of man is piety' — and what is piety but the worship of God, which in Greek is called theosebeia? A. You understand well and truly; but what does justice seem to you to be, except the charity of God and the observance of his commandments? K.

This too I acknowledge — that nothing is more just than this justice; nay, that there is no other but this. A. Do you not discern that fortitude is that by which the ancient enemy is conquered and the adversities of the world are endured? K. I discern it indeed, nor do I reckon anything more praiseworthy than this victory. A. And is not temperance that which bridles lust, represses avarice, and calms and tempers all the impulses of the soul? K. It is, and truly is, and is greatly necessary to every man; but still I ask: to what end does the observance of these virtues look? A. That God and neighbor may be loved — or do you reckon otherwise? K. Nothing else indeed; but as brief as it is to hear, so difficult and arduous it is to do. A.

What is easier than to love beautiful sights, sweet tastes, pleasant sounds, fragrant odors, delightful touches, the honors and felicities of the world? Is it easy, then, for the soul to love these things — which recede like a flitting shadow — and not to love God, who is eternal beauty, eternal sweetness, eternal pleasantness, eternal fragrance, eternal delight, perpetual honor, unfailing felicity? — especially since the divine Scriptures deal with us about nothing else than that we should love God and our Lord with our whole heart and with our whole soul and with our whole mind, and our neighbor as ourselves. For we have a promise from him who knows not how to deceive: 'My yoke,' he says, 'is sweet, and my burden light.'

For the love of this world is more laborious than the love of Christ; for what the soul seeks in it, it does not find — that is, felicity and eternity — since this lowest beauty passes and recedes, either deserting its lover or being deserted by its lover. Let the soul therefore keep its proper order. K. What is the order of the soul? A. That it love what is higher, that is, God, and rule what is lower, that is, the body, and nourish and cherish kindred souls with love; for by these sacrifices the soul, cleansed and unburdened, will fly back from this laborious and troublesome life to rest, and will enter into the joy of its Lord. K. You proclaim a certain great man, and truly blessed, O master. A.

May God make you great and truly blessed, my lord king, and in this chariot of the virtues, of which we treated a little while ago, may he grant you to fly over this wicked world to the citadel of the heavenly kingdom on the twin wings of love. K. So be it, so be it, by the gift of divine grace. A. May this discourse of ours, which had its beginning from the slippery character of civil questions, have this end of eternal stability, lest anyone should contend that we have accomplished so great a journey of disputation in vain. K. Who is he that would dare to say that we converse to no purpose, if one be a curious searcher of the honorable arts of the world, or a searcher of the excellent virtues?

For me, as I confess, the love of knowledge led to these inquiries; and I give you thanks that you have not denied what I sought, and therefore I approve this kindness of your answers, and judge that it will profit the studious — if only the stain of envy does not corrupt the reader.