CHAPTER SEVEN

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BUT THE richest fruit of all our study, and the most ample recompense for the extent of our labor, is the faculty of speaking extempore; and he who has not succeeded in acquiring it will do well, in my opinion, to renounce the occupations of the forum, and devote his solitary talent of writing to some other employment; for it is scarcely consistent with the character of a man of honor to make a public profession of service to others which may fail in the most pressing emergencies, since it is of no more use than to point out a harbor to a vessel, to which it cannot approach unless it be borne along by
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the gentlest breezes. There arise indeed innumerable occasions where it is absolutely necessary to speak on the instant, as well before magistrates, as on trials that are brought on before the appointed time; and if any of these shall occur, I do not say to any one of our innocent fellow-citizens, but to any of our own friends or relatives, is an advocate to stand dumb, and, while they are begging for a voice to save them, and are likely to be undone if succor be not instantly afforded them, is he to ask time for retirement and silent study, till his speech be formed and committed to memory, and his voice
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and lungs be put in tune? What system of pleading will allow of an orator being unprepared for sudden calls? What is to be done when we have to reply to an opponent? For that which we expected him to say, and in answer to which we composed our speech, often disappoints our anticipations, and the whole aspect of the cause is suddenly changed; and as the pilot has to alter his course according to the direction of the winds, so must our plan be varied to suit the variation in the
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cause. What profit does much writing, constant reading, and a long period of life spent in study, bring us, if there remains with us the same difficulty in speaking that we felt at first? He, assuredly, who has always to encounter the same labor, must admit that his past efforts were to no purpose. Not that I make it an object that an orator should prefer to speak extempore; I only wish that he should be able to do so.

This talent we shall most effectually attain by the following means. First of all, let our method of speaking be settled; for
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no journey can be attempted before we know to what place, and by what road, we have to go. It is not enough not to be ignorant what the parts of judicial causes are, or how to dispose questions in proper order, though these are certainly points of the highest importance, but we must know what ought to be first, what second, and so on, in each department of a pleading; for different particulars are so connected by nature that they admit no alteration of their order, nor allow any thing to be forced between them, without manifest confusion. But he who shall speak according to a certain method,
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will be led forward, most of all, by the series of particulars, as by a sure guide; and hence even persons of but moderate practice will adhere with the greatest ease to the chain of facts in their narratives. They will also know what they want in each portion of a speech, and will not look about like persons at a loss; nor will they be distracted by ideas that present themselves from other quarters, nor mix up their speech of ingredients collected from separate spots, like men leaping hither and thither, and resting nowhere. They will likewise
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have a certain range and limit, which cannot exist without proper division. When they have treated, to the best of their ability, of everything that they had proposed to themselves, they will be sensible that they have come to a termination.

These qualifications depend on art; others on study; thus we must acquire, as has been already directed, an ample store of the best language; our style must be so formed by much and diligent composition, that even what is poured forth by us unpremeditatedly may present the appearance of having been previously written; so that, after having written much,
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we shall have the power of speaking copiously. For it is habit and exercise that chiefly beget facility, and if they are intermitted, even but for a short period, not only will our fluency be diminished, but our mouth may even be closed.2

But this talent requires to be kept up with no less practice than it is acquired. An art, indeed, once thoroughly learned,
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is never wholly lost. Even the pen by disuse loses but very little of its readiness, while promptitude in speaking, which depends on activity of thought, can be retained only by exercise. Such exercise we may best use by speaking daily in the hearing of several persons, especially of those for whose judgment and opinion we have most regard—for it rarely happens that a person is sufficiently severe with himself. Let us however rather speak alone than not speak at all. There is also another kind of exercise, that of meditating upon whole subjects
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and going through them in silent thought—yet, so as to speak, as it were within ourselves—an exercise which may be pursued at all times and in all places, when we are not actually engaged in any other occupation. It is in some degree more useful than the one which I mentioned before it; for it is more accurately pursued than that in which we are afraid to interrupt the continuity of our speech. Yet the other method, again contributes more to improve other qualifications,
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as strength of voice, flexibility of features, and energy of gesture, which of itself, as I remarked, rouses the orator, and, as he waves his hand and stamps his foot, excites him as lions are said to excite themselves by the lashing of their tails.

But we must study at all times and in all places, for there is scarcely a single one of our days so occupied that some profitable
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attention may not be hastily devoted during at least some portion of it (as Cicero says that Brutus used to do) to writing, or reading, or speaking. Caius Carbo, even in his tent, was accustomed to continue his exercises in oratory. Nor must we omit to notice the advice, which is also approved by
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Cicero, that no portion even of our common conversation should ever be careless; and that whatever we say, and wherever we say it, should be as far as possible excellent in its kind. As to writing, we must certainly never write more than when we have to speak much extempore; for by the use of the pen a weightiness will be preserved in our matter, and that light facility of language, which swims as it were on the surface, will be compressed into a body as husbandmen cut off the upper roots of the vine (which elevate it to the surface of the soil) in order that the lower roots may be strengthened by
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striking deeper. And I know not whether both exercises, when we perform them with care and assiduity, are not reciprocally beneficial, as it appears that by writing we speak with greater accuracy, and by speaking we write with greater ease. We must write, therefore, as often as we have opportunity; if opportunity is not allowed us, we must meditate; if we are precluded from both, we must nevertheless endeavor that the orator may not seem to be caught at fault, nor the client left
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destitute of aid. But it is the general practice among pleaders who have much occupation, to write only the most essential parts, and especially the commencements, of their speeches; to fix the other portions that they bring from home in their memory by meditation; and to meet any unforeseen attacks with extemporaneous replies.

That Cicero adopted this method is evident from his own memoranda. But there are also in circulation memoranda of other speakers, which have been found, perhaps, in the state in which each had thrown them together when he was going to speak, and have been arranged in the form of books; for instance, the memoranda of the causes pleaded by Servius Sulpicius, three of whose orations are extant; but these memoranda of which I am now speaking are so carefully arranged that they appear to me to have been composed by him to be
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handed down to posterity. Those of Cicero, which were intended only for his particular occasions, his freedman Tiro collected; and, in saying this, I do not speak of them apologetically, as if I did not think very highly of them, but intimate, on the contrary, that they are for that reason more worthy of admiration.

Under this head, I express my full approbation of short notes, and of small memorandum-books which may be held in the hand, and on which we may occasionally glance. But the method which Lænas recommends, of reducing what we
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have written into summaries, or into short notes and heads, I do not like; for our very dependence on these summaries begets negligence in committing our matter to memory, and disconnects and disfigures our speech. I even think that we should not write at all what we design to deliver from memory, for if we do so it generally happens that our thoughts fix us to the studied portions of our speech, and do not allow us to try the fortune of the moment. Thus the mind hangs in suspense and perplexity between the two, having lost sight of what was written, and yet not being at liberty to imagine anything new.

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2 Sections 9–23 are repetitions of general speaking advice repeated several times elsewhere, and so are omitted here.