Cicero, Political Speeches

Cicero, Political Speeches, transl. D. H. Berry, Oxford World’s Classics, Oxford, 2006.

The style is ‘periodic’; that is, once the sentence or ‘period’ has begun, the listener has to wait some time before the various subordinate clauses have been delivered and the sense is complete. (Note on the translation, xxvi)

The clauses themselves and the words or groups of words within them are often arranged in carefully balanced pairs, sometimes so as to form a contrast, or sometimes in a symmetrical pattern; or they can be arranged in threes, with increasing weight placed on each item, or greater weight placed on the final second and final item. (xxvi)

In periodic style, the most important part of the period is the end (the beginning is the next most important), because it is here that the sense of completion is delivered. (xxvi)

Certain rhythmical patterns (‘clausulae’) are favored and others (mainly those which resemble verse) avoided. This ‘prose rhythm’ is one of the most important features in his style. (xxvi)

Besides rhythm, there are many other techniques used by Cicero to enliven or adorn his prose, such as rhetorical questions (questions that do not expect an answer), anaphora (repetition of a word or phrase in successive clauses), asyndeton (omission of connections), apostrophe (turning away to address an absent person or thing), exclamation, alliteration and assonance, wordplay, and metaphor. (xxvii)

I have rendered long Latin sentences by long English ones, and for the most part have chopped up the Latin sentences only where the length was longer than a modern reader would tolerate. … If a significant idea is withheld until the end of a sentence (as commonly happens in periodic style), then I have also withheld it until the end. (xxvii)

If we turn now from periodicity to prose rhythm, we find that unfortunately there is little that a translator can do, … In writing English translation, then, the translator can at least take care that the English he is writing does not strike the ear harshly. (xxviii)

Cicero is exceedingly fond of doublets, particularly in the first three of the speeches in this collection, but in good English doublets (‘aims and objectives’, ‘terms and conditions’) are used only sparingly, if at all. When Cicero uses a doublet with two words of identical meaning, as he quite frequently does, should the translator preserve the doublet and write intolerably verbose English or solve the problem by omitting one half of the doublet? It would not be acceptable, in my view, to omit a word that Cicero has included, and especially to omit a stylistic feature, a doublet, when Cicero has wished it to be there; but equally I feel it would not be [xxviii] acceptable to write bad English. My solution in such cases has therefore been to keep the doublet, but choose two English words which are similar in meaning, but not quite synonymous. (xxix)

Some authors, particularly poets, are simply untranslatable: a translation cannot provide an experience which is close enough to that of reading the original to be satisfactory. Cicero is not one of these authors; (xxx)

In Verrem, I (‘Against Verres’)

The very thing that was most to be desired, members of the jury, the one thing that will have most effect in reducing the hatred felt towards your order and restoring the tarnished reputation of the courts, this it is which, in the current political crises, has been granted and presented to you; and this opportunity has come about not, it would appear, by human planning, but virtually by the gift of the gods. (opening, 13)

He tells people that he was really afraid only once in his life, when I formally indicted him. And this was not simply because he had returned from his province to a blaze of hatred and discredit… no; the problem was that it was, as it happened, a bad time to attempt to corrupt the court. (14)

I may as well pass over the shame and disgrace of his early life. But as for his quaestorship, the first stage in an official career, what did it consist of except public money stolen from Gnaeus Carbo by his own quaestor, … (16)

But the greatest and most numerous monuments and testaments to all his vices are those which he has now set up in Sicily— (16)

As for his sexual crimes and immorality, considerations of decency prevent me from relating his outrageous behaviour; and at the same time I am reluctant thereby to add to the grief of those whose wives and children could not be protected from his violent assaults. ‘But he did all this discreetly, so that it would not become public knowledge.’ On the contrary, I do not think there is anyone who has heard the name of Verres who could not also enumerate the terrible crimes he has committed. I am therefore much more frightented of being thought to have missed out many of his crimes than to have made any up. indeed, I do not think that this great crowd which has come to listen today is wanting to find out from me what Verres is accused of so much as to go over with me what it already knows. (17)

Since that is how things stand, this depraved lunatic has chosen another means of fighting me, … Indeed, he makes no great secret of it. He confronts me with the empty names of nobility, in other words of arrogant aristocrats, who do not so much damage my case by their nobility as help it by their notoriety. … I will go on to tell you briefly, gentlemen, what hopes he has in his heart and what he is planning; but first please let me explain to you how he has dealt with the situation from the outset. (17)

I ask you, Metellus: intimidating witnesses, particularly ruined and fearful Sicilians, and not just with your own authority but with the fear inspired by the position of consul and the power of two praetors—if this is not judicial corruption, then could you please tell me what is? What would you not do for someone who was innocent and a relative of yours, seeing that you abandon your duty and the dignity of your position for a criminal who is unrelated to you, and lead those who do not know you to conclude that what he keeps saying about you is true? For I am told that Verres says that you were made consul not by fate, like the other members of your family, but by his own effort. (21)

Since our entire order is being oppressed by the wickedness and criminality of a few individuals and is tainted by the bad reputation of the courts, I declare to men of this type that I intend to be their hated prosecutor and their hateful, unrelenting, and bitter adversary. I am going to take on this role, indeed I claim this role, which I shall fulfill in my magistracy, which I shall fulfill in that place from which the Roman people have asked me, from 1 January, to collaborate with them over our national affairs and over the criminal elements. (24)

This is a trial in which you will be passing verdict on the defendant, but the Roman people will also be passing verdict on you. This case will determine whether it is possible, when a jury consists of senators, for a very guilty but very rich man to be convicted. Moreover, this is a defendant who has only two characteristics, extreme guilt and immense wealth; so if he is acquitted, no other conclusion could possibly be drawn except the least favourable one. (27)

You have the power to wipe out and destroy the disgrace and scandal by which this order has for some years now been affected. It is universally agreed that since the courts were constituted in their present form, no panel has been so eminent and admired as this one. So if anything should go wrong in this trial, everyone will conclude not that more suitable jurors should be selected form the same order—since no such men exist—but that a different order altogether should be found to judge cases. (27)


De Imperio Cn. Pompei, (‘On the Command of Gnaeus Pompeius’)

For when, because of successive reruns of the election, I was formally declared, three times over, as the first of the candidates to be elected to a praetorship, and by the votes of all the centuries, then it was made very clear to me, citizens, both what you had concluded about me personally and what you were recommending to others. (110)

…my subject is the outstanding and unique merit of Gnaeus Pompeius—a subject on which it is more difficult to finish speaking than to begin. In making my speech, therefore, my task will not be to strive after abundance so much as moderation. (111)

It is therefore imperative that you wipe out that mark of disgrace incurred in the earlier Mithridatic war, which has now stained the reputation of the Roman people deeply and for much too long. For disgrace it is that man who, on a single day in so many cities throughout the whole of Asia, by a single message and a single word of command ordained that the Roman citizens in Asia should be killed and butchered, has not only still paid no penalty commensurate with his crime, but more than twenty-two years later is still sitting on his throne. And as king, he is not content to hide away in some dark corner of Pontus or Cappadocia, but wishes to break out from the kingdom he inherited and range over territories that pay you revenue—in the bright light, that is, of Asia. (112)

There is another point you must not overlook, one I left until last when I started to discuss the character of the war. This relates to the property owned by many Roman citizens—whose interests, citizens, you in your wisdom must take carefully into account. … It will therefore be a mark of your humanity to save this large number of citizens from ruin, and a mark of your wisdom to appreciate that the national interest would be affected by the ruin of so many of them. (115)

But think how much moderation he shows in other matters too. From where do you think he got his extraordinary rapidity, his astonishing speed in traveling? It was not because his rowers were unusually strong or because of any hitherto undiscovered method of [122] navigation or any new winds that he reached the most distant places as quickly as he did, but rather because he was not held back by the things that hold other commanders [Lucullus] back. Greed did not deflect him from his chosen course and cause him to chase after plunder, nor did passion cause him to seek pleasure, or beautiful surroundings luxury, statues, paintings, and other words of art which are found in Greek cities and which other commanders think are theirs for the taking, he did not even consider them worth going to see. (123)

However, the illustrious and patriotic Quintus Catulus, a man to whom you have awarded the highest honours that are in your power to bestow, and Quintus Hortensius, who possesses supreme gifts of position, fortune, merit, and talent, hold a different view. For my part, I admit that their authority has influenced you strongly on many occasions in the past, as indeed it should. But in this particular case, although, as you know, the authority of these valiant and illustrious gentlemen stands against me, we can still set that authority to one side and arrive at the truth by a logical consideration of the facts. And it will be all the more easy to do this because my opponents admit the truth of everything I have said so far— (126)

This war, citizens, relates to Asia, and to kings. It therefore calls not only for the unique military ability that Gnaeus Pompeius possesses, but also for many other fine moral qualities. It is not easy for a Roman commander to pass through Asia, Cilicia, Syria, an dthe kingdoms of the interior, and think only of the enemy and of honour. Then again, there may be some commanders who have feelings of decency and self-control and are restrained in their behaviour; but because so many of the rest are utterly rapacious, no one actually believes that the decent ones exist. (131)

In Catilinam (‘Against Cataline’)

How far, I ask you, Catiline, do you mean to stretch our patience? How much longer will your frenzy continue to frustrate us? at what point will your unrestrained recklessness stop flaunting itself? Have the nightly guards on the Palatine, have the patrols in the streets, have the fears of the people, have the gatherings of all loyal citizens, have these strongly defended premises in which this meeting is being held, have the faces and expressions of the senators here had no effect on you at all? Do you not realize that your plans have been exposed?

(pg 156, note 302) [How far, I ask you: Quo usque tandem, a highly dramatic and effective opening t the speech (and one of the two or three most famous quotations from Latin literature.) The expression is used nowhere else by Cicero, but occurs in Sallust (Cat. 20.9) in an address given by Catiline to his followers a year before Cicero delivered the First Catilinarian. … D.A. Malcom proposed that quo usque tandem was a demagogic phrase favored by Catiline, which Cicero then mockingly threw back at him.]

What a decadent age we live in! the senate is aware of these things, the consul sees them—yet this man remains alive! Alive, did I say? He is not just alive: he actually enters the senate, he takes part in our public deliberations, and with his eyes he notes and marks down each one of us for assassination. We meanwhile, brave men that we are, think that we have done enough for our country if we merely get out of the way of his frenzy and his weapons. /
You, Catiline, ought long ago to have been taken to your death, and on a consul’s order. It is o yourself that the destruction which you have long been plotting for all of us ought to be visited. … so are we, as consuls, to put up with Catiline, when he is aiming to devastate the entire world with fire and slaughter? (156)

If I now order your arrest, Catiline, and if I order your execution, I suppose what I shall have to be afraid of is not that every loyal citizen will accuse me of being slow to act, but that someone will say I have been too severe! But as it happens, there is a particular reason why I am still not brining myself to do what I ought to have done long ago. You will be executed only when no one can be found so criminal, so wicked, and so similar to yourself as to deny the justice of that course of action. (158)

In view of this, Catiline, finish what you have started: leave the city at long last. The gates are open: go. For too long now have Manlius and that camp of yours been waiting for you to assume command of it. And take all your followers with you; or if you cannto take them all, take as many as you can. Purge the city. As for me, you will release me from the great fear I feel, if only there is a wall separating us. at all events, you cannot stay any longer with us: I will not tolerate it, I will not endure it, I will not allow it. [160] … For if I order your execution, all the other members of the conspiracy will remain within the state; but if you leave Rome, as I have long been urging you to do, the voluminous, pernicious dregs of society—you companions—will be flushed out of the city. (161)

By Hercules, if my salves were as afraid of me as all your fellow-citizens are of you, I would certainly think I ought to leave my house—so don’t you think you ought to leave Rome? And if I saw my fellow-citizens looking at me, even without justification, with such deep hatred and suspicion, I would prefer to remove myself from their sight than remain before the hostile gaze of all of them. … If you very own parents feared and hated you, and it was absolutely impossible for you to become reconciled with them, surely, I think, you would withdraw to somewhere where they could not see you. But now your own country, which is the common parent of us all, hates you and is frightened of you, and has long ago come to the conclusion and you are contemplating nothing but her destruction. Will you not then respect her authority, defer to her judgment, or fear her power? (163)

‘Put the question to the senate,’ you say. That is what you demand; and if this order should pass a decree saying that it wishes you to go into exile, you undertake to comply. I am not going to put it to the senate: it would not be my practice to do so. All the same, I will allow you to see what view these senators take of you. Get out of Rome, Catiline. Free the country from fear. Go into exile—if that is the term you are waiting to hear. (164)

Those physical power of yours we hear so much about have set you up for a life of this kind: the ability to lie on the bare ground has prepared you not just for launching sexual assaults but for committing crime, the capacity to stay away not just for cheating husbands in their sleep but for robbing unsuspecting people of their property. Now you have an opportunity to show off your celebrated capacity to endure hunger, cold, and the lack of every amenity—hardships which you will shortly find out have finished you off! (166)

Now, conscript father, I want to avert and deflect a particular complain that our country might—almost with reason—make against me. So please pay careful attention to what I am going to say and store it deep inside your hearts and minds. … imagine that the entire nation were to address me like this: ‘Marcus Tullius, what are you playing at? Are you going to permit the departure of a man whom you have discovered to be a public enemy, [166] … To these most solemn words of our country, and to all individuals who share the feelings she expresses, I will make this brief answer. Had I judged that punishing Catiline with death was the best course of action, conscript fathers, I should not have given that gladiator a single hour of life to enjoy. … And yet there are not a few members of this order who either fail to see what is hanging over us or pretend not to see it. … But as it is, I know that if he goes to Manlius’ camp, as he means to, there will be no one so stupid as not to see that the conspiracy exists, and no one so wicked as not to acknowledge that it exists. (167)

Pro Marcello is a speech of thanks to Caesar for agreeing to pardon his most die-hard republican enemy, Marcus Claudius Marcellus, the consul of 51. It is in fact misnamed: the title Par Marcello (‘For Marcellus’) leads one to expect a forensic speech, a defense of Marcellus in a court of law. Instead this is an epideictic (display) speech, a speech in praise of Caesar (technically, a panegyric), and would more correctly be called De Marcello (‘On Marcellus’), … We do not know what title, if any, Cicero gave it. (204)

There is no stream of genius large enough, no tongue or pen forceful or fluent enough I will not say to embellish your achievements, Gaius Caesar, but even to record them. But I do nevertheless maintain, and with your permission declare, that there is no glory in all those achievements greater than that which you have this day attained. (213) [but even to record them: of course, Caesar wrote his Gallic War and Civil War, which were greatly admired for their purity of style. Those who consider Cicero’s flattery excessive may like to reflect on the fact that Caesar told Cicero around this time that it was a greater achievement to have advanced the frontiers of the Roman genius than to have advanced those of the Roman empire (Pin. Nat. 7.117)]

But in the glory which you have acquired by your present action, Gaius Caesar, you have no partner: all of it, however great it may be (and it is indeed the greatest possible), all of it, I repeat, is yours. No centurion, no prefect, no cohort, no troop can take any of it for themselves, and even that mistress of human affairs, Fortune, does not offer herself as your partner in this glory: she yields it to you, and admits that it is wholly and exclusively yours. (213)

After all, no power is so strong that it cannot be weakened and broken by steel and force. But to conquer one’s own temper, to check one’s anger, to show moderation towards the conquered, to take a fallen enemy pre-eminent in birth, character, and virtue, and not merely raise him up, but actually enhance his former standing—that is the act of someone whom I would not rank with the greatest of men, but would judge akin to a god. (214)

On the other hand, when you reflect on us, whom you have desired to join you in matters of state, you will also have reason to reflect on your extraordinary acts of kindness, your astonishing generosity, and your unprecedented wisdom—qualities which I would venture to describe not as the highest virtues, but as the only ones. (217)

But still, given that men’s minds do contain dark corners and hidden recesses, let us by all means increase your suspicion—for that way we shall also increase your vigilance. After all, is there anyone so ignorant of the world, so politically naïve, and so oblivious to his own safety and that of his fellow men that he fails to appreciate that his own survival is bound up with yours, … It is your task, Gaius Caesar, and yours alone, to restore everything that you can now see lying battered and shattered (as was unavoidable) by the violence of war. Courts must be established, credit restored, self-indulgence checked, the birth-rate raised, and everything which has become disintegrated and dissipated reorganized by means of stringent legislation. … That is why I was disappointed when I heard you make that admirable remark, so full of wisdom, ‘I have lived long enough for nature, or for glory.’ Long enough perhaps for nature, if you like; and, I will add, for glory; if that is what you want; but—and this is the crucial point—by no means long enough for your country. So please do not show the wisdom of philosophers in despising death: do not be wise at our peril! (218)

Future generations will surely be astounded to hear and read of your commands, your provinces, the Rhine, the Ocean, the Nile, your numberless battles, your unbelievable victories, monuments, games and triumphs. But unless your bring stability to this city through reform and legislation, … Some will praise your achievements to the skies, while others will perhaps find something missing… Submit, therefore, to the judgment of those who, many centuries from now, will judge you, and may well do so with less partiality than we do: for they will judge you without passion and without self-interest on the other hand, and without envy and without malice on the other. (220)

Philippic II

Like Pro Marcello (46 BC), the Second Philippic is an epideictic (display) speech set in the senate. But there the resemblance ends. Pro Marcello dates from the period of Caesar’s dictatorship; the Second Philippic from two years later, six months after his assassination. Pro Marcello was delivered on a real occasion, in Caesar’s presence; the Second Philippic, …was never delivered. (222)

He had not wished to cross swords with Antony; but when Antony, with all the authority of a consul, bitterly attacked him in the senate in the absence, he felt impelled to write, in pamphlet form, a comprehensive rejoinder. This rejoinder, the Second Philippic, marked the point of no return in Cicero’s deteriorating relationship with Antony, while also confirming Cicero’s status as Rome’s greatest orator. Written in a simpler style than most of his previous speeches, particularly the elaborate Pro Marcello, it is an utterly devastating attack. Later orators and critics regarded it as the classic invective, and the fact that its author was murdered for writing the Philippics certainly added to its fascination. … The speech did much to determine the way Antony was viewed by posterity: it was used by Plutarch for his Life of Antony (c. AD 110-115), which in turn provided the historical basis for Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra. (222)

Cicero’s Philippics (there are fourteen of them in existence, four dating from 44 and the rest from January to April 43) are more properly known as In Antonium (‘Against Antonius’). But in a lost letter to Brutus, Cicero jokingly suggested that they might be described as his ‘Philippics’, … The title Philippics is a reference to the four (extant) speeches which the Athenian orator Demosthenes composed against Philip II or Macedon between 351 and 340. Cicero’s Philippics, like those Demosthenes, set out to defend the freedom of the state against an aggressor who threatened it. … In choosing the title, Cicero did not mean to suggest any complex relationship between the two sets of speeches: all he was doing was making a light-hearted comparison between himself and Greece’s most famous orator. (223

To what fate of mine, conscript fathers, should I attribute the fact that, over the past twenty years, there has not been a single enemy of the state who did not at the same time declare was on me also? I need not name names: you will recall them yourselves. Those enemies paid me penalties greater than I would have wished: I am surprised, Antonius, that when you copy their deeds you do not also shudder at their ends. I was less surprised in the case of the others. After all, none of them set out to become my enemy: in each case, it was because they attacked the state that they encountered my opposition. You, on the other hand, though I had never said so much as a word against you, attacked me with unprovoked abuse—so you could present yourself as more reckless than Catiline, more demented than Clodius; and you calculated that your alienated from me would serve as a recommendation for you in the eyes of disloyal citizens. (opening, 229)

You said that you had declined to stand for the augurate as a favour to me. What astonishing effrontery, what outrageous cheek! (230)

But I was done a favour by you. And what favour was that? As it happens, I have always openly acknowledged what it is you are referring to: I have preferred to say that I am in your debt than let people who do not know any better suppose me ungrateful. But what was the favour? That you did not kill me at Brundisium? Could you in fact have killed a man whom the victor himself—who, as you used to boast, had made you the chief of his band of brigands—had wanted kept unharmed, and had actually ordered to go to Italy in the first place? … Under the circumstances, I should not have been so much pleased at not having been killed by you as dismayed that it was within your power to do so with impunity. [230] /
But let us agree to call it a favour, since brigands cannot grant anything greater: where can you say I have been ungrateful? Are you really saying that I should not have complained at the destruction of the state, in case I appeared to show you ingratitude? Yet in that complaint, sorrowful and grief-stricken as it was—but also necessary for me to make, in view of this rank in which the senate and people of Rome have placed me—did I say anything offensive, did I say anything intemperate, did I say anything unfriendly? What self-control it required, when complaining about Marcus Antonius, to refrain from abuse—particularly when you had scattered to the winds the last remnants of the state; when at your house everything was up for sale in the most disgraceful of markets, when you admitted that laws that had never been promulgated had been enacted both by yourself and in your own interest; when as augur you had abolished the auspicies, and as consul the right of veto; when to you shame you were going around with an armed escort; and when, worn out with wine and fornication, you daily indulged, within that shameless house of yours, in every type of pervasion. But I behaved instead as if my quarrel were with Marcus Crassus, with whom I have had many serious disagreements in my time, rather than with a supremely worthless gladiator: I made a deeply felt complaint about the state, but said not a word about the man. For this reason I will make him understand today how great was the favour that he on that occasion received from me. (231)

So much for his lack of manners: but look at his astonishing stupidity. What would you have to say to me in reply, O man of eloquence that you are— (231)

Come one, then, what would you have to say to me if I told you that I never sent you that letter in the first place? … For what could be less intelligent for any person—let alone an orator—than to bring up a point against his opponent which, if it were countered with a simple denial, could not be taken further? /
But as it happens I do not deny it—and on this issue I thereby prove you guilty not just of bad manners, but of madness. For is there a single word in that letter that does not betoken civility, respect, and goodwill? (232)

Conscript father, I have something to say in my own defence and much to say against Marcus Antonius. As to the former theme, I ask you to listen to me sympathetically as I defend myself; as to the latter, I shall myself make sure that you pay me close attention while I speak against him. At the same time I beg of you: if you agree that my whole life and particularly my public speaking have always been characterized by moderation and restraint, then please do not think that today, when I give this man the response he has provoked, I have forgotten my true nature. (232)

Lucius Caesar, your uncle… Although unrelated to him, I as consul accepted Caesar’s guidance—but did you, his sister’s son, ever ask his advice on any public matter at all? /
Immortal gods, whose advice, then, does he ask? Those fellows, I suppose, whose very birthdays we are made to hear announced. ‘Antonius is not appearing in public today.’ ‘Why ever not?’ ‘He is giving a birthday party at his house outside the city.’ ‘Who for?’ I will name no names: just imagine it’s now for some Phormio or other, now for Gnatho, now for Ballio even. What scandalous disgrace, what intolerable cheek, wickedness, and depravity! (234)

Your consulship, then, is a blessing, and mine was a curse. Have you so lost your sense of shame, together with your decency, that you dare to say such a thing in the very temple where I used to consult the senate in its days of greatness, when it rules the world—but where you have not stationed thugs armed with swords? (234)

But how did it occur to you to remind us that you were brought up in the house of Publius Lentulus? Was it that you were afraid we might find it impossible to believe that you could have turned out so bad by nature, unless nurture also were added? So obtuse were you that throughout your entire speech you were at issue with yourself, making statements that were not merely incoherent but actually inconsistent and incompatible: the result was that you seemed to be not so much in dispute with me as with yourself. You admitted that your stepfather was implicated in that terrible crime, and yet you complained that he was punished for it. (235)

Now here is a sign, I will not say of his impudence, since he wants to be called impudent, but of the last thing he wants to have ascribed to him, his stupidity—a quality in which he surpasses everyone else. … It is not impudence which causes you to make such shameless accusations, but your failure to see the extent to which you contradict yourself. (235)

But at one point you even attempted to be witty. Good gods, it didn’t suit you at all! You must carry some of the blame for this yourself—after all, you could always have borrowed some jokes from your actress wife. (236)

You dared to claim, and at enormous length too, that it was thanks to me that Pompeius was detached from Caesar’s friendship, and that it was therefore my fault that the Civil War happened. In this you were not entirely wrong; but you were wrong about the timing, and that is the most important thing. (237)

But all that is ancient history. Turning to the more recent past, you said that I instigated the killing of Caesar. On this I am afraid, conscript fathers, that you may think me guilty of the shocking offence of having arranged for a sham prosecutor to bring a charge against me—someone who would not only laud me with praises that rightfully belong to me but also load me with ones that properly belong to others. For who ever heard my name mentioned as one of the partners who carried out that glorious deed? [ Cicero was not let into the plot against Caesar: he was thought too old and timorous. His innocence is proved by letters (Fam. 10.28 and 12.4, both of c.2 February 43) that he later wrote to two of the conspirators, Trebonius and Cassius, in which he said that he wished they had invited him to the feast on the Ides of March, because then there would have been no leftovers (i.e. he would have insisted on Antony’s assassination as well). Note 25, page 324] (237)

And do you not understand, you utter moron, that if it were a crime to have wished Caesar dead, which is what you accuse me of, then it must also be a crime to have rejoiced once Caesar was dead? For what difference is there between someone who urges an action before it is done and someone who applauds it afterwards? What does it matter whether I wanted it done or was pleased that it had been done? Well then, is there anyone—besides those who were glad that he had turned into a king—who did not want this deed to happen, or failed to approve it afterwards? So all are guilty. All loyal citizens, so far as was in their power, killed Caesar. Not everyone had a plan, not everyone had the courage, not everyone had the opportunity—but everything had the will. (239)

Are you ever going to understand that you have got to make up your mind whether the men who carried out that deed are murderers or champions of freedom? /
Pay attention for a moment. Try to think like a man who is sober, just for a second. I am their friend, as I freely admit, their partner, as you accuse me of being; and I tell you that there is no middle way. If they are not liberators of the Roman people and saviours of the state, then I admit that they are worse than cut-throats, worse than murderers, worse even than parricides—if it is indeed a more wicked crime to kill the parent of one’s country than [239] one’s own parent. (240)

And yet, if it is a crime to have wished Caesar dead, then please consider, Antonius, what ought to happen to you. For everyone knows that you and Gaius Trebonius plotted to kill him at Narbo; … I forgive you for not acting. After all, the task called for a real man. (241)

You say I forfeited Pompeius’ goodwill because of the things I said. But was there anyone he was more fond of? Anyone he was more ready to talk to and discuss his plans with? this was indeed ‘great’, that we would disagree in politics and yet remain friends. … What that brilliant and almost superhuman man thought of me is known to those who accompanied him from Pharsalus to Paphos. He never mentioned my name except in the most honourable terms, … So do you have the impertinence to attack me in that man’s name, … (242)

You said that I never receive any inheritances. Would the charge were true! Then more of my friends and connections would still be alive. But what put it into your head to bring this up? after all, my accounts do in fact show that I have received more than twenty million sesterces in inheritances. But I concede that in this area you have been luckier than I. Me nobody made his heir unless he was a friend of mine; so that along with the material benefit, if there was any, there also came a degree of sadness. You, on the other hand, were the heir of Lucius Rubrius of Casinum, a man you never once set eyes on. And observe how fond of you he was, this man who could have been black or white as far as you knew. He passed over the son of his brother Quintus Fufius, an honourable Roman equestrian with whom he was on the best of terms, and the son whom he had publicly proclaimed as his heir he did not even name in his will. You, on the other hand, whom he had never seen, or at least never spoken to, he made his heir. Please tell me, if it is not too much trouble, what Lucius Turselius looked like, how tall he was, which town he came from, and which tribe. ‘I have no idea,’ you will say, ‘I only know what farms he owned.’ So that is why he disinherited his brother and made you his heir instead! Furthermore, Antonius seized many other private fortunes, the property of people he had nothing to do with, posing as their heir and using force to drive away the real heirs. (243)

Was it to formulate arguments such as these, you utter lunatic, that you spent day after day declaiming in a country house that rightfully belongs to someone else? Though, as your closest friends are always saying, the reason you declaim is to help you belch up your wine, not to sharpen your intelligence. (243)

I have now said as much as I need to in reply to his charges. But I still ought to say something about my censorious critic himself. I am not going to pour forth everything that could be said on the subject: after all, if we cross swords often, as we are bound to, I will always need to have fresh material. But even so, the sheer number of his crimes and misdemeanours affords me ample scope. (244)

Would you like us, then, to look at your record from your childhood onwards? Yes, I think so: let’s start at the beginning. Do you remember how when you were still a child you went bankrupt? ‘That was my father’s fault,’ you will say. I grant it: your is a model of filial duty! (244)

Then you assumed the toga of manhood—and immediately turned it into a toga of womanhood. [Roman boys wore the purple-bordered toga of boyhood until their mid-teens, when they formally changed it for the unbordered toga of manhood; but togas were also worn by female prostitutes. Cicero says that no sooner had Antony assumed the toga of manhood than he prostituted himself to other men, taking the dishonourable passive (female) role.] First you were a common prostitute: you had a fixed rate for your shameful services, and not a low one either. But soon Curio appeared on the scene. He saved you from having to support yourself as a prostitute, fitted you out in the dress of a married lady, as it were, and settled you in good, steady wedlock. No slave boy bought for sexual gratification was ever as much in his master’s power as you were in Curio’s. How man times did his father throw you out of his house! How many times did he post guards to stop you crossing his threshold! But you, with night to aid you, lust to drive you, and the prospect of payment to compel you, had yourself lowered in through the roof-tiles. Such disgrace that house could endure no longer. Are you aware that I am speaking about things of which I am exceptionally well informed? Cast your mind back to the time when the elder Curio was confined [244] to bed by his grief. The son threw himself in tears at my feet and asked me to help you out. He begged me to protect him from his father’s anger if he asked him for six million sesterces—that being the sum for which he said he had stood surety for you. As for himself, in the ardour of his passion he declared that he could not endure the pain of being separated from you, and would therefore take himself off into exile. How deep were the troubles of a flourishing family which I at that time laid to rest, or rather removed altogether! I persuaded the father to pay off his son’s debts; to use the family’s capital to redeem a young man of such promising character and abilities; and to assert his rights and powers as the head of the family to prevent his son not only from being a friend of yours, but even from seeing you. When you remembered that I was responsible for all of this, would you have dared to provoke me with your insults if you did not rely on the protection of those swords which we now see in front of us? (245)

…and even at that time he was up to something inside Clodius’ house—he knows very well what I am talking about. [Cicero insinuates that, during Clodius’ tribunate in 58, Antony committed adultery with Clodius’ wife Fulvia (whom he was much later to marry).] (245)

You returned from Gaul to stand for the quaetorship. I dare you to say that you called on your mother before coming to see me. I had received a letter from Caesar asking if I would accept your apologies, and so I did not allow you to say a single word on the subject of reconciliation. After that you paid me attentions, and I kept a lookout for you in your campaign for the quaetorship. It was then that you attempted to kill Publius Clodius in the forum before the approving eyes of the Roman people. Though you did this on your own initiative, and not on my prompting, you nevertheless declared that, as far as you were concerned, you would never make adequate amends for the wrongs you had done me unless you actually killed him. I am therefore astonished that you should now say that it was at my prompting that Milo carried out that deed, since when you offered me the same service on your own initiative I did nothing to encourage you. (246)

You were elected quaestor; then all of a sudden, without a decree of the senate, without the lots being drawn, without any legal justification, you ran off to Caesar [normally quaestors drew lots for their provinces. What seems to have happened in this case is that Caesar put in a special request for Antony, which was then approved by the senate, but not before Antony had departed. His haste would be explained by the revolt of Vercingetorix: he participated in the siege of Alesia.]. In your own view, once you had squandered all you had to live on, that was the only place in the world that could serve as a refuge for your poverty, debt, and profligacy. But once you had stuffed yourself there with Caesar’s largesse and your own plunderings—if you can call it stuffing, when you immediately throw up what you have just swallowed—you flew, destitute, to the tribunate, intending to conduct yourself in that magistracy, if at all possible, just as your husband had. [Antony was elected tribune for 49. As a magistrate in office, he would be immune from prosecution, and therefore safe, for the time being, from his creditors. Cicero says that he intended to behave as Curio had done in his tribunate in 50: Curio had gone over to Caesar in return for a bribe.] (246)

For some time now, the matter of that crime of yours has not been raised—but its memory is not erased. As long as the human race, as long as the name of the roman people shall endure—and that will be for ever, if you allow it—so long will that pestilential veto of yours be spoken of. (247)

It was you, yes, you, Marcus Antonius, who first gave Gaius Caesar, desperate as he was to wreak havoc, and excuse to make war on his country. (247)

How wretched you must be if you have grasped this! And more wretched still if you have not grasped that this is what is being recorded in history, this is what is being handed down to posterity, and this is what will be the recollection of every generation for the rest of time: that you were the sole cause of the consuls being driven out of Italy, … (248)

…it was Antonius who… it was Antonius who… it was Antonius who… Just as Helen was to Troy, so was he to this city both the cause of war and the bringer of pestilence and death. (248)

But let me tell you of a crime within a crime. (248)

You arrived at Brundisium, then, into the bosom and embrace of your little starlet. What’s wrong? Am I not telling the truth? How distressing it is to be unable to deny what is so disgraceful to admit! If you felt no shame before the people from the country towns, what about the army veterans? Was there a single soldier at Brundisium who did not catch sight of her? A single soldier who was not aware that she had traveled for days on end to bring you her congratulations? A single soldier who was not sickened to discover so late in the day what a worthless man he had followed? After that there was another trip through Italy, with the same actress in attendance. Soldiers were settled on the towns in an appallingly brutal fashion; and at Rome there was a hideous plundering of gold, silver, and especially—wine. (250)

But let us pass over these examples of a sturdy wickedness, and talk instead of a lightweight kind of worthlessness. You with that gullet of yours, that chest, that gladiator’s physique downed such a [250] quantity of wine at Hippias’ wedding that you were forced to throw up in full view of the Roman people—the next day. What a disgusting sight—disgusting even to hear of! Had this happened to you at dinner, as you knocked back bottle after bottle, is there anyone who would not have thought it outrageous? But at a gathering of the Roman people, while conducting public business, as Master of the Horse, when a mere belch would have been shocking, he vomited, filling his lap and the whole platform with morsels of food stinking of wine! But he himself concedes that this was among his grosser achievements. Let us move on, then, to his greater ones. (251)

Were you so overcome by doziness, then—or, to be more accurate, by insanity—as to purchase confiscated property (a man of your birth!), and the property of Pompeius too, without appreciating that it makes you accursed in the eyes of the Roman people, an object of detestation, and the enemy of all the gods and all mankind now and for ever more? But how presumptuous was the way in which this spendthrift immediately threw himself on the property of the man whose valour caused the name of Rome to fill foreign peoples with terror, but whose fairness cause it to fill them with love!
So, drenching himself with the wealth of that great man, he danced for joy, like a character from a play, ‘rags to riches’. But, as some poet has it: ‘Ill gotten, ill spent’ It is incredible and weird [251] how he squandered so much property in so few, I will not say months, but days. There was a vast quantity of wine, an enormous weight of the purest silver, valuable textiles, and a large store of elegant and beautiful furniture from numerous houses—the belongings not of a sybarite, but of a man of ample means. Within a few days, it had all gone. What Charybdis was ever so all-consuming? Charybdis did I say? If that ever existed, it was only a single creature. I call haven to witness that Ocean itself could scarcely have swallowed up so many things, so widely dispersed in places so far apart, in so short a time. Nothing was secured, nothing was kept under seal, nothing was catalogued. Whole cellars were given away to the most worthless individuals. Actors came and took what they liked, as did actresses. The house was packed with gamblers, filled with drunks. Drinking went on for days on ed, all over the place. (252)

But the house itself and the property outside the city—monstrous effrontery! Did you dare to enter that house, did you dare to cross its hallowed threshold, did you dare to show your revolting face before its household gods? For a long time no one could set eyes face before its household gods? For a long time no one could set eyes on that house, no one could pass it without weeping: are you not ashamed to have been a lodger in it all this time? After all, in spite of your own ignorance, there is nothing in it that can give you any pleasure. Or when you see those naval trophies in the forecourt, do you suppose it is your own house that you are entering? That is impossible. You may be without sense or feeling—indeed, you are—but you do at least recognize yourself, your own things, your own people. In fact, I do not believe that you can ever have a moment’s peace, awake or asleep. You may be crazed and violent—you are—but whenever you see a vision of that unique man, you must inevitably start in terror from your sleep, and often be driven insane when awake. (252)

At this point you took no part in that war, being too cowardly –and also too lustful. You had already tasted the blood of your fellow-citizens, or rather drunk deeply of it: you had fought at Pharsalus. [note: 331: i.e. at the end of 47, the point Cicero has reached. Caesar departed for Africa in December 47, but Antony stayed in Rome throughout the campaign. J. T. Ramsey (CQ, NS 54 (2004), 161-73) has shown that Antony must have failed to accompany Caesar not because he had fallen out with him, as was traditionally assumed, but because Caesar needed him for the vital task of breaking up and disposing of Pompey’s property in order to raise money for his troops.] (253)

As to your enquiry about the manner of my return, first of all it was in daylight, not under cover of dark; then it was in boots and a toga, not in slippers and a shawl. I can see you staring at me, and I can tell you are seething. But I am sure you would be friends with me again if you appreciated the shame I feel at your behavior—although you yourself feel no shame at it. Of all the most outrageous crimes, I have never seen or heard anything more disgraceful. Though you supposed yourself to have been Master of the Horse, though you were standing for the consulship (or rather asking Caesar for it) for the following year, nevertheless you raced through the towns and colonies of Gaul, the region where we used to campaign for the consulship in the days when that office was stood for and not asked for, in slippers and a shawl! (255)

Now recall his consulship from 1 January down to 15 March. Was any flunkey ever so subservient, so groveling? He could do nothing on his own initiative; he asked permission for everything; sticking his head into the back of his colleague’s litter, he would ask him for favours that he could then go on to sell. (257)

But I don’t want my speech to skip over the single most glorious of all the many exploits of Marcus Antonius; so let me come to the Lupercalia. He is not acting the innocent, conscript fathers: he looks embarrassed, and is sweating and pale. … Your colleague was sitting on the rostra, dressed in a purple toga, seated on a golden chair, a wreath upon his head. You climbed the steps, you approached the chair, a Lupercus (you were indeed a Lupercus—but you should have remembered that you were also a consul)—and you held out a diadem. Throughout the forum, there was an audible gasp. Where had you got the diadem from? You hadn’t just found it on the ground and picked it up: you had brought it with you—a deliberate, premeditated crime. You kept on trying to place the diadem on Caesar’s head, as the people shouted their disapproval; … But you even made a play for sympathy: you threw yourself as a suppliant at his feet. What were you begging for? To be a slave? You should have requested that role for yourself alone, you whose manner of living since your early years showed that you would submit to anything, would happily accept servitude. You certainly had no right to make the request on our behalf, or on that of the Roman people. What magnificent eloquence you displayed—when you addressed a public meeting in the nude! What could be more [258] disgraceful than this, what more disgusting, (259)

Caesar’s assination… What an escape you made on that glorious day, what terror you showed, and what little confidence you had that your own life would be spared, so conscious were you of your crimes! (259)

Where are the seven hundred million sesterces which appear in the accounts at the temple of Ops? This is money with a sad provenance, it is true; but if it is not to be returned to its original owners, it could be used to save us from having to pay tribute. But you, Antonius, were forty million sesterces in debt of 15 March. How was it, then, that you managed to become solvent again by 1 April? (262)

How many days you carried on your disgraceful orgies in that villa! From nine o’clock in the morning there was drinking, gambling, vomiting. Unhappy house, ‘how different a master’—although how was Antonius its master? How different an occupant, then! Marcus Varro kept that house as a retreat for study, not as a den of vice. Think of the things that used to be discussed, contemplated, and written down in that villa in former times: the laws of the Roman people, the records of our ancestors, every branch of philosophy and human knowledge. (265)

Why should I remind you of the threats and insults with which he attacked the Sidicini and bullied the people of Puteoli, because they had chosen Gaius Cassius and the Bruti as their patrons? (266)

So how are you going to reply? I am waiting to hear your eloquence. I knew your grandfather to be a fine speaker, but you have a still more open manner of speaking. After all, he never addressed a public meeting in the nude, whereas you, simple creature that you are, unburdened yourself before our very eyes! Are you going to reply to me? Are you going to dare open your mouth at all? Are you going to find a single point from this very lengthy speech of mine that you feel confident enough to answer? (267)

Why is the senate encircled by a ring of armed men? Why are your henchmen listening to me sword in hand? … The Roman people will snatch those arms and wrest them from your grasp. I only hpe we do not perish in the attempt! / But whatever you do to us, so long as you pursue your present policies, believe me, you cannot last long. … The Roman people have men to whom they can entrust the helm of the state: wherever in the world they are, there is the entire defence of the state… The state certainly has young men of the highest rank ready to fight in its defence. Let them stay away as long as they wish, in the interests of peace: the state will call them back. (268)

But just as people who suffer from the numbness of sensation brought on by a disease are incapable of tasting food, so, I am sure, the lustful, the greedy, and the criminal cannot savour real praise. All right then: if the prospect of praise cannot induce you to do right, cannot even fear call you away from your filthy actions? You are not afraid of the courts. If that is because you are innocent, then I approve. But if it is because you rely on violence, then you evidently do not appreciate that a person like that who has no fear of the courts has something else that he ought to be afraid of. And if you are not afraid of brave men and loyal citizens because they are kept from you by force of arms, then, believe me, your own supporters will not tolerate you for long. [even if you are not afraid of being assassinated by patriots, because you have henchmen to keep them at bay, you ought still to be afraid of being assassinated by your own supporters, as happened to Caesar] (269)

Look back, I ask you, Marcus Antonius, look back on your country. Think of the people from whom you are sprung, not of those with whom you live. With me, do as you will: only make your peace with your country. But that is for you; I shall speak for myself. I defended this country when I was a young man: I shall not desert it now that I am old. I faced down the swords of Catiline: I shall not flinch before yours. (270)

If nearly twenty years ago in this very temple I declared that death could not be untimely for a man who had reached the consulship, with how much more truth could I now say ‘for an old man’? in fact, for me, conscript fathers, death is actually desirable now that I have discharged the responsibilities of the offices I attained and completed the tasks I undertook. Two things alone I long for: first, that when I die I may leave the Roman people free—the immortal gods could bestow on me no greater blessings; and second, that each person’s fate may reflect the way he has behaved towards his country. [on December 63, in the debate on the Catilinarian conspirators; cf. Cat. 4.3 ‘For a man of courage, death cannot be shameful; for a man who has reached the consulship, it cannot be untimely; and for a wise man, it cannot be pitiable.’] (339)

Cicero, On the Good Life

Cicero, On the Good Life, transl. Michael Grant, Penguin, New York, 1971.

Discussions at Tusculum (Book V) Then Pythagoras, the story continues, answered that human life seemed to him comparable with the festival to which people flocked from all over Greece in order to see those magnificent Games. This is an occasion for which some people have gone into physical training in the hope of winning the splendid distinction of a crown, while others are attracted by the prospect of buying or selling for profit, whereas a further category again—and these represent an especially good class of person—are interested in winning neither applause nor profit, but come merely for the sake of the spectacle, to get a thorough look at what is going on and how it is done. (56)

But there are also a few people who devote themselves wholly to the study of the universe, believing everything else to be trivial in comparison. These call themselves students of wisdom, in other words philosophers; and just as a festival attracts individuals of the finest type who just watch the proceedings without a thought of getting anything for themselves, so too, in life generally, the contemplation and study of nature are far superior to the whole range of other human activities. /
Nor did Pythagoras only invent the name of philosophy, for he extended its subject matter as well. (56-7)

Or do we prefer to follow Epicurus? He often makes imposing pronouncements—for the very good reason that he does not bother to be too consistent or logical! For example, he praise plain living. That is good philosopher’s language: but only if it is on the lips of Socrates or Antisthenes—not of the man who believes the supreme good is identical with pleasure. It is true that Epicurus then goes on to explain that no one can get pleasure out of life unless his conduct is honourable, wise and just. This is thoroughly noble, the sort of thing that is very appropriate to philosophy. Or rather, it would be, if only he did not see these virtues of honour, wisdom and justice in terms of pleasure. (67)

…the wise man is free from all those disturbances of the soul which I describe as passions; his heart is full of tranquil calm for ever. And anyone who is self-controlled, unwavering, fearless, undistressed, the victim of no cravings or desires, must inevitably be happy. (78)

Consider, for example, a man who is morally imperfect enough to feel distress. Then he is also certain to feel fear as well: since fear is the anxious anticipation of distress to come. And if he is likely to feel fear, that is the same as admitting that he is susceptible to every sort of panic, faint-heartedness, hysteria and cowardice. … man we have in mind will be defeated; he is bound to be reduced to a state of slavery. Whereas something free and undefeated: the whole point of morality is its independence. (80)

And this leads to that famous threefold division of intellectual study. [According the Stoics there were three parts of philosophy: Physics, Ethics, and Dialectic. The Epicureans only recognized the first two.] One part constitutes the knowledge of the universe, the understanding of nature. The second consists of distinguishing between the things we ought to aim at and the things we ought to avoid—in other words, this is the art of the [88] good life. The third subdivision comprises the assessment of logical consequences and incompatibilities, which is the basic requirement for accurate discussion and analysis. [89] … These are occupations for a man’s private life. (88-90)

The real remedies for pain—moral force, distaste for wrongdoing, constant practice in endurance, manly toughness—these are all things that Epicurus has not bothered to acquire. All he troubles to say is that he derives satisfaction from recollecting the pleasures of the past. It is as though a man who was feeling extremely, unbearably, hot chose to comfort himself by remembering a bathe he once had in one of our cool streams back home at Arpinum! (92)

This is the sort of person a truly wise man has to be. He will never do anything he might regret—or anything he does not want to do. Every action he performs will always be dignified, consistent, serious, upright. (95)

Let us begin, if we may, with Epicurus. We call him an effeminate pleasure-love. However, it would, as I have said [99] be impossible to accuse him of being afraid of death or pain. He even goes so far as to assert that the day of his death is an occasion of happiness; and at that very moment, he tells us, when he is afflicted with the most grievous pain he suppresses the agony by thinking about all the philosophical discoveries he has made. And when he assures us of that, he is not just indulging in casual talk. (99-100)

Epicurus himself is content with very little indeed to live on. No one has used more emphatic language than he has about the desirability of plain living. Other men are keen to make money to enable them to pay for their love affairs and their careers and their day-to-day living; but since none of these activities has the slightest importance for Epicurus, he has no reason to feel any great desire for money. (100)

On sexual pleasures… In general, maintain the Epicureans, pleasures in this category may be welcomed, unless there happens to be some particular object; but they can never be of any positive advantage. (102)

…the wise man will always have a continuous, unbroken succession of enjoyable experiences, since his anticipation of those he is looking forward to in the future will merge with his recollection of those he has enjoyed in the past. (103)

Applying the same arguments to food, Epicurus and the others belittle expensive and sumptuous banquets, on the ground that nature’s needs are modest. And need, anyone can see, is what provides the seasoning for any and every appetite. … There is also a traditions about Socrates. He liked walking, it is recorded, until a late hour of the evening, and when someone asked him why he did this he said he was trying to work up an appetite for his dinner. (103)

And what the contrast demonstrates is that the true satisfaction to be derived from food comes not from repletion but from appetite—the people who run hardest after pleasure are the least likely to catch what they are after. (104)

Indeed, a life so wholly lacking in reason and moderation must of necessity be highly unattractive. That was the mistake of Sardanapalus, the enormously wealthy king of Syria, who had these lines engraved on his tomb: ‘Everything that I have eaten, everything I have consumed to satisfy my appetites, is still within my power: all my other great riches I have left behind me, and they are gone.’ That, remarked Aristotle, is an epitaph fit for an ox, not a king. For Sardanapalus claims, in death, to control things which even when he was alive he only possessed at the very moment of enjoyment. (105)

On the Orator, Book I

All the same, when we discuss the subject, I have noticed that we do not quite see eye to eye! For what I like to argue is that effective speaking requires extremely wide theoretical knowledge; whereas you prefer to maintain that oratory is entirely independent of systematic learning, and merely depends on a special kind of natural gift, supplemented by practice. (237)

A great number of persons want to learn how to speak; there are teachers in abundance; outstanding talent is available; the legal issues that come up display an infinite diversity; and the rewards, as I said, are truly splendid. In view of all these circumstances, there can only be one possible reason for the scarcity of speakers of any competence: the incredible vastness and difficult of the subject. /
For, first, one has to acquire knowledge about a formidable quantity of different matters. To hold forth without this information will just mean a silly flow of windy verbiage. (241)

The Dream of Scipio

Look: do you not see your father Paullus coming towards you?’ /
Indeed I now saw him approaching: and I burst into a flood of tears. But my father put his arms round me and kissed me, and told me not to weep. So when I had suppressed my tears and felt able to speak, I cried out, ‘Since this, most revered and best of fathers, is true life, as I hear Africanus declare, why must I stay any longer upon earth? Why should I not come and join you, with the utmost possible speed?’ /
‘That must not be,’ replied Paullus. ‘For unless God, whose sacred domain is all that you see around you here, [The word templum originally meant a region of the sky marked off for purposes of divination, and then it came to signify a sacred space generally.] has freed you from your confinement in the body, you cannot be admitted to this place. (345)

I surveyed the scene in a stupor. But finally I recovered enough to ask: ‘What is this sound, so strong and so sweet, which fills my ears?’/
‘That,’ he replied, ‘is the music of the spheres. [The doctrine of the harmony of the spheres may have originated early in the fifth century BC. Pythagoras had discovered that the intervals of the musical scale could be expressed as numerical ratios; and later Pythagoreans concluded that the arrangement of the heavens was based on the principles of musical harmony. Venus and Mercury were believed to have the same speed.] They create it by their own motion as they rush upon their way. The intervals between them, although differing in length, are all measured according to a fixed scheme of proportions; and this arrangement produces a melodious blend of high and low notes, from which emerges a varied harmony. For it cannot be that these vast movements should take place in silence, and nature has ordained that the spheres utter music, those at the summit giving forth high sounds, whereas the sounds of those beneath are low and deep. That is to say, the spheres containing the uppermost stars, compromising those regions of the sky where the movements are speediest, give out a high and piercing sound, whereas the Moon, which lies beneath all the others, sends forth the lowest not. /
‘The ninth of the spheres, the earth, fixed at the centre of the universe, is motionless and silent. But the other eight spheres produce seven different sounds on the scale—not eight, since two of these orbs move at identical speeds, but seven, a number which is the key to almost all things that exist. (348)

‘The ears of mankind are filled with this music all the time. But they have become completely deaf to its melody; no other human faculty has become so atrophied as this. (348)

For the sound there is so loud that the people who live nearby have entirely lost their sense of hearing. And that, too, is why the mighty music of the spheres, created by the immeasurably fast rotations of the whole universe, cannot be apprehended by the human ears… (349)

Cicero, De Inventione

Cicero, De Inventione, C. D. Yonge transl. (online)
These essays on rhetoric were composed by Cicero when he was about one and twenty years of age, and he mentions them afterwards in his more elaborate treatise De Oratore, (Lib. i. e. 2,) as unworthy of his more mature age, and more extended experiences.This treatise originally consisted of four books, of which only two have come down to us.
Book I: V. But Aristotle…three kinds of subjects; with the demonstrative, and the deliberative, and the judicial. …The demonstrative is that which concerns itself with the praise or blame of some particular individual; the deliberative is that which, having its place in discussion and in political debate, comprises a deliberate statement of one's opinion; the judicial is that which, having its place in judicial proceedings, comprehends the topics of accusation and defence; or of demand and refusal.
VII. And these are the divisions of it, as numerous writers have laid them down: Invention; Arrangement; Elocution; Memory; Delivery. Invention, is the conceiving of topics either true or probable, which may make one's cause appear probable; Arrangement, is the distribution of the topics which have been thus conceived with regular order; Elocution, is the adaptation of suitable words and sentences to the topics so conceived; Memory, is the lasting sense in the mind of the matters and words corresponding to the reception of these topics. Delivery, is a regulating of the voice and body in a manner suitable to the dignity of the subjects spoken of and of the language employed.
Wherefore, let us first consider what sort of quality invention ought to be, which is the most important of all the divisions…

VIII. When there is a dispute as to the fact, since the cause is confirmed by conjectures, it is called a conjectural statement. But when it is a dispute as to a name, because the force of a name is to be defined by words, it is then styled a definitive statement. …as, for instance, if any one has stolen any sacred vessel from a private place, whether he is to be considered a sacrilegious person, or a simple thief. For when that is inquired into, it is necessary to define both points--what is a thief, and what is a sacrilegious person,--and to show by one's own description that the matter which is under discussion ought to be called by a different name from that which the opposite party apply to it.
IX. And its divisions are four, --concession, removal of the accusation from oneself, a retorting of the accusation, and comparison. Concession when the person on his trial does not defend the deed that has been done, but entreats to be pardoned for it: and this again is divided into two parts,--purgation and deprecation. Purgation is when the fact is admitted, but when the guilt of the fact is sought to be done away. And this may be on three grounds,--of ignorance, of accident, or of necessity. Deprecation is when the person on his trial confesses that he has done wrong, and that he has done wrong on purpose, and nevertheless entreats to be pardoned.
Removal of the accusation from oneself is when the person on his trial endeavours by force of argument and by influence to remove the charge which is brought against him from himself to another, so that it may not fix him himself with any guilt at all. And that can be done in two ways,--if either the cause of the deed, or the deed itself, is attributed to another. The retorting of an accusation takes place when what is done is said to have been lawfully done because another had previously provoked the doer wrongfully. Comparison is, when it is argued that some other action has been a right or an advantageous one, and then it is contended that this deed which is now impeached was committed in order to facilitate the accomplishment of that useful action.
XIV. From this mode of bringing forward evidence, arises that last kind of dispute which we call the judication, or examination of the excuses alleged.
Wherefore, when the examination of the excuses alleged,… six; the exordium, the relation of the fact, the division of the different circumstances and topics, the bringing forward of evidence, the finding fault with the action which has been done, and the peroration.
At present, since the exordium ought to be the main thing of all, we too will first of all give some precepts to lead to a system of opening a case properly.
XV. An exordium is an address bringing the mind of the hearer into a suitable state to receive the rest of the speech; and that will be effected if it has rendered him well disposed towards the speaker, attentive, and willing to receive information. Wherefore, a man who is desirous to open a cause well, must of necessity be beforehand thoroughly acquainted with the nature and kind of cause [case] which he has to conduct. Now the kinds of causes are five; one honourable, one astonishing, one low, one doubtful, one obscure. The kind of cause which is called honourable, is such an one as the disposition of the hearer favours at once, without waiting to hear our speech. The kind that is astonishing, is that from which the mind of those who are about to hear us has been alienated. The kind which is low, is one which is disregarded by the hearer, or which does not seem likely to be carefully attended to. The kind which is doubtful, is that in which either the examination into the excuses alleged is doubtful, or the cause itself, being partly honourable and partly discreditable; so as to produce partly good-will and partly disinclination. The kind which is obscure, is that in which either the hearers are slow, or in which the cause itself is entangled in a multitude of circumstances hard to be thoroughly acquainted with.
Therefore, the exordium is divided into two portions, first of all a beginning, and secondly language calculated to enable the orator to work his way into the good graces of his hearers. The beginning is an address, in plain words, immediately rendering the hearer well disposed towards one, or inclined to receive information, or attentive. The language calculated to enable the orator to work his way into the good graces of his hearers, is an address which employs a certain dissimulation, and which by a circuitous route as it were obscurely creeps into the affections of the hearer.
In the kind of cause which we have called astonishing, if the hearers be not positively hostile, it will be allowable by the beginning of the speech to endeavour to secure their good-will. But if they be excessively alienated from one, then it will be necessary to have recourse to endeavours to insinuate oneself into their good graces. For if peace and good-will be openly sought for from those who are enemies to one, they not only are not obtained, but the hatred which they bear one is even inflamed and increased.
But in the kind of cause which I have called low, for the sake of removing his contempt it will be indispensable to render the hearer attentive.
The kind of cause which has been styled doubtful, if it embraces an examination into the excuses alleged, which is also doubtful, must derive its exordium from that very examination; but if it have some things in it of a creditable nature, and some of a discreditable character, then it will be expedient to try and secure the good-will of the hearer, so that the cause may change its appearance, and seem to be an honourable one.
But when the kind of cause is the honourable kind, then the exordium may either be passed over altogether, or if it be convenient, we may …avail ourselves of the good-will already existing towards us, in order that that which does exist may be strengthened.
XVI. In the kind of cause which I have called obscure, it will be advisable to render the hearers inclined to receive instruction by a carefully prepared exordium..
Good-will is produced by dwelling on four topics:--on one derived from our own character, from that of our adversaries, from that of the judges, and from the cause itself. From our own character, if we manage so as to speak of our own actions and services without arrogance; if we refute the charges…, and any other suspicions in the least discreditable which it may be endeavoured to attach to us; if we dilate upon the inconveniences which have already befallen us... From the character of our adversaries... They will be brought into hatred, if any action of theirs can be adduced which has been lascivious, or arrogant, or cruel, or malignant…if we can dilate upon their violent behaviour, their power, their riches, their numerous kinsmen,.... They will be brought into contempt, if sloth, or negligence, or idleness, or indolent pursuits, or luxurious tranquillity can be alleged against them. Good-will will be procured, derived from the character of the hearers themselves, if exploits are mentioned which have been performed by them with bravery, or wisdom, or humanity; …and if it is plainly shown how high and honourable their reputation is, and how anxious is the expectation with which men look for their decision and authority.
But we shall make our hearers attentive, if we show that the things which we are going to say and to speak of are important, and unusual, and incredible; and that they concern either all men, or those who are our present hearers…And if we promise that we will in a very short time prove our own cause; and if we explain the whole of the examination into the excuses.
We shall render our hearers willing to receive information, if we explain the sum total of the cause with plainness and brevity.. For when you wish to make a hearer inclined to receive information you must also render him attentive. For he is above all men willing to receive information who is prepared to listen with the greatest attention.
XVII. The next thing which it seems requisite to speak of, is, how topics intended to enable the orator to work his way into the good graces of his hearers ought to be handled. We must then use such a sort of address as that when the kind of cause which we are conducting is that which I have called astonishing; that is to say, as I have stated before, when the disposition of the hearer is adverse to one. And that generally arises from one of three causes: either if there be any thing discreditable in the cause itself, or if any such belief appears to have been already instilled into the hearer by those who have spoken previously; or if one is appointed to speak at a time when those who have got to listen to one are wearied with hearing others. For sometimes when one is speaking, the mind of the hearer is alienated from one no less by this circumstance than by the two former.
If the discreditable nature of one's cause excites the ill-will of one's hearers, …substitute a person for a thing… in order that the mind of the hearer may be led away from that which he hates to that which he loves; and if your object is to conceal from view the fact that you are about to defend that person …then, when the hearer has been rendered more propitious, … enter gradually on the defence, … say that those things at which the opposite party is indignant appear scandalous to you also; and then, when you have propitiated him who is to listen to you, …show that none of all those things at all concern you, and .. deny that you are going to say anything whatever respecting the opposite party whether it be good or bad …(so as not openly to attack those men who are loved by your hearers, and yet doing it secretly as far as you can to alienate from them the favourable disposition of your hearers); and at the same time to mention the judgment of some other judges in a similar case,…
If the speech of your adversaries appears to have made an impression on your hearers, …then it is requisite to promise that you will speak first of all on that point which the opposite party consider their especial stronghold, or else to begin with a reference to what has been said by the adversary, and especially to what he said last; or else to appear to doubt, and to feel some perplexity and astonishment as to what you had best say first, or what argument it is desirable to reply to first--for when a hearer sees the man whom the opposite party believe to be thrown into perplexity by their speech prepared with unshaken firmness to reply to it, he is generally apt to think that he has assented to what has been said without sufficient consideration, rather than that the present speaker is confident without due grounds. But if fatigue has alienated the mind of the hearer from your cause, then it is advantageous to promise to speak more briefly than you had been prepared to speak; and that you will not imitate your adversary.
If the case admit of it, it is not disadvantageous to begin with some new topic, or with some one which may excite laughter; or with some argument which has arisen from the present moment; of which kind are any sudden noise or exclamation; or with something which you have already prepared, which may embrace some apologue, or fable, or other laughable circumstance. Or, if the dignity of the subject shall seem inconsistent with jesting, in that case it is not disadvantageous to throw in something sad, or novel, or terrible. For as satiety of food and disgust is either relieved by some rather bitter taste, or is at times appeased by a sweet taste; so a mind weary with listening is either reinstated in its strength by astonishment, or else is refreshed by laughter
XVIII. And these are pretty nearly the main things which it appeared desirable to say separately concerning the exordium of a speech, and the topics which an orator should use for the purpose of insinuating himself into the good grace of his hearers. And now it seems desirable to lay down some brief rules which may apply to both in common.
An exordium ought to have a great deal of sententiousness and gravity in it, … embrace all things which have a reference to dignity…which in the greatest degree recommends the speaker to his hearer. It should contain very little brilliancy, or wit, or elegance of expression, …arises a suspicion of preparation and artificial diligence: and that is an idea which above all others takes away … authority from a speaker.
But the following are the most ordinary faults to be found in an exordium, and those it is above all things desirable to avoid. It must not be vulgar, common, easily changed, long, unconnected, borrowed, nor must it violate received rules. What I mean by vulgar, is one which may be so adapted to numerous causes as to appear to suit them all. That is common, which appears to be able to be adapted no less to one side of the argument than to the other. That is easily changed, which with a slight alteration may be advanced by the adversary on the other side of the question.
XIX. Narration is an explanation of acts that have been done, or of acts as if they have been done. There are three kinds of narration. One kind is that in which the cause itself and the whole principle of the dispute is contained. Another is that in which some digression, unconnected with the immediate argument, is interposed, either for the sake of criminating another, or of instituting a comparison, or of provoking some mirth…
XX. It is desirable then that it should have three qualities; that it should be brief, open, and probable. It will be brief, if the beginning of it is derived from the quarter from which it ought to be; and if it is not endeavoured to be extracted from what has been last said, and … it is often sufficient to say what has been done, and there is no necessity for his relating how it was done;--… passes over not only such topics as may be injurious, but those too which are neither injurious nor profitable.
But a narration will be able to be open, if those actions are explained first which have been done first, …things are related as they have been done, or as it shall seem that they may have been done. …nothing be said in a confused or distorted manner; that no digression …the affair may not be traced too far back, nor carried too far forward; that nothing be passed over which is connected with the business in hand;
XXI. A narration will be probable, if in it those characteristics are visible which are usually apparent in truth; if the dignity of the persons mentioned is preserved; if the causes of the actions performed are made plain; if it shall appear that there were facilities for performing them; …if the time was suitable; if there was plenty of room; if the place is shown to have been suitable for the transaction which is the subject of the narration; if the whole business, in short, be adapted …to the preconceived opinions of those who hear.
But besides all this, it will be necessary to take care that such a narration be not introduced when it will he a hindrance, or when it will be of no advantage; and that it be not related in an unseasonable place, or in a manner which the cause does not require. It is a hindrance, …when the very narration of what has been done comes at a time that the hearer has conceived great displeasure at something, which it will be expedient to mitigate by argument, and by pleading the whole cause carefully. And when this is the case, it will be desirable rather to scatter the different portions of the transactions limb by limb as it were over the cause, and, as promptly as may be, to adapt them to each separate argument, in order that there may be a remedy at hand for the wound.
XXII. An arrangement of the subjects to be mentioned in an argument... One part is that which points out what are the particulars as to which one is in agreement with the opposite party, and also what remains in dispute; (and from this there is a certain definite thing pointed out to the hearer, as that to which he should direct his attention) ….explanation of those matters on which we are about to speak, is briefly arranged and pointed out. And this causes the hearer to retain certain things in his mind, so as to understand that when they have been discussed the speech will be ended.
But the arrangement ...ought to have brevity, completeness. Completeness is that quality by which we embrace every sort of argument which can have any connexion with the case concerning which we have got to speak; and in this division we must take care not to omit any useful topic, not to introduce any such too late, out of its natural place, for that is the most pernicious and discreditable error of all.
XXIII. we should not undertake to prove more things than there is any occasion for; in this way:-- "I will prove that the opposite party were able to do what we accuse them of; and had the inclination to do it; and did it." It is quite enough to prove that they did it.
XXIV. Confirmation is that by means of which our speech proceeding in argument adds belief, and authority, and corroboration to our cause.
XXVI. Who what when where why.
XXVII. But the manner, also, is inquired into; in what manner, how, and with what design the action was done? Its parts are, the doer knowing what he was about, and not knowing. But the degree of his knowledge is measured by these circumstances, whether the doer did his action secretly, openly, under compulsion, or through persuasion. The fact of the absence of knowledge is brought forward as an excuse, and its parts are actual ignorance, accident, necessity. It is also attributed to agitation of mind;
XXIX. But all argumentation, … ought to be either probable or unavoidable. Indeed, to define it in a few words, argumentation appears to be an invention of some sort, which either shows something or other in a probable manner, or demonstrates it in an irrefutable one.
Dilemma is a case in which, whichever admission you make you are found fault with. For example:--"If he is a worthless fellow, why are you intimate with him? If he is an excellent man, why do you accuse him ?" Enumeration is a statement in which, when many matters have been stated and all other arguments invalidated, the one which remains is inevitably proved; in this manner:--"It is quite plain that he was slain by this man, either because of his enmity to him, or some fear, or hope, which he had conceived, or in order to gratify some friend of his; or, if none of these alternatives are true, then that he was not slain by him at all; for a great crime cannot be undertaken without a motive. But he had no quarrel with him, nor fear of him, nor hope of any advantage to be gained by his death, nor did his death in the least concern any friend of his. It remains, therefore, that he was not slain by him at all."
But that is probable which is accustomed generally to take place, or which depends upon the opinion of men, or which contains some resemblance to these properties, whether it be false or true. In that description of subject, the most usual probable argument is something of this sort:--"If she is his mother, she loves her son." "If he is an avaricious man, he neglects his oath." But in the case which depends mainly on opinion, probable arguments are such as this: "That there are punishments prepared in the shades below for impious men."--" That those men who give their attention to philosophy do not think that there are gods."
XXXI. All argumentation, therefore, is to be carried on either by induction, or by ratiocination. Induction is a manner of speaking which, by means of facts which are not doubtful, forces the assent of the person to whom it is addressed. By which assent it causes him even to approve of some points which are doubtful, on account of their resemblance to those things to which he has assented;
This was a method of instruction which Socrates used to a great extent, because he himself preferred bringing forward no arguments for the purpose of persuasion, but wished rather that the person with whom he was disputing should form his own conclusions from arguments with which he had furnished himself, and which he was unavoidably compelled to approve of from the grounds which he had already assented to.
XXXIV. Ratiocination is a sort of speaking, eliciting something probable from the fact under consideration itself...
XLII. Reprehension is that by means of which the proof adduced by the opposite party is invalidated by arguing, or is disparaged, or is reduced to nothing.
XLIV. But when anything is alleged as a proper object of comparison, since that is a class of argument which turns principally on resemblance, in reprehending the adversary it will be advisable to deny that there is any resemblance at all to the case with which it is attempted to institute the comparison. And that may be done, if it be proved to be different in genus, or in nature, or in power, or in magnitude, or in time or place, or with reference to the person affected, or to the opinions generally entertained of it. And if it be shown also in what classification that which is brought forward on account of the alleged resemblance, and in what place too the whole genus with reference to which it is brought forward, ought to be placed. After that it will be pointed out how the one thing differs from the other; from which we shall proceed to show that a different opinion ought to be entertained of that which is brought forward by way of comparison, and of that to which it is sought to be compared. And this sort of argument we especially require when that particular argumentation which is carried on by means of induction is to be reprehended. If any previous decision be alleged, since these are the topics by which it is principally established, the praise of those who have delivered such decision; the resemblance of the matter which is at present under discussion to that which has already been the subject of the decision referred to; that not only the decision is not found fault with because it is mentioned, but that it is approved of by every one; and by showing too, that the case which has been already decided is a more difficult and a more important one than that which is under consideration now. It will be desirable also to invalidate it by arguments drawn from the contrary topics, if either truth or probability will allow us to do so. And it will be necessary to take care and notice whether the matter which has been decided has any real connexion with that which is the present subject of discussion; and we must also take care that no case is adduced in which any error has been committed, so that it should seem that we are passing judgment on the man himself who has delivered the decision referred to.
It is desirable further to take care that they do not bring forward some solitary or unusual decision when there have been many decisions given the other way. For by such means as this the authority of the decision alleged can be best invalidated. And it is desirable that those arguments which are assumed as probable should be handled in this way.
XLVI. But it will also be reprehended in another manner if any contradictory statement is advanced: that is to say, just by way of example, if, to continue arguing from the previous case, it can be shown that the horse did come to one by inheritance; or if it should not be discreditable to admit the last alternative; as if a person, when his adversaries said,-- "You were either laying an ambush against the owner, or you were influenced by a friend, or you were carried away by covetousness," were to confess that he was complying with the entreaties of his friend.
But a simple conclusion is reprehended if that which follows does not appear of necessity to cohere with that which has gone before. For this very proposition, "If he breathes, he is alive;" "If it is day, it is light," is a proposition of such a nature that the latter statement appears of necessity to cohere with the preceding one. But this inference, "If she is his mother, she loves him;" "If he has ever done wrong, he will never be chastised," ought to be reprehended in such a manner as to show that the latter proposition does not of necessity cohere with the former
Inferences of this kind, and all other unavoidable conclusions, and indeed all argumentation whatever, and its reprehension too, contains some greater power and has a more extensive operation than is here explained. But the knowledge of this system is such that it cannot be added to any portion of this art; not that it does of itself separately stand in need of a long time, and of deep and arduous consideration. Wherefore those things shall be explained by us at another time, and when we are dealing with another subject, if opportunity be afforded us. At present we ought to be contented with these precepts of the rhetoricians given for the use of orators. When, therefore, any one of these points which are assumed is not granted, the whole statement is invalidated by these means.
LII. The conclusion is the end and terminating of the whole oration. It has three parts,--enumeration, indignation, and complaint. Enumeration is that by which matters which have been related in a scattered and diffuse manner are collected together, and, for the sake of recollecting them, are brought under our view.
LIII. Indignation is a kind of speech by which the effect produced is, that great hatred is excited against a man, or great dislike of some proceeding is originated.
LV. But complaint will usually take its origin from things of this kind. Complaint is a speech seeking to move the pity of the hearers. In this it is necessary in the first place to render the disposition of the hearer gentle and merciful, in order that it may the more easily be influenced by pity.

(Book II is a series of examples of principles set forth in Book I; Books III and IV are lost.)

Machiavelli, The Prince

Niccolo Machiavelli, The Prince, Ed. & transl. Robert M. Adams, 2nd Edition, Norton Critical Edition, New York, 1992.

Readers of The Prince who study in Italian after first becoming acquainted with it in English translation are likely to be a little surprised at the complex and various quality of Machiavelli’s prose. It is not of a piece throughout, as translations make it seem. There are indeed epigrams and aphorisms with the brief, cruel point of a stiletto; there are also, and more characteristically, complex sentences overburdened by modifiers, laden with subordinate clauses, and serpentine in their length. Machiavelli likes to balance concepts and phrases, to build the structure of his thought out of elegantly juxtaposed contrasts, and to draw out the tenor of his thought through a long, linked, circumstantial sentence. By contrast with the Ciceronianisms of his humanist contemporaries, Machiavelli’s periods may have seemed brutally swift and abrupt; but standards have changed, and I have not thought it improper to render, on occasion, one of my author’s poised yet labyrinthine periods, by four or five sentences. … It is, after all, partly a matter of convention; in some ways, Machiavelli used the full stop as we use the paragraph (which was not at his disposal), (Translator’s Note, xvii)

Niccolo Maciavelli to the Magnificent Lorenzo de’ Medici (3)

…you cannot stay friends with those who put you in power, because you can never satisfy them as they expected. (III, pg 5)

But when one acquires new possessions in a district that differs from one’s own in language, customs, and laws, that is where troubles arise, and where one needs good luck and plenty of resolution to hold onto them. One of the best and most effective policies would be for the new possessor of territories to go there and live. [6] … you can see troubles getting started, and take care of them right away; when you do not live there, you hear of them only when they have grown great and there is no longer a cure. Besides this, the new province will not be looted by your officials, and the citizens will be satisfied because they have easy access to the prince. If they want to be good citizens, they have more reason to love him, and if they do not, they have more reason to fear him. Any foreigner who thinks of attacking that state will think twice about it; (III, 6-7)

And in this connection it should be remarked that men ought either to be caressed or destroyed, since they will seek revenge for minor hurts but will not be able to revenge major ones. Any harm you do to a man should be done in such a way that you need not fear his revenge. (III, 7)

In addition, the man who comes into an alien province of this sort ought to set up at once as head and protector of his weak neighbors, should try to weaken his strong neighbors, and should make sure at all costs that no foreigner gets in who is as powerful as he is. You can always count on the foreigner’s being invited in by those who are discontented, through either excess ambition or fear, (III, 7)

Thus the Romans, who could see troubles at a distance, always found remedies for them. They never allowed a trouble spot to remain simply [8] to avoid going to war over it, because they knew that wars don’t just go away, they are only postponed to someone else’s advantage. Therefore they made war with Philip and Antiochus in Greece, in order not to have to fight them in Italy. At the time, they could have avoided both wars, but they chose not to. They never went by that saying which you hear constantly from the wiseacres of our day, that time heals all things. (III, 8-9)

And I talked over this whole subject at Nantes with the cardinal of Rouen when Valentino (as people generally called Cesare Borgia, the son of Pope Alexander) was occupying the Romagna. Actually, the cardinal told me that Italians knew nothing about war, and I told him that the French knew nothing about politics; since, if they knew the first thing about it, they would never allow the Church to grow so great. (III, 11)

The whole monarchy of Turkey is governed by a single master; everyone else is his servant; he divides his kingdom into districts, sending different administrators to each, and changing them around as he thinks best. But the king of France is placed in the midst of a great many noblemen of long standing, each recognized by his own subjects in his own districts, and held in esteem by them. They have their different privileges; the king himself cannot meddle with these, except at his peril. Comparing the two states, anyone can see that, though conquering the Turkish state might be hard, once conquered, it would be easy to hold. On the other hand, to take the state of France would be relatively easy in some ways, but to hold onto it would be very hard. (IV, 12)

Turkey… since they are all the slaves of their master and obliged to him, there is no easy way of corrupting them; and even if you succeeded, there is not much advantage to be hoped from it, because the man you corrupt cannot bring along many followers, at noted above. … But once they are thoroughly beaten and crushed so their army cannot reform, there is nothing more to fear except the family of the prince; (IV, 13)

And it is worth noting that nothing is harder to manage, more risky in the undertaking, or more doubtful of success than to set up as the introducer of a new order. Such an innovator has as enemies all the people who were doing well under the old order, and only halfhearted defenders in those who hope to profit from the new. This halfheartedness derives partly from fear of opponents who have the law on their side, and partly from human skepticism, … to persuade them of something is easy, but to make them stand fast in that conviction is hard. (VI, 17)

And he should never have allowed any of those cardinals to become pope whom he had injured, or who, on their election, might have had reason to fear him. For men injure others either through fear or hate. (VII, 23)

Somebody might wonder how it happened that Agathocles and others of his ilk, after they had committed so many acts of treachery and cruelty, [26] could live long, secure lives in their native cities, defend themselves from foreign enemies, and never be conspired against by their fellow citizens. And yet many other princes were unable, because of their cruelty, to maintain their power, even in time of peace, not to speak of the troubled times of war. I believe this depends on whether the cruelty is used well or badly. Cruelty can be described as well used (if it is permissible to say good words about something evil in itself) when it is performed all at once, for reasons of self-preservation; and when the acts are not repeated after that, but rather are turned as much as possible to the advantage of the subjects. Cruelty is badly used, when it is infrequent at first, but increases with time instead of diminishing. Those who use the first method may find some excuse before God and man for their state, as Agathocles did; the others cannot possibly stay in power.
We may add this note that when a prince takes a new state, he should calculate the sum of all the injuries he will have to do, and do them all at once, so as not to have to do new ones every day; … injuries should be committed all at once, because the less time there is to dwell on them, the less they offend; but benefits should be distributed very gradually, so the taste will last longer. (VIII, 27)

But even a man who becomes prince against the will of the people, with the aid of the nobles, should try above all things to win over the populace; he can do this quite easily by taking them under his protection. And because men, when they receive benefits form a prince whom they expected to harm them, are especially obliged to him, such a prince’s subjects may feel more warmly toward him than if he had risen to power with their help. (IX, 29)

And let nobody pretend to answer me with that trite proverb that “The man who builds on the people builds his house on mud.” That may be true when a private citizen plants his foundations amid the people and lets himself think that the people will come to his aid when he is in trouble with his enemies or the magistrates. In such a case one can easily find himself deluded, .. But if it is a prince who puts his trust in the people, one who knows how to command, he will never find himself betrayed. (IX, 29)

Mercenaries… The reason is that they have no other passions or incentives to hold to field, except their desire for a bit of money, and that is not enough to make them die for you. They are all eagerness to be your soldiers as long as you are not waging war; when war breaks out, they either turn tail or disappear. (XII, 34)

Experience teaches that independent princes, and well-armed republics accomplish great things, but mercenary armies do nothing but lose; (35)

Anyone who wants to make dead sure of not winning, then, had better make use of armies like these, since they are much more dangerous than mercenaries. In these you get your ruin ready-made; they come to you a compact body, all trained to obey somebody else. Mercenaries after a victory need a little time and a better occasion before they attack you, since they are not a unified body, but a group of individuals picked and paid by you. Hence a third party, even if you name him as head, cannot immediately gain enough authority to do you serious harm. In a word, when you have mercenaries, their cowardice is most dangerous to you; when you have auxiliaries, it is their courage you must fear. Hence a wise prince has always kept away form troops like these, and made use of his own, preferring to lose under his own power than to win with other people’s troops… (XIII, 38)

Between a man with arms and a man without them there is no proportion at all. It is not reasonable to expect an armed man to obey one who is unarmed, nor an unarmed man to be safe among armed servants; (XIV, 41)

…meanwhile learning to read terrain. He will see how the mountains rise, how the valleys open out, and how the plains lie; he will know about rivers and swamps—and to this study he should devote the greatest attention. What he learns will be doubly useful; first, he will become acquainted with his own land, and understand better how to defend it; and then, because he knows his own country thoroughly, he can easily understand any other country that he is forced to look over for the first time. For example, in Tuscany the hills, valleys, plains, and swamps are pretty much like those in other provinces, (XIV, 41)

Any man who tries to be good all the time is bound to come to ruin among the great number who are not good. Hence a prince who wants to keep his authority must learn how not to be good, (XV, 42)

For if you exercise your generosity in a really virtuous way as you should, nobody will know of it, … Hence if you wish to be widely known as a generous man, you must seize every opportunity to make a big display of your giving. … he will have to load his people with exorbitant taxes and squeeze money out of them in every way he can. This is the first step in making him odious to his subjects; for when he is poor, nobody will [43] respect him. … Since a prince cannot use this virtue of liberality in such a way as to become known for it unless he harms his own security, he will not mind, if he judges prudently of things, being known as a miser. In due course he will be thought the more liberal man, when people see that his parsimony enables him to live on his income, to defend himself against his enemies, and to undertake major projects without burdening his people with taxes. Thus he will be acting liberally towards all those people from whom he takes nothing (and there are an immense number of them), … (XVI, 43-4)

Someone may object that Caesar used a reputation for generosity to become emperor, … Caesar was one of those who wanted to become ruler in Rome; but after he had reached his goal, if he had lived, and had not cut down on his expenses, he would have ruined the empire itself. (XVI, 34)

Any prince at the heady of his army, which lives on loot, extortion, and plunder, disposes of other people’s property, and is bound to be very generous; otherwise, his soldiers would desert him. You can always be a more generous giver when what you give is not your or your subjects’; Cyrus, Caesar, and Alexander were generous in this way. … And there is nothing that wears out faster than generosity; even as you practice it, you lose the means of practicing it, and you become either poor and contemptible or (in the course of escaping poverty) rapacious and hateful. The thing above all against which a prince must protect himself is being contemptible and hateful; generosity leads to both. Thus, it is much wiser to put up with the reputation of being a miser, which you shame without hate, than to be forced—just because you want to appear generous—into a reputation for rapacity, which brings shame on you and hate along with it. (XVI, 45)

…no prince should mind being called cruel for what he does to keep his subjects united and loyal; he may make examples of a very few, but he will be more merciful in reality than those who, in their tenderheartedness, allow disorders to occur, with their attendant murders and lootings. Such turbulence brings harm to an entire community, while the executions ordered by a prince affect only one individual at a time. A new prince, above all others, cannot possibly avoid a name for cruelty, since new states are always in danger. (XVII, 45)

Here the question arises: is it better to be loved than feared, or vice versa? I don’t doubt that every prince would like to be both; but since it is hard to accommodate these qualities, if you have to make a choice, to be feared is much safer than to be loved. For it is a good general rule about men, that they are ungrateful, fickle, liars and deceivers, fearful of danger and greedy for gain. (XVII, 46)

Still, a prince should make himself feared in such a way that, even if he gets no love, he gets no hate either; because it is perfectly possible to be feared and not hated, and this will be the result if only the prince will keep his hands off the property of his subjects or citizens, and off their women. When he does have to shed blood, he should be sure to have a strong justification and manifest cause; but above all, he should not confiscate people’s property, because men are quicker to forget the death of a father than the loss of a patrimony. (XVII, 46)

But a prince at the head of his armies and commanding a multitude of soldiers should not care a bit if he is considered cruel; without such a reputation, he could never hold his army together and ready for action. Among the marvelous deeds of Hannibal, this was prime; that, having an immense army, which included men of many different races and nations, and which he led to battle in distant countries, he never allowed them to fight among themselves or to rise against him, whether his fortune was good or bad. (XVII, 46)

How praiseworthy it is for a prince to keep his word and live with integrity rather than by craftiness, everyone understands; yet we see from recent experience that those princes have accomplished most who paid little heed to keeping their promises, (XVIII, 47)

Those who try to live by the lion alone are badly mistaken. Thus a prudent prince cannot and should not keep his word when to do so would go against his interest, or when the reasons that made him pledge it no longer apply. … Besides, a prince will never lack for legitimate excuses to explain away his breaches of faith. … But it is necessary in playing this part that you conceal it carefully; you must be a great liar and hypocrite. Men are so simple of mind, and so much dominated by their immediate needs, that a deceitful man will always find plenty who are ready to be deceived. (XVIII, 48)

In actual fact, a prince may not have all the admirable qualities listed above, but it is very necessary that he should seem to have them. Indeed, I will venture to say that when you have them and exercise them all the time, they are harmful to you; when you just seem to have them, they are useful. It is good to appear merciful, truthful, humane, sincere, and religious; it is good to be so in reality. But you must keep your mind so disposed that, in case of need, you can turn to the exact contract. (XVIII, 48)

What makes him hated above all, as I have said, is his confiscating the property of his subjects or taking their women. (XIX, 49)

What makes the prince contemptible is being considered changeable, trifling, effeminate, cowardly, or indecisive; he should avoid this as a pilot does a reef, and make sure that his actions bespeak greatness, courage, seriousness of purpose, and strength. In the private controversies of his subjects, he should be sure that his judgment once passed is irrevocable; indeed, he should maintain such a reputation that nobody will even dream of trying to trick or manage him. (XIX, 50)

For a prince must be on his guard in two directions: domestically, against his own subjects; and abroad, against foreign powers. From the latter he can defend himself with good weapons and good friends; if he has good weapons, he will never lack for good friends. (XIX, 50)

One of the strongest counters that a prince has against conspiracies is not to be hated by the mass of the people, because every man who conspires always thinks that by killing the prince he will be pleasing the people. But when he thinks his act will enrage them, he no longer has any stomach for the work, (XIX, 50)

Now the first thing to note is that, unlike other princes who had to contend only with the ambition of nobles and the insolence of the people, the Roman emperors had a third difficulty: they had to cope with a cruel and avaricious soldiery. Satisfying both the soldiers and the populace at the same time proved so difficult that it cost many of the emperors their thrones. For the people wanted quiet, and thus were pleased with unambitious princes, while the soldiers loved a prince of warlike spirit, who was domineering, greedy, and cruel; they wanted to see these qualities exercised on the people, because that meant double wages for them, and satisfied their cruelty as well as their greed. (XIX, 52)

The reason was that Severus was a man of such character that, by keeping the soldiers friendly to him, and oppressing the people, he was able to reign in prosperity all his life long; his talents made him so remarkable, in the eyes of the people as well as the soldiery, that the former remained awestruck and appeased, the latter astonished and abashed. [The virtues of Severus, which amounted to cold and ruthless decisiveness, are perceptibly different from the virtues of Marcus Aurelius; in this deliberately equating them, Machiavelli is in effect declaring that the moral qualities of a prince are virtues or vices only as they help or hinder his political functioning. (XIX, 54)

Now let us come to Commodus, who found the empire easy to acquire, since it descended to him by hereditary right, as son of Marcus Aurelius; and if he had simply been content to follow his father’s footsteps, he would have satisfied both the populace and the soldiers. But he was a cruel and beastly man, who, to exercise his rapacity on the people, indulged his armies to the limit, and encouraged their excesses. On the other hand, he took no care for his own dignity, descending many times into the theater to fight with gladiators, and doing other completely vulgar tings unworthy of imperial majesty, till at last he became contemptible to his own soldiers. Then, when he was hated by one faction and despised by the other, … he perished. (XIX, 55)

There never was a new prince who disarmed his subjects; on the contrary, when he found them without weapons, he always armed them. The reason is that when you arm them, their arms become yours; those who were suspect become your faithful supporters, and those who were faithful before continue so, and from merely being your subjects become your partisans. Naturally, you cannot arm all your subjects, but when those whom you have armed are well treated, you can consider yourself safer from the others. Those you select for special favor will think themselves obliged to you, and the others will forgive you, judging that men deserve special rewards when they assume special risks and obligations. But when you disarm them, you begin to alienate them; you advertise your mistrust of them, which may come from your suspecting them of cowardice or treachery; both these insinuations will raise hatred against you. (XX, 57)

But when a prince acquires a new state and attaches it, like a fresh graft, on his old state, then the new acquisition must be disarmed, except for those who actively helped you acquire it; even those people, as time and occasions allow, must be rendered soft and compliant. Things have to be arranged so that all the arms in your new state are in the hands of your own soldiers, who used to live in your own state, under your eye. (XX, 58)

A prince will also be well thought of when he is a true friend or an honest enemy, that is, when, without any hedging, he takes a stand for one side against another. It is always better to do this than to stand on one’s neutrality; because if two of your powerful neighbors come to blows, they are either such people that you have to fear the winner, or [61] they are not. In either case, it will be better for you to assert yourself and wage open war; because, in the final case, when you do not take sides, you are bound to be the prey of the winner, to the pleasure and satisfaction of the loser. Then you have no excuse, nothing to defend you, nobody to take you in; a winner has no use for doubtful friends, who would not support him in adversity, and a loser will not take you in because you were not willing to take your chances with him, sword in hand. … As for the second case, when neither of the two powers who are at odds is so strong that you have to be afraid of his winning, it is all the more sensible for you to take sides, since you are now able to ruin one with the aid of the other, who would have saved him if he had any sense. The winner, whoever he is, will be at your mercy, and the side to which you throw your weight is bound to win. And here let me say that a prince should never ally himself with someone more powerful than himself in order to attack a third party, except in cases of absolute necessity. (XXI, 62)

No leader should ever suppose he can invariably take the safe course, since all choices involve risks. In the nature of things, you can never try to escape one danger without encountering another; but prudence consists in knowing how to recognize the nature of the different dangers and in accepting the least bad as good. (XXI, 63)

For there is no way to protect yourself from flattery except by letting men know that you will not be offended at being told the truth. But when anyone can tell you the truth, you will not have much respect. Hence a prudent prince should adopt a third course, bringing wise men into his council and giving them alone free license to speak the truth—and only on those points where the prince asks for it, not on others, but he should ask them about everything, [64] … But apart form these counselors he should not listen to anyone; he should go straight to the matter under discussion and stand firmly by his decision. Any prince who behaves differently will either be subject to the imortunings of flatterers or will waver between different views of the subject, as a result of which he will be little respected. (XXII, 65)

A prince should always take counsel, the, but when he wants advice, not when other people want to give it. On the contrary, he should prevent anyone from offering him uncalled-for advice. But he should also be a liberal questioner, and afterwards a patient hearer of the truth regarding whatever he has asked about. Many people think that a prince who is considered prudent gets that reputation, not on his own merits, but because he has good counselors around him. That is completely wrong. For this is a general and unfailing rule: that a prince who is not shrewd himself cannot get good counseling, … (XXII, 65)

If he consults with several different advisers, a prince without wisdom will never get the different opinions coordinated, will never make a policy. Each of the ministers will think of his own interests, and the prince will not know how to recognize them for what they are, or how to make them pull together. Ministers are bound to act this way, because men will always turn out badly for you unless they are forced to be good. (XXII, 65)

[From Machiavelli’s Method and Style, Federico Chabod.] Far more important, the Machiavelli of this period affords us a glimpse of the real Machiavelli, with his characteristic way of looking at political problems, and in particular his dilemmatic technique of invariably putting forward the two extreme and antithetical solutions, disregarding half-measures and compromise solutions, and employing a disjunctive style: … This method constantly recurs in Machiavelli’s prose. He is so rigorous in his use of it that it seems at times too obvious—I would venture to say too ingenuous… It is, on the other hand, a perfect formal expression of a mode of thought which is always based upon the precept that ‘virtue’ in a politician consists entirely in making a prompt and firm decisions, and that in public life nothing is more pernicious than obscure or slow and tardy deliberation—a fault which results ‘either from weakness of mind and body or from the malevolence of those who have to deliberate’ (Discorsi II, xv). Machiavelli is always emphasizing that no State should delude itself that it can always adopt a ‘safe course of action; rather it should realize that its policy will always be attended by risk; … He is always resolute in regarding ‘half-measures’ as ruinous; indeed, they were always avoided by ‘his’ Romans, who invariably went to ‘extremes’ (Discorsi II, xxiii). Men adopt ruinous half-measures, says Machiavelli, because they are lazy or incompetent, because they do not know ‘either how to be wholly bad or to be wholly good’ (Discorsi I, xxvi). (179)

Most important of all, even at this early stage he is never satisfied with the mere analysis, however lucid, of a specific political situation. Instead, he is impelled—I would say by instinct—to proceed straight from the facts to considerations of a general nature and to regard the concrete episode as one of the innumerable changing manifestations of something which does not change, because it is perennial—the struggle for power, in other words, politics. (180)

And certain syntactical constructions, all subject and verb and therefore [181] concise and vigorous, adumbrate, albeit vaguely, images and syntactical constructions that occur in his most perfect prose, that of The Prince. (182)