He passes over in rapid review the whole history of Greek and Roman literature. His remarks, though brief, are clear and decided, and are marked with an attractive beauty and sound judgment, which have stood the test of ages, and recommend themselves to all who have been distinguished for pure classical taste. So adroit is he in catching the leading features, that the portraits of great authors of antiquity, though only sketches and outlines, stand forth in bold and tangible shape, each exhibiting marked and distinct characteristics. There are few specimens of criticism so attractive, so suggestive, and which lay such hold on the memory, as this portion of the Institutions of Quintilian. Other subjects are also briefly handled in the tenth book, such as the necessity of pains and elaborate corrections, in order to form a polished style.[[1351]] The choice of materials,[[1352]] original thought,[[1353]] the means of acquiring and perfecting a habit of extemporaneous speaking.[[1354]]
The eleventh book is devoted to the subjects of appropriateness, memory,[[1355]] and delivery.[[1356]]
The twelfth opens with what the author designates[[1357]] as the most grave and important portion of the whole work, well worthy of the dignified character of true Roman virtue. Its subject is the high moral qualifications necessary for a perfect orator.[[1358]] Talent, wisdom, learning, eloquence are nothing, if the mind is distracted and torn asunder by vicious thoughts and depraved passions.[[1359]] The orator, therefore, must learn studies by what his moral character can alone be formed;[[1360]] he must possess that firmness of principle which will cause him fearlessly to practise what he knows. “Neque erit perfectus orator nisi qui honeste dicere et sciet et audebit.”
A knowledge of history[[1361]] and the principles of jurisprudence,[[1362]] he also considers indispensably necessary, notwithstanding the slighting way in which Cicero speaks of the antiquarian learning of the jurisconsults. Some practical rules[[1363]] are also added as to the time of commencing practice in the courts, the rules to be observed in undertaking causes,[[1364]] and the cautions to be attended to in preparing and pleading them.[[1365]] He deprecates the undertaking such important duties early, although the call to the bar at Rome took place as soon as the manly gown was assumed: tradition spoke of boys clothed with the prætexta pleading. Cæsar Augustus, at twelve years old, publicly pronounced a eulogy on his grandmother, as did Tiberius at the early age of nine over the body of his deceased father.[[1366]]
Enough has been said to show the fulness and completeness with which Quintilian has exhausted his subject, and left, as a monument of his taste and genius, a text-book of the science and art of nations, as well as a masterly sketch of the eloquence of antiquity.
There have been attributed to Quintilian, besides his great work, nineteen declamations or judicial speeches relating to imaginary suits; also one hundred and forty-five sketches of orations, the remains of a larger collection, consisting of three hundred and eighty-eight. But there is no evidence in favour of their being his, and their style seems to show that they were the work of different authors and different ages. Neither is there any good reason for considering that the treatise on the Causes of Corrupt Eloquence is the same as that to which he alludes in the proëmium to the sixth and the conclusion of the eighth book[[1367]] of the Institutions. Indeed, the almost unanimous opinion of scholars assigns it to Tacitus. His works were discovered by Poggius, together with those of Silius Italicus and L. Valerius Flaccus, in the monastery of St. Gall, twenty miles from Constance, during the sitting of the celebrated ecclesiastical council.
The disposition of Quintilian was as affectionate and tender as his genius was brilliant, and his taste pure. Few passages throughout the whole range of Latin literature can be compared to that in which he mourns the loss of his wife and children. It is the touching eloquence of one who could not write otherwise than gracefully; and if he murmurs at the divine decrees, it must be remembered that his dearest hopes were blighted, and that he had not the hopes, the consolation, or the teaching of a Christian. “I had a son,” he says, “whose eminent genius deserved a father’s anxious diligence. I thought that if—which I might fairly have expected and wished for—death had removed me from him, I could have left him, as the best inheritance, a father’s instructions. But by a second blow, a second bereavement, I have lost the object of my highest hopes, the only comfort of my declining years. What shall I do now? Of what use can I suppose myself to be, as the gods have cast me off? It happened that when I commenced my book on the Causes of Corrupt Eloquence, I was stricken by a similar blow. It would surely have been best then to have flung upon the funeral pile—which was destined prematurely to consume all that bound me to life—my unlucky work, and the ill-starred fruits of all my toils, and not to have wearied with new cares a life to which I so unnaturally clung. For what tender parent would pardon me if I were able to study any longer, and not hate my firmness of mind, if I, who survived all my dear ones, could find any employment for my tongue except to accuse the gods, and to protest that no Providence looks down upon the affairs of men? If I cannot say this in reference to my own case, to which no objection can be made except that I survive, at least I can with reference to theirs—condemned to an unmerited and untimely grave.
“Their mother had before been torn from me, who had given birth to two sons before she had completed her nineteenth year; and though her death was a cruel blow to me, to her it was a happy one. To me the affliction was so crushing, that fortune could no longer restore me to happiness. For not only did the exercise of every feminine virtue render her husband’s grief incurable, but, compared with my own age, she was but a girl, and therefore her loss may be accounted as that of a child. Still, my children survived, and were my joy and comfort, and she since I survived (a thing unnatural, although she wished it,) escaped by a precipitate flight the agonies of grief. In my younger son, who died at five years old, I lost one light of my eyes. I have no ambition to make much of my misfortunes, or to exaggerate the reasons which I have for sorrow; would that I had means of assuaging it! But how can I conceal his lovely countenance, his endearing talk, his sparkling wit, and (what I feel can scarcely be believed) his calm and deep solidity of mind? Had he been another’s child he would have won my love. But insidious fortune, in order to inflict on me severer anguish, made him more affectionate to me than to his nurses, his grandmother, who brought him up, and all who usually gain the attachment of children of that age.
“Thankful therefore do I feel for that sorrow in which but a few months before I was plunged by the loss of his matchless, his inestimable mother; for my lot was less a subject for tears than hers was for rejoicing. One only hope, support, and consolation, had remained in my Quintilian. He had not, like my younger son, just put forth his early blossoms, but entering on his tenth year had shown mature and well-set fruit. I swear by my misfortunes, by the consciousness of my unhappiness, by those departed spirits, the deities who preside over my grief, that in him I discerned such vigour of intellect, not only in the acquisition of learning (and yet in all my extensive experience I never saw it surpassed,) such a zeal for study, which, as his tutors can testify, never required pressing, but also such uprightness, filial affection, refinement, and generosity, as furnished grounds for apprehending the thunder-stroke which has fallen. For it is generally observed that a precocious maturity too quickly perishes; and there is I know not what envious power which deflowers our brightest hopes, lest we soar higher than human beings are permitted to soar. He possessed also those gifts which are accidental—a clear and melodious voice, a sweet pronunciation, a correct enunciation of every letter both in Greek and Latin. Such promise did he give of future excellence; but he possessed also the far higher qualities of constancy, earnestness, and firmness to bear sorrow and to resist fear. With what admiration did his physicians contemplate the patience with which he endured a malady of eight months’ duration! What consolation did he administer to me in his last moments! When life and intellect began to fail, his wandering mind dwelt on literature alone. O! dearest object of my disappointed hopes! could I behold thy glazing eyes, thy fleeting breath? Could I embrace thy cold and lifeless form, and live to drink again the common air? Well do I deserve these agonizing thoughts, these tortures which I endure!”