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PAPERS ON QUINTILIAN AND ANCIENT
DECLAMATION
Frontispiece. Professor Michael Winterbottom, Corpus Christi Professor of Latin
Emeritus, University of Oxford.
Photograph courtesy of the Oxford Geology Group.
Papers on
Quintilian and Ancient
Declamation
M I C HA E L WIN TE RBO TTO M

Edited by
ANTONIO STRAMAGLIA
with
F R A N C E S C A RO M A N A N O C C H I
and
GIUSEPPE RUSSO
1
3
Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, OX2 6DP,
United Kingdom
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© Michael Winterbottom 2019
The moral rights of the author have been asserted
First Edition published in 2019
Impression: 1
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Editor’s Introduction
In the late spring of 1954, a promising Oxford undergraduate was working

hard for the Hertford scholarship (the main prize then in Latin studies). He
needed some extra tuition for Latin composition, but his tutor at Pembroke
College was recovering from a serious illness and directed him to ‘a friend at
St John’s’. This latter
on one occasion . . . did what I gather his old tutor at Balliol (Roger Mynors) used
to do, and put before me, after discussing my compositions, a piece of unfamiliar
Latin: something from the Elder Seneca. I noted in my diary for 4 June: ‘In the
evening I read about Roman declamation.’¹
The Oxford student—tall and slim, with mild but piercing blue eyes—was
obviously M(ichael) W(interbottom). His tutor at St John’s College was, also
obviously, Donald Russell; and the spark he lit in his pupil was to revolutionize
a whole field of study.
MW’s doctoral thesis was a commentary on Quintilian, Book Two: a key
part of the Institutio in matters of rhetorical training. The work was success-
fully defended in 1962,² but remained unpublished for more than forty years:
MW was by now devoting his energies to a new OCT edition of Quintilian.
He produced it—with astonishing speed and skill, considering the bulk of his
task—in 1970, together with a companion volume of Problems in Quintilian,
and after a string of preliminary studies. This early set of publications imme-
diately commanded praise and respect. It fully illustrates MW’s ‘holistic’ view
of scholarship: research on the manuscript tradition (including its human
subjects, e.g. Almeloveen) is tightly intertwined not only with the editing of a
text, but also with a constant effort to elucidate and contextualize what that
text means. With his characteristic candour, MW has recently summarized
his creed:
Ever since childhood, I have always been concerned to understand the meaning of
what I read, and I am not much troubled when I am told by critics that the Author
is dead and his meaning a matter for the Reader to decide. I feel in my naïve way
that classical prose writers meant something definite by what they wrote, and
that, if I do not understand it, that is either my fault or that of the scribes.³
¹ Winterbottom per litteras (28 August 2017). ² See here p. 218 n. [3].
³ Winterbottom (2017c), 403 (my italics). For all abbreviations see the general bibliography
below, pp. 351 61; articles and chapters reprinted in this book are referred to as A.1, A.2 . . . ,
book reviews as R.1, R.2 . . . For full details of MW’s publications alluded to throughout these
pages, see the complete list below, pp.  .
viii Editor’s Introduction
Quintilian would never subsequently fade from MW’s horizon; nor would the
Latin texts of the Anglo-Saxon Middle Ages, the object—since MW’s early
years—not of a side interest but of a whole ‘parallel career’, deserving a survey
in its own right.⁴ By the early 1970s, however, MW (then Tutorial Fellow in
classics at Worcester College, Oxford [1967–92]) was working intensively in
the field that had aroused his interest since his undergraduate days: decla-
mation. The study of Roman declamation, in particular, was not so much
dormant as nearly non-existent in those years. The texts themselves were often
barely intelligible: some of the relevant editions (any explicit mention may
charitably be dispensed with) were among the most defective that classical
scholarship has ever produced; and only a few aids were available for the
interpretation of the genre (most notably Stanley Bonner’s evergreen Roman
Declamation (1949)). A drastic and beneficial change was effected by four
great scholars: Lennart Håkanson, Donald Russell, D. R. Shackleton Bailey,
and MW; by 1989, thanks to them, first-rate editions of all the main texts in
the field of Roman declamation, and a better understanding of the whole
genre, were at last at hand.
Unlike Håkanson and Shackleton Bailey, MW did not concentrate his work
in declamation ‘only’ on ecdotic tasks: his Elder Seneca for Loeb (1974), and
the massive commentary accompanying his edition of the ‘Quintilianic’
Minor Declamations (1984), splendidly showcase his gift for deep and clear
elucidation—even of the most difficult and corrupt texts. In the same years, in
a number of seminal papers he set out to shed fresh light on the relationship
between rhetorical precepts (Quintilian’s in primis) on the one hand,
declamatory theory and practice on the other; and in Russell’s footsteps he
investigated the interaction between Greek and Roman declamation—the book
on Sopatros (1988, with Doreen Innes) being the largest, but by no means the
only, product of this effort. What is really striking, throughout these researches,
is MW’s unprecedented breadth of view. He has written on declamation from
Gorgias up to Ennodius, singling out (mostly for the first time) constants and
variables over the centuries. This he has done thanks to his admirable learning,
but also to his being immune to all the stock assumptions which would have
hampered progress. See for instance his words on the ‘early stages’ of decla-
mation in Rome:
It was not that declamation somehow became more important in the course
of the first century . Our impression that it does is largely a delusion, re
sulting from the accidents of our evidence. Declamation will have come to Rome
with the Greek teachers who brought rhetoric there in the second century . . . .
[It] did not increase in importance in the first century: it merely remained
⁴ This will be given in a volume containing a selection of MW’s medieval papers, to be edited
by Roberto Gamberini and published by SISMEL (Florence).
Editor’s Introduction ix
important, and perhaps became, in schools less austere than Quintilian’s, more
extravagant in conception.⁵
Without MW’s work, our whole understanding of ancient declamation would
now be much more narrow and superficial.
Between the 1970s and the 1990s, the indefatigable scholar—in spite of his
ever growing teaching duties, to which we owe a valuable anthology of Roman
Declamation (1980)—found time for fundamental research in various other
domains. First of all, he consolidated his reputation as a specialist in manu-
script traditions and critical editions, with his OCT texts of Tacitus (Opera
minora, 1975) and Cicero (De officiis, 1994). This was ‘obviously’ accompa-
nied by a number of papers and book reviews (on which latter see below); but
special mention should be made of the many entries MW wrote for the
standard work on Texts and Transmission edited by Leighton Reynolds in
1983. For decades now, a student’s first approach to the textual tradition of
many a Roman author or work has—beneficially—been, more often than not,
one of the admirable surveys contributed by MW to this book.
Ancient literary criticism is another recurrent field of study for MW:
the anthologies he prepared with Donald Russell have fully deserved to be
standard since their publication (1972, 1989). More occasional—but no less
serious—interest has been lavished on a number of authors, mostly for textual
and exegetical issues: Virgil in primis, but also Lucretius, Ovid, Apuleius,
Cyprian, Ambrose . . . And the medieval favourites have always been there of
course, with William of Malmesbury in the front row.
Meanwhile MW was appointed Corpus Christi Professor of Latin at Oxford
(1992), a tribute to his rank among the leading living classicists. In 2000, one
year before his retirement, the present writer (very timidly) contacted him, to
involve him in the Cassino project of re-editing the 19 Major Declamations
ascribed to Quintilian in individual volumes, with translation and commen-
tary (1999–). MW declined taking on one or more declamations himself, but
generously accepted to comment on the single volumes. The amount and
quality of his contributions to each book in this collection (from 2005 on) call
for special emphasis. It is very often ‘Winterbottom per litteras’ who finally
heals or gives sense to a passage vexed for centuries, throughout these excep-
tionally difficult texts.
All the same, the Maiores remained for several years only a side interest for
MW; but in general, declamation and ancient rhetorical texts (with their
teaching procedures) came to the forefront of his scholarship as a classicist⁶
throughout the 2000s—an activity more intensive than ever since his
⁵ Winterbottom (1982), 254 6 (= A.5 below, pp. 78 9); my italics.

⁶ No idle qualification: in the same years, MW’s ‘medieval self ’ (Freud might have talked of
a Doppelgänger) publishes no less than five books and seventeen articles and an enormous
number of book reviews.
x Editor’s Introduction
retirement. In 2006 a revised version of his D.Phil. dissertation on Quintilian,
Book Two was finally published as a book (in collaboration with Tobias
Reinhardt); in 2008 his major contribution to the monumental commentary
on Cicero’s De oratore (begun by Leeman and Pinkster) appeared; and his
papers over these years display an increasingly wider range of issues and
approaches. More will be said on this presently; here I should point out
MW’s commitment to the recovery and publication of the Nachlass of his
friend, the great Swedish scholar Lennart Håkanson, who tragically died in his
prime in 1987.⁷
Nothing has been said so far of another hallmark of MW’s scholarship:
his countless book reviews. Over the decades, they all demonstrate an unpre-
judiced—and sometimes memorable⁸—candour in assessing the reviewed
author’s merits and shortcomings: something quite hard to come by, these
days. What is more, they always offer some acute new insight to the reader:
both on the specific subject of the book under review, and on broader—
ecdotic, most often—methodological issues. MW’s ‘collected reviews would
serve in themselves as a manual of editing’, Michael Reeve wrote some years
ago;⁹ few will disagree.
Vis à vis such a broad and varied array of publications, this book offers a
selection of papers from two especially representative and intrinsically con-
nected fields of interest. The choice is primarily based, of course, on the
scholarly ‘weight’ of the single items; but the place and circumstances of
publication have also played a role: many of MW’s most acute contributions
originally appeared in conference proceedings, Festschriften, and rare period-
icals—often hard to find even in leading libraries—or embedded in reviews
that even modern search tools may easily miss. It seemed appropriate to give
special consideration to such materials.
The author has obviously taken part in the selection process. He decided
that any items on Quintilian’s text and transmission prior to his edition
(1970) should not be included, for that edition took full account of them; and
he excluded any non-specialist pieces.¹⁰ What this book does include, as for
Quintilian, are papers on some key aspects of the Institutio oratoria—regarding
morals, style, structure, rhetorical technicalities, auctores (A.1, 3, 5, 8, 9, 13, 18);
and the more recent contributions on Quintilian’s text (A.15, 19; R.2–4, 7–8).
⁷ On this demanding enterprise, carried out en équipe, see the editors’ prefaces in Håkanson
(2014) and (2016). MW has provided a sensible appraisal of Håkanson’s scholarship (in
Håkanson (2016),  ), and has himself brought to publication the most complicated piece
of his Nachlass (Håkanson Winterbottom (2015)).
⁸ Cf. e.g. the opening words of Winterbottom (1978), 685 (= R.3 below, p. 322): ‘These two
volumes . . . follow closely upon the first, and they share the merits and demerits of their
predecessor. The text makes no pretension to novelty. The translation is fluent and generally
accurate. The notes are informative. The apparatus criticus is a disaster.’
⁹ Reeve (2000), 204 n. 51. ¹⁰ Such as Winterbottom (1985) and (1997).
Editor’s Introduction xi
In the field of Greek and Roman declamation, this book is more inclusive.
Only a few items have been left out, mostly long papers involving textual
(re-)editions.¹¹ All other relevant articles and reviews have been reprinted
here, on authors and topics ranging from classical Greece to the Latin Middle
Ages (A.2, 4, 6–8, 14, 16, 20–3; R.1, 5–6, 9–12); room has been made also for
the introduction to the 1988 book on Sopatros (A.10): this impressively
learned and wide-ranging piece makes indispensable reading for anyone
working on ancient declamation. Finally, the overall scope of the volume
suggested the inclusion of two important short papers on rhetorical terms
and concepts (A.11–12); and a brilliant survey of some striking novelties on
the ancient rhetorical curriculum (A.17).
Those who are familiar with MW’s scholarship may wonder if one of his
basic tenets has been given sufficient consideration in this book:
I have a few rigid principles in life, but one is never to speak or write on a Latin
subject without mentioning prose rhythm.¹²
No specific article or book review on prose rhythm is included here, but each
selected item does contain at least a case in point, and some papers feature
detailed discussions.¹³ Those crystal-clear pages make one regret that MW has
more frequently confined himself to brief mentions: his lucidity would have
been particularly welcome in this field, as important as it is difficult (and
nowadays neglected).
All items are here reprinted according to uniform editorial guidelines, and
in the process misprints have been removed, OLD has been referred to
throughout according to the second edition (2012), a few formal adjustments
(e.g. in cross-references) have been made, and occasional clarifications or
references to new standard editions have been entered (in square brackets).
The author has also worked in a number of addenda or corrigenda to some
papers, mostly at their end, when some crucial point had to be made or a
recent bibliographical item stood out for its relevance. In general, however, no
attempt has been made at systematic updating: this would have implied re-
writing the contributions, uprooting them from the historical and intellectual
context in which, and for which, they were conceived.
To conclude, something must be said about the last paper in the present
collection (A.24). This brilliant new assessment of the manuscript tradition of
the Major Declamations has been written expressly for this book, and it results
from MW’s current main commitment: a Loeb edition of the Maiores. He is
officially in charge of the translation and part of the notes (I am handling the
¹¹ Håkanson Winterbottom (2015); Winterbottom (2017d) and (2018).

¹² Winterbottom (2017c), 410.
¹³ See e.g. Winterbottom (1983a), 59 ff. (= A.7 below, pp. 105 ff.); (2017b), 151 (= A.22 below,
pp. 271 2).
xii Editor’s Introduction
Latin text, Biagio Santorelli the rest of the notes and the introduction(s)); but
his ‘holistic’ approach to scholarship has never changed, so his work on the
translation has soon given rise to repeated discussions of loci critici, dozens of
(always astute, often decisive) conjectures, and an unprejudiced approach to
the transmission of the text. Being involved in such a dialogue with such a
scholar—and man—is a unique experience, still ongoing. But there is some-
thing for which MW has to turn elsewhere: who might revise his translation of
these tricky and twisted Latin texts? Some special help is called for again, as in
1954 . . . Well, the old St John’s scholar is still there, as learned and acute as
ever, ready to vet his former pupil’s translations—and contribute some for-
midable conjectures of his own. All this is taking place over sixty years since
MW’s (b. 1934) and Donald Russell’s (b. 1920) first session on Roman dec-
lamation. Friendship may sometimes defy Nature’s laws.
* * *
This book would have never been produced without the unselfish and enthu-
siastic help constantly provided by Francesca Nocchi and Giuseppe Russo: my
deep gratitude goes to them both. Special thanks are also due to Stephen
Harrison, who facilitated and guided contacts with OUP, and was ever prompt
with advice and support; and to OUP itself, for accepting and felicitously
bringing to publication an anything but easy book. In recent years I have had
the privilege of meeting Donald Russell, enjoying his generosity, and profiting
from his advice also in relation to this book: it is a pleasure to thank him most
warmly for all this. Auctori amicoque carissimo Michaeli, qui semper mihi
praesto fuit in hoc opere absolvendo, postremas reddo easque maximas gratias:
sit hic libellus longae nostrae eximiaeque amicitiae pignus.
A. S.
Bari
June 2018
Publications of Michael Winterbottom
* = included in this volume. Periodicals are abbreviated according to L’Année

philologique, whenever applicable (add JML = Journal of Medieval Latin).
BOOKS
1. M. Fabi Quintiliani Institutionis oratoriae libri duodecim, 2 vols. (Oxford,
1970).
2. Problems in Quintilian (London, 1970).
3. & D. A. Russell, Ancient Literary Criticism (Oxford, 1972).
4. Three Lives of English Saints (Toronto, 1972).
5. The Elder Seneca. Declamations, 2 vols. (Cambridge [Mass.] and London,
1974).
6. & R. M. Ogilvie, Cornelii Taciti Opera minora (Oxford, 1975).
7. Gildas. The Ruin of Britain and Other Works (London and Chichester,
1978).¹
8. Roman Declamation. Extracts Edited with Commentary (Bristol, 1980).
9. The Minor Declamations Ascribed to Quintilian (Berlin and New York, 1984).
10. William of Malmesbury. On Lamentations (Turnhout, 2013).
11. & R. M. Thomson, William of Malmesbury. The Miracles of the Blessed
Virgin Mary (Woodbridge, 2015).²
*12. & D. Innes, Sopatros the Rhetor, with an introduction by
M. Winterbottom (London, 1988) (*pp. 1–20).
13. & D. A. Russell, Classical Literary Criticism (Oxford, 1989).
14. & M. Brett, C. N. L. Brooke, Hugh the Chanter. The History of the Church
of York 1066–1127 (Oxford, 1990).
15. & M. Lapidge, Wulfstan of Winchester. Life of St Æthelwold (Oxford, 1991).
16. M. Tulli Ciceronis De officiis (Oxford, 1994).
17. & R. A. B. Mynors, R. M. Thomson, William of Malmesbury. Gesta regum
Anglorum, vol. 1 (Oxford, 1998).
18. & R. M. Thomson, William of Malmesbury. Saints’ Lives (Oxford,
2002).
19. & T. Reinhardt, Quintilian. Institutio oratoria. Book 2 (Oxford, 2006).
¹ Reissued in 2002 with a new bibliographical foreword.

² Reissued in 2017 (paperback).
xiv Publications of Michael Winterbottom
20. William of Malmesbury. Gesta pontificum Anglorum, vol. 1 (Oxford, 2007).³

21. & J. Wisse, E. Fantham, M. Tullius Cicero. De oratore libri III, vol. 5
(Heidelberg, 2008).
22. & R. M. Thomson, Willelmi Meldunensis monachi Liber super
explanationem Lamentationum Ieremiae prophetae (Turnhout, 2011).
23. & M. Lapidge, The Early Lives of St Dunstan (Oxford, 2012).
A R T I C LE S A N D CH A P T E R S IN
MISCELLANEOUS V OLUME S
1. ‘Almeloveen’s manuscript of Quintilian’, CR  12 (1962), 121–2.

2. ‘The textual tradition of Quintilian 10.1.46 f.’, CQ  12 (1962), 169–75.
3. ‘Quintilian, v. 10. 91’, CR  14 (1964), 14.
4. ‘More about Almeloveen’, CR  14 (1964), 243.
*5. ‘Quintilian and the vir bonus’, JRS 54 (1964), 90–7.
6. ‘Some problems in Quintilian Book Two’, Philologus 108 (1964), 119–27.
7. ‘The beginning of Quintilian’s Institutio’, CQ  17 (1967), 123–7.
8. ‘Quintilian, . 1. 3’, CR  17 (1967), 264.
9. ‘Quintilian and Boethius’, BICS 14 (1967), 83.
10. ‘Fifteenth-century manuscripts of Quintilian’, CQ  17 (1967), 339–69.
11. ‘The style of Æthelweard’, MAev 36 (1967), 109–18.
12. ‘On the Hisperica famina’, Celtica 8 (1968), 126–39.
13. Revision of the Dialogus, in Tacitus, vol. 1 (London and Cambridge
[Mass.], 1970), 217–347.
14. Various contributions to N. G. L. Hammond and H. H. Scullard (eds.),
Oxford Classical Dictionary, 2nd edn. (Oxford, 1970).
15. ‘Six conjectures’, CR  22 (1972), 11–12.
16. ‘The transmission of Tacitus’ Dialogus’, Philologus 116 (1972), 114–28.
17. ‘Three lives of Saint Ethelwold’, MAev 41 (1972), 191–201.
*18. ‘Problems in the Elder Seneca’, BICS 21 (1974), 20–42.
19. ‘The preface of Gildas’ De excidio’, Transactions of the Honourable Society
of Cymmrodorion. Sessions 1974 and 1975, 277–87.
20. ‘On epitrochasmos’, Glotta 53 (1975), 297–8.
*21. ‘Quintilian and rhetoric’, in T. A. Dorey (ed.), Empire and Aftermath.
Silver Latin II (London, 1975), 79–97.
³ ‘with the assistance of R. M. Thomson’. Vol. 2 (Introduction and Commentary) was also
published in 2007; the title page read: ‘by R. M. Thomson with the assistance of M. Winter
bottom’.
Publications of Michael Winterbottom xv
22. ‘The manuscript tradition of Tacitus’ Germania’, CPh 70 (1975), 1–7.

23. ‘Columbanus and Gildas’, VChr 30 (1976), 310–17.
24. ‘Fiery particles’, CQ  26 (1976), 317–18.
25. ‘Notes on the text of Gildas’, JThS  27 (1976), 132–40.
26. ‘Variations on a nautical theme’, Hermathena 120 (1976), 55–8.
27. ‘Virgil and the confiscations’, G&R  23 (1976), 55–9.
28. ‘A “Celtic” hyperbaton?’, Bulletin of the Board of Celtic Studies 27 (1977),
207–12.
29. ‘Aldhelm’s prose style and its origins’, ASE 6 (1977), 39–76.
30. ‘The other Virgil’, BICS 25 (1978), 146–56.
*31. ‘The text of Sulpicius Victor’, BICS 26 (1979), 62–6.
*32. ‘Cicero and the Silver Age’, in W. Ludwig (ed.), Éloquence et rhétorique chez
Cicéron (Vandoeuvres and Geneva, 1982), 237–66 (‘Discussion’, 267–74).
33. ‘Literary criticism’, in The Cambridge History of Classical Literature,
vol. 2: Latin Literature (Cambridge, 1982), 33–50.
*34. ‘Schoolroom and courtroom’, in B. Vickers (ed.), Rhetoric Revalued.
Papers from the International Society for the History of Rhetoric
(Binghamton [NY], 1982), 59–70.
*35. ‘Declamation, Greek and Latin’, in A. Ceresa-Gastaldo (ed.), Ars
rhetorica antica e nuova (Genoa, 1983), 57–76.
*36. ‘Quintilian and declamation’, in Hommages à Jean Cousin (Paris, 1983),
225–35.
37. Various contributions to L. D. Reynolds (ed.), Texts and Transmission.
A Survey of the Latin Classics (Oxford, 1983; corr. repr. 1986).
38. ‘The Roman orator and his education’, Akroterion 30 (1985), 53–7.
39. ‘Mankind and other animals: the Georgics’, in R. A. Cardwell and
J. Hamilton (eds.), Virgil in a Cultural Tradition. Essays to Celebrate the
Bimillennium (Nottingham, 1986), 1–16.
40. ‘Tot incassum fusos patiere labores?’, CQ  36 (1986), 545–6.
41. ‘Notes on the Life of Edward the Confessor’, MAev 56 (1987), 82–4.
42. ‘Pelagiana’, JThS  38 (1987), 106–29.
43. ‘The Life of Christina of Markyate’, AB 105 (1987), 281–7.
*44. ‘Quintiliano (M. Fabius Quintilianus)’, in Enciclopedia Virgiliana, vol. 4
(Rome, 1988), 374–6.
*45. ‘Cicero and the Middle Style’, in J. Diggle, J. B. Hall, and H. D. Jocelyn
(eds.), Studies in Latin Literature and its Tradition in Honour of
C. O. Brink (Cambridge, 1989), 125–31.
46. ‘Speaking of the gods’, G&R  36 (1989), 33–41.
47. ‘New light on the X tradition of Cicero’s De officiis’, MD 24 (1990), 135–41.
48. ‘Roger Aubrey Baskerville Mynors’, PBA 80 (1991), 371–401.
49. ‘Aeneas and the idea of Troy’, PVS 21 (1993), 17–34.
50. ‘The transmission of Cicero’s De officiis’, CQ  43 (1993), 215–42.
xvi Publications of Michael Winterbottom
51. ‘Conjectures on some insular texts’, in D. Conso, N. Fick, and B. Poulle

(eds.), Mélanges François Kerlouégan (Paris, 1994), 667–72.
*52. ‘On impulse’, in D. Innes, H. Hine, and C. Pelling (eds.), Ethics and
Rhetoric. Classical Essays for Donald Russell on his Seventy-Fifth Birthday
(Oxford, 1995), 313–22.
53. ‘The Gesta regum of William of Malmesbury’, JML 5 (1995), 158–73.
54. ‘The O.C.T. De officiis: a postscript’, CQ  45 (1995), 265–6.
55. ‘The text of Ambrose’s De officiis’, JThS  46 (1995), 559–66.
56. & S. J. Harrison, ‘The new passage of Tiberius Claudius Donatus’, CQ 
45 (1995), 547–50.
57. ‘The integri of Cicero’s Topica’, CQ  46 (1996), 403–10.
58. ‘Introduzione’, in S. Corsi, Marco Fabio Quintiliano. La formazione
dell’oratore, vol. 1 (Milan, 1997), 5–26.
59. ‘De studiis Latinis Oxoniensibus’, VoxLat 33 (1997), 542–9.
*60. ‘Quintilian the moralist’, in T. Albaladejo, E. del Río, and J. A. Caballero
(eds.), Quintiliano: Historia y Actualidad de la Rétorica, vol. 1 (Logroño,
1998), 317–34.
61. ‘Tacitus, Dialogus 13.4’, CQ  49 (1999), 338.
*62. ‘An emendation in Calpurnius Flaccus’, CQ  49 (1999), 338–9.
63. ‘In praise of Raphael Regius’, in S. Döpp (ed.), Antike Rhetorik und ihre
Rezeption. Symposion zu Ehren von Professor Dr. Carl Joachim Classen
(Stuttgart, 1999), 99–116.
64. ‘Notes on William of Poitiers’, JML 9 (1999), 121–30.
65. & J. J. Murphy, ‘Raffaele Regio’s 1492 Quaestio doubting Cicero’s
authorship of the Rhetorica ad Herennium’, Rhetorica 17 (1999), 77–87.
66. ‘Three emendations in Columella’, CQ  49 (1999), 633–4.
67. ‘Lucretius 5.845–854’, Hermes 128 (2000), 505–6.
*68. ‘More problems in Quintilian’, BICS 44 (2000), 167–77.
69. ‘The earliest Life of St Dunstan’, SCI 19 (2000), 163–79.
70. ‘A new passage of William of Malmesbury’s Gesta pontificum’, JML 11
(2001), 50–9.
71. ‘Leighton Durham Reynolds’, PBA 111 (2001), 659–76.
72. ‘Returning to Tacitus’ Dialogus’, in C. W. Wooten (ed.), The Orator in
Action and Theory in Greece and Rome. Essays in Honor of George
A. Kennedy (Leiden, Boston, and Cologne, 2001), 137–55.
73. & S. J. Harrison, ‘The prologue to Apuleius’ Metamorphoses’, in
A. Kahane and A. Laird (eds.), A Companion to the Prologue of Apuleius’
Metamorphoses (Oxford, 2001), 9–15.
74. ‘William of Malmesbury versificus’, in S. Echard and G. R. Wieland
(eds.), Anglo-Latin and its Heritage. Essays in Honour of A. G. Rigg on his
64th Birthday (Turnhout, 2001), 109–27.
75. ‘Believing the Pro Marcello’, in J. E. Miller, C. Damon, and K. S. Myers (eds.),
Vertis in usum. Studies in Honor of Edward Courtney (Munich, 2002), 24–38.
Publications of Michael Winterbottom xvii
76. & M. Deufert, J. F. Gaertner, ‘Critical notes on the Heroides’, Hermes 130
(2002), 502–6.
*77. ‘Ennodius, Dictio 21’, in B.-J. and J.-P. Schröder (eds.), Studium
declamatorium. Untersuchungen zu Schulübungen und Prunkreden von
der Antike bis zur Neuzeit (Munich and Leipzig, 2003), 275–88.
78. ‘The Language of William of Malmesbury’, in C. J. Mews,
C. J. Nederman, and R. M. Thomson (eds.), Rhetoric and Renewal in the
Latin West 1100–1540. Essays in Honour of John O. Ward (Turnhout,
2003), 129–47.
79. ‘Grillius on Cicero’s De inventione’, CQ  54 (2004), 592–605.
80. ‘Perorations’, in J. G. F. Powell and J. Paterson (eds.), Cicero the Advocate
(Oxford, 2004), 215–30.
*81. ‘Something new out of Armenia’, Letras clássicas 8 (2004), 111–28.
82. ‘An edition of Faricius, Vita S. Aldhelmi’, JML 15 (2005), 93–147.
*83. ‘Approaching the end: Quintilian 12.11’, AClass 48 (2005), 175–83.
84. ‘Faricius of Arezzo’s Life of St Aldhelm’, in K. O’Brien O’Keeffe and
A. Orchard (eds.), Latin Learning and English Lore. Studies in Anglo-
Saxon Literature for Michael Lapidge, vol. 1 (Toronto, Buffalo and
London, 2005), 109–31.
*85. ‘Declamation and philosophy’, Classica (Brasil) 19 (2006), 74–82.
*86. ‘Quintilian 12.11.11–12’, CQ  56 (2006), 324–5.
87. ‘Cyprian’s Ad Donatum’, in S. Swain, S. J. Harrison, and J. Elsner (eds.),
Severan Culture (Cambridge, 2007), 190–8.
88. ‘Bede’s castella’, Quaestio Insularis 10 (2009), 1–7.
89. ‘Conversations in Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica’, in E. Dickey and
A. Chahoud (eds.), Colloquial and Literary Latin (Cambridge, 2010),
419–30.
90. ‘William of Malmesbury and the Normans’, JML 20 (2010), 70–7.
91. ‘Bede’s homily on Benedict Bishop (Hom. 1.13)’, JML 21 (2011),
35–51.
92. ‘On ancient prose rhythm: the story of the dichoreus’, in D. Obbink and
R. Rutherford (eds.), Culture in Pieces. Essays on Ancient Texts in Honour
of Peter Parsons (Oxford, 2011), 262–76.
93. ‘De vita patris’, in D. Damschen and A. Heil (eds.), Brill’s Companion to
Seneca (Leiden and Boston, 2014), 695.
94. ‘Moving the goal posts: the re-writing of medieval Latin prose texts’, Ars
edendi Lecture Series 3 (2014), 29–48.
*95. ‘William of Malmesbury’s work on the Declamationes maiores’, S&T 12
(2014), 261–76.
96. ‘The earliest passion of St Alban’, InvLuc 37 (2015), 113–27.
97. & †L. Håkanson, ‘Tribunus Marianus’, in L. Del Corso, F. De Vivo, and
A. Stramaglia (eds.), Nel segno del testo. Edizioni, materiali e studi per
Oronzo Pecere (Florence, 2015), 61–90.
xviii Publications of Michael Winterbottom
98. ‘Lennart Håkanson: der Mensch, der Gelehrte’, in L. Håkanson,

Unveröffentlichte Schriften, vol. 2: Kritischer Kommentar zu Seneca
Maior, Controversiae, Buch I, ed. by F. Citti, B. Santorelli, and
A. Stramaglia (Berlin and Boston, 2016), –.
99. ‘The style of Ælnoth’, in M. Münster-Swendsen, T. K. Heebøll-Holm,
and S. Olsen Sønnesyn (eds.), Historical and Intellectual Culture in the
Long Twelfth Century: The Scandinavian Connection (Durham and
Toronto, 2016), 119–30.
100. ‘Karsten Friis-Jensen’s preliminary findings towards a new edition of
Sven Aggesen’, ibid., 295–317.
101. ‘Text and transmission of some Bedan texts’, MLatJb 52 (2017), 445–59.
*102. ‘The editors of Calpurnius Flaccus’, in M. Dinter, C. Guérin, and
M. Martinho (eds.), Reading Roman Declamation. Calpurnius Flaccus
(Berlin and Boston, 2017), 141–60.
103. ‘The pleasures of editing’, RHT  12 (2017), 393–413.
104. ‘The Tribunus Marianus and the development of the cursus’, in
P. Chiesa, A. M. Fagnoni, and R. E. Guglielmetti (eds.), Ingenio facilis.
Per Giovanni Orlandi (1938–2007) (Florence, 2017), 231–47.
105. ‘The vocabulary of William of Malmesbury’, Aevum 91 (2017), 377–409.
106. ‘Words, words, words . . . ’, in R. M. Thomson, E. Dolmans, and
E. A. Winkler (eds.), Discovering William of Malmesbury (Woodbridge,
2017), 203–18.
107. ‘Cyrus, On the Differentiation of Issues’, S&T 16 (2018), 209–46.
*108. ‘The words of the master’, Maia 70 (2018), 73–83.
*109. ‘The manuscript tradition of [Quintilian]’s Major Declamations: a new
approach’, in this book.
110. ‘Beginning a history’, JML 29 (2019), 101–21.
111. ‘The manuscripts of Berengar of Poitiers’, MLatJb 54 (2019), 157–61.
112. ‘Pope Urban’s speech at Clermont. William of Malmesbury, Gesta
Regum Anglorum 347’, MLatJb 54 (2019), 162–7.
113. ‘Notes on the text of the Major Declamations’, MD 82 (2019)
[forthcoming].
SE LE C T ED R E V IEWS
1. A. E. Douglas, M. Tulli Ciceronis Brutus (Oxford, 1966), CR  17

(1967), 301–3.⁴
2. A. Campbell, Aethelwulf De abbatibus (Oxford, 1967), MAev 38 (1969),
60–4.
⁴ This is the first in a long series of reviews in CR, only a few of which are listed here.
Publications of Michael Winterbottom xix
3. G. Luck, Untersuchungen zur Textgeschichte Ovids (Heidelberg, 1969),

CR  21 (1971), 208–9.
4. J. W. Smit, Studies in the Language and Style of Columba the Younger
(Columbanus) (Amsterdam, 1971), MAev 41 (1972), 243–4.
5. H. Weiskopf, P. Corneli Taciti Annalium libri XI–XII (Vienna, Cologne,
and Graz, 1973), CPh 76 (1975), 283–4.
6. M. W. Herren, The Hisperica famina. : The A-Text (Toronto, 1974),
MAev 45 (1976), 105–9.
7. T. Janson, Prose Rhythm in Medieval Latin from the 9th to the 13th
Century (Stockholm, 1975), MAev 45 (1976), 298–300.
8. S. Usher, Dionysius of Halicarnassus. The Critical Essays, vol. 1
(Cambridge [Mass.] and London, 1974), CR  26 (1976), 173–4.
*9. L. Håkanson, Textkritische Studien zu den grösseren pseudoquintilianischen
Deklamationen (Lund, 1974), CR  26 (1976), 276.
*10. J. Cousin, Quintilien. Institution oratoire, Tome  (Paris, 1975) and
Recherches sur Quintilien (Paris, 1975), Gnomon 49 (1977), 574–9.
11. J. N. Hillgarth, Sancti Iuliani Toletanae sedis episcopi Opera, Pars 
(Turnhout, 1976), JThS  28 (1977), 571–4.⁵
*12. J. Cousin, Quintilien. Institution oratoire, Tomes – (Paris, 1976),
Gnomon 50 (1978), 685–7.
13. G. Pompella, Francisci Robortelli Utinensis De arte sive ratione corrigendi
antiquorum libros disputatio (Naples, 1975), CR  28 (1978), 197–8.
*14. J. Cousin, Quintilien. Institution oratoire, Tome  (Paris, 1977),
Gnomon 51 (1979), 388–9.
*15. S. F. Bonner, Education in Ancient Rome: From the Elder Cato to the
Younger Pliny (London, 1977), CR  29 (1979), 73–4.
*16. L. A. Sussman, The Elder Seneca (Leiden, 1978), CR  29 (1979), 231–2.
*17. J. Cousin, Quintilien. Institution oratoire, Tomes – (Paris, 1978;
1979), Gnomon 52 (1980), 785–6.
*18. J. Cousin, Quintilien. Institution oratoire, Tome  (Paris, 1980),
Gnomon 53 (1981), 197–9.
19. M. W. Herren, The Hisperica famina. : Related Poems (Toronto, 1987),
Peritia 6–7 (1987–8), 331–2.
20. G. Achard, Rhétorique à Herennius (Paris, 1989), Gnomon 63 (1991), 459–61.
*21. L. Håkanson, L. Annaeus Seneca Maior. Oratorum et rhetorum
sententiae, divisiones, colores (Leipzig, 1989), CR  41 (1991), 338–40.
22. J. B. Hall, Ioannis Saresberiensis Metalogicon (Turnhout, 1991), JEH 43
(1992), 470–1.⁶
⁵ This is the first in a long series of reviews of patristic texts in this journal, not listed here.
⁶ Other reviews of Christian texts appear in later issues of this journal.
xx Publications of Michael Winterbottom
23. K. M. Coleman, J. Diggle, J. B. Hall, and H. D. Jocelyn (eds.),

F. R. D. Goodyear, Papers on Latin Literature (London, 1992), CR  44
(1994), 196–8.
24. R. Granatelli, Apollodori Pergameni ac Theodori Gadarei testimonia et
fragmenta (Rome, 1991), CR  44 (1994), 203–4.
25. M. Irvine, The Making of Textual Culture: Grammatica and Literary
Theory, 350–1000 (Cambridge, 1994), JML 5 (1995), 273–6.
26. D. Lassandro, XII Panegyrici Latini (Turin, 1992), Gnomon 67 (1995), 560–1.
27. O. Prinz, Die Kosmographie des Aethicus (Munich, 1993), Peritia 9
(1995), 430–2.
*28. L. A. Sussman, The Declamations of Calpurnius Flaccus. Text,
Translation, and Commentary (Leiden, New York, and Cologne, 1994),
CR  45 (1995), 40–2.
29. J. Stevenson, The Laterculus Malalianus and the School of Archbishop
Theodore (Cambridge, 1995), Notes and Queries  43 (1996), 457–9.
30. G. Di Maria, Marci Tulli Ciceronis Topica (Palermo, 1994), Gnomon 69
(1997), 647–8.
31. R. Wardy, The Birth of Rhetoric (London and New York, 1996)—
W. J. Dominik (ed.), Roman Eloquence (London and New York, 1997)—
C. Lévy and L. Pernot (eds.), Dire l’évidence (Paris and Montreal, 1997),
SCI 17 (1998), 238–42.
32. H. M. Hine, L. Annaei Senecae Naturalium quaestionum libri (Stuttgart
and Leipzig, 1996) and Studies in the Text of Seneca’s Naturales
quaestiones (Stuttgart and Leipzig, 1996), SCI 17 (1998), 242–5.
33. J. Briscoe, Valeri Maximi Facta et dicta memorabilia (Stuttgart and
Leipzig, 1998), SCI 18 (1999), 191–4.
34. G. W. Most (ed.), Editing Texts—Texte edieren (Göttingen, 1998), SCI 19
(2000), 328–30.
*35. A. Stramaglia, [Quintiliano]. I gemelli malati: un caso di vivisezione
(Declamazioni maggiori, 8) (Cassino, 1999), CR  50 (2000), 305–6.
36. S. Gwara, Aldhelmi Malmesbiriensis Prosa de virginitate cum glosa Latina
atque Anglosaxonica (Turnhout, 2001), Speculum 79 (2004), 1017–18.
37. B. Löfstedt, Virgilius Maro Grammaticus. Opera omnia (Munich and
Leipzig, 2003), Gnomon 77 (2005), 362–4.
38. J. C. Yardley, Justin and Pompeius Trogus: A Study of the Language of
Justin’s Epitome of Trogus (Toronto, Buffalo, and London, 2003), IJCT 12
(2005–6), 463–5.
*39. M. Weissenberger, Sopatri Quaestionum divisio—Sopatros: Streitfälle.
Gliederung und Ausarbeitung kontroverser Reden (Würzburg, 2010),
Gnomon 83 (2011), 394–6.
40. F. Wendling, Hugonis de Miromari De hominis miseria, mundi et inferni
contemptu (Turnhout, 2010), JML 21 (2011), 333–8.
Acknowledgements
We should like to thank the following publishers or institutions for kindly

granting permission to reprint Michael Winterbottom’s papers listed below:
BINGHAMTON UNIVERSITY— CENTER FOR

MEDIEVAL & RENAISSANCE STUDIES
Articles and chapters
‘Schoolroom and courtroom’, in B. Vickers (ed.), Rhetoric Revalued. Papers

from the International Society for the History of Rhetoric (Binghamton [NY]:
Center for Medieval & Early Renaissance Studies, 1982), 59–70. (A.6)
CAMBRIDGE P HILOLOGICA L SOCIETY
‘Cicero and the middle style’, in J. Diggle, J. B. Hall, and H. D. Jocelyn (eds.),
Studies in Latin Literature and its Tradition in Honour of C. O. Brink (Cam-
bridge, 1989) [= Cambridge Philological Society, Supplementary Volume 15],
125–31. (A.11)
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY P RESS
‘Quintilian and the vir bonus’, Journal of Roman Studies 54 (1964), 90–7.
© Michael Winterbottom, 1964. Exclusive Licence to Publish: The Society
for the Promotion of Roman Studies. Reprinted with the permission of
Cambridge University Press:
http://www.cambridge.org/rights/permissions/authors.htm. (A.1)
‘An emendation in Calpurnius Flaccus’, Classical Quarterly  49 (1999),
338–9. © The Classical Association, 1999. Reprinted with the permission of
Cambridge University Press:
xxii Acknowledgements
‘Quintilian 12.11.11–12’, Classical Quarterly  56 (2006), 324–5. © The
Classical Association, 2006. Reprinted with the permission of Cambridge Uni-
versity Press:
Reviews
L. Håkanson, Textkritische Studien zu den grösseren pseudoquintilianischen

Deklamationen (Lund, 1974), Classical Review  26 (1976), 276. © The Classical
Association, 1976. Reprinted with the permission of Cambridge University Press:
http://www.cambridge.org/rights/permissions/authors.htm. (R.1)
S. F. Bonner, Education in Ancient Rome: From the Elder Cato to the Younger
Pliny (London, 1977), Classical Review  29 (1979), 73–4. © The Classical
Association, 1979. Reprinted with the permission of Cambridge University Press:
L. A. Sussman, The Elder Seneca (Leiden, 1978), Classical Review  29
(1979), 231–2. © The Classical Association, 1979. Reprinted with the permis-
sion of Cambridge University Press:
L. Håkanson, L. Annaeus Seneca Maior. Oratorum et rhetorum sententiae,
divisiones, colores (Leipzig, 1989), Classical Review  41 (1991), 338–40. © The
Classical Association, 1991. Reprinted with the permission of Cambridge Univer-
sity Press:
L. A. Sussman, The Declamations of Calpurnius Flaccus. Text, Translation,
and Commentary (Leiden, New York, and Cologne, 1994), Classical Review 
45 (1995), 40–2. © The Classical Association, 1995. Reprinted with the per-
mission of Cambridge University Press:
A. Stramaglia, [Quintiliano]. I gemelli malati: un caso di vivisezione (Decla-
mazioni maggiori, 8) (Cassino, 1999), Classical Review  50 (2000), 305–6.
© The Classical Association, 2000. Reprinted with the permission of Cam-
bridge University Press:
C. H. BECK
Reviews
J. Cousin, Quintilien. Institution oratoire, Tome  (Paris, 1975) and Recherches

sur Quintilien (Paris, 1975), Gnomon 49 (1977), 574–9. (R.2)
Acknowledgements xxiii
J. Cousin, Quintilien. Institution oratoire, Tomes – (Paris, 1976),
Gnomon 50 (1978), 685–7. (R.3)
J. Cousin, Quintilien. Institution oratoire, Tome  (Paris, 1977), Gnomon
51 (1979), 388–9. (R.4)
J. Cousin, Quintilien. Institution oratoire, Tomes – (Paris, 1978; 1979),
Gnomon 52 (1980), 785–6. (R.7)
J. Cousin, Quintilien. Institution oratoire, Tome  (Paris, 1980), Gnomon
53 (1981), 197–9. (R.8)
M. Weissenberger, Sopatri Quaestionum divisio—Sopatros: Streitfälle. Glie-
derung und Ausarbeitung kontroverser Reden (Würzburg, 2010), Gnomon 83
(2011), 394–6. (R.12)
EDITRICE MORC ELLIANA
‘The words of the master’, Maia 70 (2018), 73–83. (A.23)
FONDA TION HARDT POUR L ’ ÉTU DE

DE L ’ ANTIQUITÉ CLASSIQUE
‘Cicero and the Silver Age’, in W. Ludwig (ed.), Éloquence et rhétorique

chez Cicéron (Vandoeuvres and Geneva: Fondation Hardt pour l’étude de
l’Antiquité classique, Entretiens sur l’Antiquité classique Tome XXVIII,
1982), 237–66 (‘Discussion’, 267–74). (A.5)
I NSTITUTO DE E STU DIOS RI OJ ANOS
‘Quintilian the moralist’, in T. Albaladejo, E. del Río, and J. A. Caballero (eds.),

Quintiliano: Historia y Actualidad de la Rétorica, vol. 1 (Logroño, 1998),
317–34. (A.13)
xxiv Acknowledgements
ISTITUTO DELLA ENCICLOPEDIA ITALIANA
‘Quintiliano (M. Fabius Quintilianus)’, in Enciclopedia Virgiliana, vol. 4

(Rome, 1988), 374–6. By courtesy of the Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana
Treccani. Any use in addition to or beyond the inclusion in this volume
will be subject to request from and approval by the Istituto della Enciclopedia
Italiana. (A.9)
JOHN WILEY & SONS
‘Problems in the Elder Seneca’, Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies 21

(1974), 20–42. © Institute of Classical Studies. School of Advanced Studies,
University of London, 1974. Reproduced by permission of John Wiley & Sons.
(A.2)
‘The text of Sulpicius Victor’, Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies 26
(1979), 62–6. © Institute of Classical Studies. School of Advanced Studies, Uni-
versity of London, 1979. Reproduced by permission of John Wiley & Sons. (A.4)
Introduction to D. Innes & M. Winterbottom, Sopatros the Rhetor (London,
1988), 1–20. © Institute of Classical Studies. School of Advanced Studies,
University of London, 1988. Reproduced by permission of John Wiley &
Sons. (A.10)
‘More problems in Quintilian’, Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies
44 (2000), 167–77. © Institute of Classical Studies. School of Advanced
Studies, University of London, 2000. Reproduced by permission of John
Wiley & Sons. (A.15)
L E S BE L L E S LE T T R E S
‘Quintilian and declamation’, in Hommages à Jean Cousin (Paris, 1983),

225–35. © Les Belles Lettres, 1983. (A.8)
Acknowledgements xxv
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
‘On impulse’, in D. Innes, H. Hine, and C. Pelling (eds.), Ethics and Rhetoric.
Classical Essays for Donald Russell on his Seventy-Fifth Birthday (Oxford,
1995), 313–22. Reproduced by permission of Oxford University Press:
https://global.oup.com/. (A.12)
SO CIE DAD E BR A SILE IR A DE E STUDO S CL Á SSIC O S
‘Declamation and philosophy’, Classica. Revista Brasileira de Estudos Clássicos

19 (2006), 74–82. DOI: http://doi.org/10.24277/classica.v19i1.105. (A.20)
TAYLOR & F RANCIS GROUP
‘Quintilian and rhetoric’, in T. A. Dorey (ed.), Empire and Aftermath. Silver

Latin II (London, 1975), 79–97. (A.3)
THE CLASSICAL ASSOCIATION OF S OUTH AFRICA
‘Approaching the end: Quintilian 12.11’, Acta Classica 48 (2005), 175–83.

Reprinted with the permission of the Classical Association of South Africa.
(A.18)
xxvi Acknowledgements
UNIVERSIDADE DE SÃO PA ULO
‘Something new out of Armenia’, Letras clássicas 8 (2004), 111–28. (A.17)
UN IVERSITÀ DEGLI STU DI D I CASSINO

E DE L L A Z I O ME R I D I O N A L E
‘William of Malmesbury’s work on the Declamationes maiores’, Segno e Testo

12 (2014), 261–76. (A.21)
UNIVERSITÀ DEGLI STUD I DI

GENOVA—DIPARTIMENTO DI ANTICHITÀ,
FILOSOFIA, STORIA
‘Declamation, Greek and Latin’, in A. Ceresa-Gastaldo (ed.), Ars rhetorica

antica e nuova (Genoa, 1983), 57–76. (A.7)
W A LTE R D E G R U Y T E R GM B H
‘Ennodius, Dictio 21’, in B.-J. and J.-P. Schröder (eds.), Studium declamato-
rium. Untersuchungen zu Schulübungen und Prunkreden von der Antike bis
zur Neuzeit (Munich and Leipzig, 2003), 275–88. © 2003 by K. G. Saur Verlag
GmbH, Munich and Leipzig (now De Gruyter). (A.16)
‘The editors of Calpurnius Flaccus’, in M. Dinter, C. Guérin, and M. Martinho
(eds.), Reading Roman Declamation. Calpurnius Flaccus (Berlin and Boston,
2017), 141–60. © Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston 2017. (A.22)
The publisher and editors apologize for any errors or omissions in the above list.
If contacted they will be pleased to rectify these at the earliest opportunity.
1
Quintilian and the vir bonus*
Sit ergo nobis orator quem constituimus is qui a M. Catone finitur, vir bonus
dicendi peritus, verum, id quod et ille posuit prius et ipsa natura potius ac maius
est, utique vir bonus.¹ Why did Quintilian insist so strongly on the moral
qualities of the orator? The question has not been persistently enough asked.
Austin, for example, thinks that it is only ‘a steadfast sincerity of purpose
throughout’ that redeems the first chapter of Book 12 from ‘mere moralizing’.²
And it only takes the problem a stage further back to say that this is a matter of
Stoic influence.³ Even if Posidonius did formulate in connection with rhetoric
a maxim on the lines of Strabo’s οὐχ οἷόν τε ἀγαθὸν γενέσθαι ποιητὴν μὴ
πρότερον γενηθέντα ἄνδρα ἀγαθόν,⁴ we must still ask why Quintilian troubled
to give this Stoic view such new prominence. After all, oratori . . . nihil est
necesse in cuiusquam iurare leges.⁵ And it is clear that Quintilian realized that
he was innovating. Cicero, he writes, despite the width of his conception,
thought it enough to discuss merely the type of oratory that should be used by
the perfect orator: at nostra temeritas etiam mores ei conabitur dare et
adsignabit officia.⁶ This is perhaps to schematize the contrast a little over-
dramatically. Cicero had certainly written in the De oratore: quarum virtutum
expertibus si dicendi copiam tradiderimus, non eos quidem oratores effeceri-
mus, sed furentibus quaedam arma dederimus.⁷ But there is no doubt that
Cicero was not primarily concerned with the moral aspect. As the leading
orator of his day, he may have thought it indelicate or superfluous to stress
that the perfect orator must be a good man. Moreover, it was not clear that
the troubles of Cicero’s day were the result of morally bad orators: one had to
[Journal of Roman Studies 54 (1964), 90 7]

* An earlier draft of this paper has been read to the Oxford Branch of the Classical Asso
ciation and to the London Classical Society.
¹ Quint. 12.1.1. ² Austin (1954²),  (Austin’s italics).
³ Ibid.,  . See also the notes on 12.1.1. Austin is rightly cautious.
⁴ Strab. 1.2.5; Morr (1926 7), 47. ⁵ Quint. 12.2.26. ⁶ Quint. 12.pr.4.
⁷ Cic. De orat. 3.55.
4 Papers on Quintilian and Ancient Declamation
look back to Saturninus and Glaucia for examples of the evils caused by un-
scrupulous use of words.⁸
This paper will suggest that there was a very good reason for Quintilian’s
newly moralistic approach: and that this was a matter of historical fact, not of
rhetorical theory.
Tacitus in the Dialogus set himself to explain why nostra potissimum aetas
deserta et laude eloquentiae orbata vix nomen ipsum oratoris retineat.⁹ Aper
denies that oratorical glory is, in fact, dead. His main examples are Eprius
Marcellus and Vibius Crispus.¹⁰ The choice is significant. For the outstanding
fact about first-century oratory is that the only orators to achieve any prom-
inence or influence by means of their oratory are the delatores.¹¹ The rest were
decorative but impotent: the Dialogus tells us why—education lacked touch
with reality, and political conditions took away all scope. Hence one delator,
Publius Suillius Rufus, who had been terribilis ac venalis under Claudius, could
contrast himself tellingly with Seneca.¹² Seneca was used to academic inertia
and the callowness of youth; he was jealous of those such as Suillius who used
in the defence of their fellow-citizens an eloquence that was bright, alive, and
untarnished—vividam et incorruptam eloquentiam tuendis civibus exercerent.
Tacitus’ archetypal delator, as we read in his Annals,¹³ dedit exemplum quod
secuti ex pauperibus divites, ex contemptis metuendi, perniciem aliis ac pos-
tremum sibi invenere. The history of delation in the first century shows that
this summary remained true; but the delator gradually added to these qualities
something approaching an official position, and (in some cases) something
approaching a theory of oratory.
We may start with an Augustan orator, who was not a delator in the strict
sense at all: Cassius Severus.¹⁴ Quintilian’s key-word for him is acerbitas.¹⁵ He
was finally banished for the libido with which viros feminasque inlustris
procacibus scriptis diffamaverat.¹⁶ He was a professional satirist rather than a
professional accuser. All the same, Quintilian reproves him for a remark that
betrayed quaedam accusandi voluptas.¹⁷ And we are told by Seneca the Elder
that he specialized in accusation.¹⁸ In view of this, and because of interesting
parallels between Cassius and some later delatores, he deserves discussion
here. The evidence does not lie in the Institutio, where, though Cassius is
⁸ Cic. Brut. 224. The Gracchi are also mentioned. Quintilian takes over these examples
(2.16.5).
⁹ Tac. Dial. 1.1. ¹⁰ Tac. Dial. 8.1.
¹¹ The eloquence of the delatores is discussed by Froment (1880), 35.
¹² Tac. Ann. 13.42. If Tacitus invents, his invention is of archetypal significance. See also Syme
(1958), 331 2. It will be obvious how much I owe to this book.
¹³ Tac. Ann. 1.74.2; Syme (1958), 326 n. 5.
¹⁴ Sources for him are gathered in Meyer (1842²), 545 61 [= Balbo (2007²), .223 43]; Schanz
Hosius (1935⁴), .345 ff.
¹⁵ Quint. 10.1.117; 12.10.11. ¹⁶ Tac. Ann. 1.72.3. ¹⁷ Quint. 11.1.57.
¹⁸ Sen. Con. 3.pr.5.
Quintilian and the vir bonus 5
often mentioned, it is almost always to stress his biting wit and his hatred of
pomposity. Turn, however, to the Dialogus: here, in the big speech of Aper, an
attack is developed on those who habitually reckon Cicero, Caesar, and other
Republican orators superior to the orators of Aper’s own day.¹⁹ Aper quibbles
about the exact meaning of antiqui in this context, and then asserts that new
circumstances breed new styles of oratory. It was all very well for the ‘admirers
of antiquity’ to draw a sharp line and to proclaim that with Cassius came the
deluge.²⁰ They might say that Cassius was the one who had first diverged from
the straight and narrow path; but in fact Cassius knew very well what he was
doing. Times had changed. Under the Republic audiences were still impressed
by a smattering of philosophy and by rhetorical subtleties prescribed in the
dry-as-dust handbooks of Hermagoras and Apollodorus. Once this excitement
wore off, there was need for new methods, a vigorous attempt to stave off
boredom and monotony. It was on purpose—and for cogent reasons—that
Cassius had taken a new course.
What exactly had Cassius put in the place of the old techniques? Messalla’s
reply to Aper in the Dialogus is significant here. Messalla doesn’t deny that
Cassius was a notable orator, though his speeches had plus bilis . . . quam
sanguinis. This is much what Quintilian said in his brief notice of Cassius.²¹
But, Messalla goes on, Cassius was the first to despise organization, and cast
aside modesty of language;²² he was so eager to strike that he often fell over in
the process: a brawler, no true fighter. We may add the evidence of the Elder
Seneca. Everything in Cassius’ oratory had a direct purpose—omnia intenta,
aliquid petentia.²³ It was strong stuff, elegant, ingentibus plena sententiis.
Cassius relied rather on his native wit than on his education.²⁴ He declaimed
occasionally, but he was under no illusions about the value of declamation.
In scholastica quid non supervacuum est, cum ipsa supervacua sit?²⁵
It is not impossible that in the Dialogus Tacitus is replying to Quintilian on
the topic of Cassius Severus.²⁶ Admittedly, Quintilian did not, in the Institutio,
assert that Cassius started the decline of Roman oratory. The orators men-
tioned in 10.1.113 ff. are treated atomically, analysed for the virtues they may
illustrate rather than fitted into trends and patterns. But there is a good chance
that in the earlier De causis corruptae eloquentiae Quintilian did take a more
historical line. From 2.4.41–2 we know that he discussed there whether or not
¹⁹ Tac. Dial. 16.4. ²⁰ Tac. Dial. 19.1. ²¹ Quint. 10.1.116 17; cf. Tac. Dial. 26.4.
²² Tac. Dial. 26.5; cf. Quint. loc. cit.: Cassius lacked gravitas and consilium.
²³ Sen. Con. 3.pr.2.
²⁴ Sen. Con. 3.pr.4: maioris ingenii quam studii; cf. Quint. 10.1.117: ingenii plurimum.
²⁵ Sen. Con. 3.pr.12.
²⁶ I have no new arguments with which to rejuvenate the hoary topic of the date of the
Dialogus. This article proceeds on the assumption that it post dates Quintilian’s De causis.
Cf. Syme (1958), 112 ff.
suasoriae and controversiae were invented by Demetrius of Phaleron. Now
Cicero²⁷ remarks on the agreeable but academic virtues of Demetrius. He it
was who primus inflexit orationem et eam mollem teneramque reddidit. Quin-
tilian himself recalls this:²⁸ Demetrius primus inclinasse eloquentiam dicitur.
It is not then impossible that Quintilian’s De causis gave a historical sketch of
both Greek and Roman oratory; in both there was a clear point where decay
started—the time of Demetrius and the time of Cassius: equally, in both, new
educational techniques, centred upon declamation, played a leading part in
causing this decay.²⁹
If this is correct, Aper’s speech in the Dialogus takes on a further signifi-
cance. Admirers of the ancients, such as Quintilian, he implies, are irrevocably
stuck in the past: they don’t see that Cassius Severus was not an end but a new
and hopeful start. They think you can get by, as in the old days, with a little
philosophy and a lot of rhetorical rules. They think that audiences will put up
with speakers who spend all day on their feet.³⁰ No more pertinent criticism of
Quintilian’s general position could be imagined. In reply, Messalla is allowed
to say, as Quintilian would have said, that Cassius fell below his predecessors
but excelled his successors.³¹ But even he cannot explain why the old days
should be thought relevant, even if they were indisputably better.
If Quintilian was one of those who attributed to Cassius Severus the drastic
change in the direction of oratory in the first century, it becomes necessary to
make it quite clear what Cassius was being blamed for. Messalla tells us at Dial.
26.5: Primus enim contempto ordine rerum, omissa modestia ac pudore ver-
borum . . . non pugnat sed rixatur. And we may recall Aper’s speech,³² where
the new style started by Cassius is connected with the abandonment of
rhetorical subtleties and pedantic rules, quidquid . . . aridissimis Hermagorae
et Apollodori libris praecipitur. Cassius relied on his ingenium rather than on
training, and he despised declamation. Quintilian’s De causis, it may be
conjectured, defended training, asserted that declamation, properly carried
out, was advantageous,³³ and demanded a return to the Ciceronian virtues of
respect for education and for rhetorical dogma. The De causis, in this light,
paved the way for the Institutio, where the despised longa principiorum
praeparatio et narrationis alte repetita series et multarum divisionum ostenta-
tio et mille argumentorum gradus were painstakingly recapitulated. It was a
plea too for the wider education that people such as Aper so scorned.
²⁷ Cic. Brut. 37 8. ²⁸ Quint. 10.1.80.

²⁹ This conclusion is approached in Norden (1898), 248; cf. also Reuter (1887), 8. But I vis
ualize a sketch of the history of oratory, not merely of declamation.
³⁰ Such as Quintilian’s pupil, Pliny: . . . perstitit . . . horis septem. Nam tam diu dixi (4.16.2 3).
³¹ Tac. Dial. 26.4. ³² Tac. Dial. 19.3.
³³ Cf. Quint. 2.10, and 5.12.17 23 where the De causis is actually referred to.
We may next examine the case of Domitius Afer. The interest here lies in
the contrast between the impression given of this orator by Tacitus and by
Quintilian. If we relied on the Annals alone, we should be hard put to it to see
Afer as more than an earlier and more evil Suillius Rufus. He was a tool in the
campaigns against Agrippina in 26 and 27:³⁴ later, almost a victim of Caligula,
then consul under him.³⁵ Tacitus describes his motives as unsparingly as those
of any other delator. He was in a hurry to be famous, at any price: in defence
and prosecution alike he was more eloquent than principled—and in old age
not even eloquent. He had never been rich; he misspent the rewards of
delation, and was lured on to further crimes. Little of all this appears in the
pages of Quintilian; senility alone finds a place.³⁶ Instead, Afer is a summus
orator, as good as the old-timers, witty and ripe.³⁷ We hear of many of his
cases—but almost always of his defences: the only accusation mentioned is
that of a libertus of Claudius,³⁸ and that would be to his credit. Afer had been
Quintilian’s boyhood hero³⁹—but by then Afer was an old man, author of
books on the examination of witnesses,⁴⁰ respectable as never before. Quin-
tilian, then, was disposed to the most favourable judgement possible. Only
once does the Tacitean Afer peep out (by accident) in the Institutio. A clever
saying of his is quoted, for its cleverness: Ego accusavi, vos damnastis.⁴¹ One
can imagine a context, imagine too the cynical smile that this would have
aroused in Tacitus. Suillius used his eloquence to defend citizens. Afer was
accuser, not judge. How then could we blame either?
I now move on to Flavian delation, and examine the careers of a pair closely
linked in the Dialogus, Eprius Marcellus and Vibius Crispus (flourishing, it
may be remembered, during Quintilian’s professorship in Rome). Tacitus
describes them as potentissimi civitatis under Vespasian,⁴² and it is on their
public fame that I shall concentrate. For as long as it pleased them, they had
been foremost in the forum: now they were foremost in the friendship of
Caesar—and indeed the object of his respectful regard. Others might depend
on Vespasian’s goodwill: Marcellus and Crispus brought to their amicitia
something that they had not received from Vespasian. By this, Aper means
that the oratory of these two was their making; and we soon learn from
Maternus what sort of oratory it was, lucrosae huius et sanguinantis eloquen-
tiae usus . . . ex malis moribus natus atque . . . in locum teli repertus.⁴³ This
weapon had already under Nero been at the service of the emperor, when
Marcellus had been the accuser of Thrasea Paetus, torvus ac minax, voce vultu
oculis (ardescens).⁴⁴ The reward, five million sesterces.⁴⁵ For Thrasea, death.
Crispus had done nothing so spectacular, but by Nero’s death he was rich,
³⁴ Tac. Ann. 4.52 and 66. ³⁵ Dio Cass. 59.19. ³⁶ Quint. 12.11.3.
³⁷ Quint. 12.10.11; 10.1.118. ³⁸ Quint. 6.3.81. ³⁹ Quint. 5.7.7.
⁴⁰ Quint. 5.7.7. ⁴¹ Quint. 5.10.79. ⁴² Tac. Dial. 8.3. ⁴³ Tac. Dial. 12.2.
⁴⁴ Tac. Ann. 16.29.1. ⁴⁵ Tac. Ann. 16.33.2.
powerful, inter claros magis quam inter bonos:⁴⁶ and men remembered that he
too had been a delator.
In the fourth book of the Histories⁴⁷ Tacitus gives a brilliant picture of the
attack on Marcellus and Crispus in the senate during the early days of
Vespasian’s reign. After a well-received speech by the fierce Curtius Montanus,
Helvidius Priscus took up the attack, the Senators approving: Quod ubi sensit
Marcellus, velut excedens curia, ‘Imus,’ inquit, ‘Prisce, et relinquimus tibi
senatum tuum. Regna praesente Caesare.’ Sequebatur Vibius Crispus, ambo
infensi, vultu diverso, Marcellus minacibus oculis, Crispus renidens . . . ⁴⁸ Crispus,
that agreeable man,⁴⁹ might well smile: perhaps he knew what was going to
happen: Mucianus’ long speech in favour of the delators next day, and the
sudden melting of senatorial free-speech.⁵⁰ It is clear that the new régime had
put its shield over Marcellus and Crispus. But, as Tacitus half-tells us in the
Dialogus,⁵¹ the deal was not merely one-sided. Rich, powerful, and eloquent
delatores were essential to the running of the new Flavian administration.
Vespasian could only trust a limited circle, especially if the senate proved
hostile. He could use his relations: appoint Titus to the Jewish command,
Domitian praetor,⁵² give military posts to Arrecinus Clemens, Caesennius
Paetus, and Petilius Cerealis.⁵³ But this was not enough. The delatores were
a ready-made answer. They could be thrown to their enemies in the senate if
they caused trouble. Meanwhile, they could work. Marcellus became procon-
sul of Asia, for three years, then, for a second time, consul, in 74. Vibius
Crispus governed Africa and Tarraconensis, besides his cura aquarum. An-
other proconsul of Africa was Paccius Africanus, accuser of the Scribonii
under Nero, who like Marcellus and Crispus had come under fire in the senate
in 70.⁵⁴ Silius Italicus passed on from Neronian delation to a Flavian procon-
sulship of Asia.⁵⁵ The delatores were now not merely powerful, they had long
been that. Now they were positively members of the Establishment. It was not
so much that they were ‘eager to repair their credit’:⁵⁶ rather that Vespasian
both needed them and had a hold over them.
This was not merely a passing phase of Vespasian’s reign. Admittedly, Eprius
Marcellus came to a sudden end in 79, after involvement, real or apparent, in a
conspiracy against the throne (significant, this, of the heights to which delatores
could by now aspire: and of the basic insecurity of their position). But Vibius
Crispus was still making his elegant jokes under Domitian,⁵⁷ and the emperor’s
⁴⁶ Tac. Hist. 2.10.2. ⁴⁷ Tac. Hist. 4.41 ff. ⁴⁸ Tac. Hist. 4.43.3.
⁴⁹ Quint. 10.1.119: delectationi natus. ⁵⁰ Tac. Hist. 4.44.1 2. ⁵¹ Tac. Dial. 8.3.
⁵² Tac. Hist. 4.3.7.
⁵³ Syme (1958), 594 5, where the references for Marcellus and Crispus, and for other dela
tores, also appear.
⁵⁴ Tac. Hist. 4.41.4. ⁵⁵ Plin. Ep. 3.7.3. ⁵⁶ Syme (1958), 594.
⁵⁷ Suet. Dom. 3.1.
pronouncement, princeps qui delatores non castigat, irritat⁵⁸ affected petty
accusers rather than the mighty. A new generation of delatores flourished—
Fabricius Veiento, notably, and Catullus Messallinus, linked in Juvenal’s con-
cilium satire and again in Pliny, who witnesses that Veiento was favoured even
by Nerva—and that Catullus no doubt would have been had he lived.⁵⁹ It is not
surprising that Trajan’s ruthless stamping out of delatores was the subject of
some sections in Pliny’s Panegyricus.⁶⁰ Yet even under Trajan one of the most
important accusers of all lived on, and had influence—Marcus Aquillius
Regulus, spanning dynasties and generations, still factious, feared and courted
after the death of Domitian.⁶¹ He had ruined noble families under Nero, while
still unknown. Attacked in the unruly senate of early 70, he, like Marcellus and
Crispus, survived: perhaps for the same reason, perhaps thanks to the efforts of
his brother, the Messalla who appears in the Dialogus. ‘[H]is subsequent
conduct,’ writes Syme,⁶² ‘though highly objectionable, [did] not involv[e] him
in the prosecution of any notable members of the senatorial opposition.’ But he
launched savage attacks on the memories of Arulenus Rusticus and Herennius
Senecio, two Stoic victims of Domitian’s last years: and Regulus’ hand may
have been at work in their actual ruin. Periculum foverat, says Pliny⁶³ in
connection with Rusticus; and he remarks that Regulus’ crimes under Domi-
tian were no less heinous than those under Nero, merely better concealed.⁶⁴ We
do not have details of Regulus’ official career, though he was consul at some
time unknown; no doubt he was more prominent in the forum, less in the
palace, than Marcellus and Crispus. And, correspondingly, we hear far more of
his oratory. Martial, a diligent admirer, praises his eloquence, remarks on
his ingenium, and emphasizes his celebrity as a defender.⁶⁵ One remembers
Suillius’ claim to use his oratory tuendis civibus: and one is sceptical. More
illuminating are the letters of Pliny, which draw Regulus with bold impres-
sionistic strokes. He emerges as a new version of Cassius Severus. Let us recall
Severus, his anger, his enthusiasm for accusation and abuse, the oratory that
had omnia intenta, aliquid petentia, but lacked order, brawling instead of
fighting: a man who despised rhetorical doctrine, maioris ingenii quam studii.
Compare with him Regulus, as we see him through the eyes of Pliny (and Pliny,
we remember, was a pupil of Quintilian): imbecillum latus, os confusum,
haesitans lingua, tardissima inventio, memoria nulla,⁶⁶ nihil denique praeter
ingenium insanum . . . ⁶⁷ Relevant to Quintilian also the next words: et tamen eo
impudentia ipsoque illo furore pervenit ut orator habeatur. What would Quin-
tilian have thought of this prostitution of oratoris illud sacrum nomen?⁶⁸
⁵⁸ Suet. Dom. 9.3. ⁵⁹ Plin. Ep. 4.22; cf. Syme (1958), 4 6. ⁶⁰ Plin. Pan. 34 ff.
⁶¹ Plin. Ep. 1.5.15. ⁶² Syme (1958), 77. ⁶³ Plin. Ep. 1.5.2. ⁶⁴ Plin. Ep. 1.5.1.
⁶⁵ For his eloquence e.g. Mart. 5.28.6; his ingenium 5.63.4; his abilities in defence e.g. 4.16.6.
⁶⁶ Clear references to at least three of the rhetorical partes listed by Quint. 3.3.1: inventione,
dispositione, elocutione, memoria, pronuntiatione.
⁶⁷ Plin. Ep. 4.7.4. ⁶⁸ Quint. 12.1.24.
We may add the violence of Regulus’ language: he called Rusticus ‘that Stoic
ape’, Vitelliana cicatrice stigmosum.⁶⁹ ‘You recognize the style of Regulus’,
commented Pliny wryly. And, what is more, Regulus himself knew what his
oratory was like. He enjoyed contrasting himself with Pliny: Tu omnia quae
sunt in causa putas exsequenda; ego iugulum statim video, hunc premo.⁷⁰ There,
uniquely and memorably, speaks the violent oratory of the delatores. On
another occasion Regulus contrasted Pliny with Satrius Rufus, cui non est
cum Cicerone aemulatio et qui contentus est eloquentia saeculi nostri.⁷¹ Regulus,
in fact, was not just a violent and unscrupulous orator. He could see himself in
a wide literary context, and recognize that he, and orators like him for nearly a
hundred years, were for good reasons quite unlike Cicero. It was not that
Cicero was a bad orator: but merely that times had changed. Pliny was going
the wrong way—towards a dead past.
All this of course reminds us irresistibly of the Dialogus. ‘To defend the
modern style in oratory, the author introduces, as it were, a purified and
sympathetic Regulus, namely Marcus Aper.’⁷² But there is no need to narrow
the case down so much. Aper stands for all the orators of his type that the
century produced. Aper, Tacitus tells us, had attained fame in eloquence
ingenio et vi naturae,⁷³ rather than by education (institutio is the word,
perhaps significantly). But he was learned enough in his way, he despised
literature rather than was ignorant of it.⁷⁴ Now this is almost exactly what
Aper later says of Cassius Severus, non infirmitate ingenii nec inscitia litte-
rarum transtulisse se ad aliud dicendi genus . . . sed iudicio et intellectu.⁷⁵ And
even Regulus habebat studiis honorem.⁷⁶ All were purposeful and intelligent
men: and it is impossible to be sure that Tacitus felt no sympathy for the case
they put up.⁷⁷
How did Quintilian react to all this? I have suggested above that the
Institutio in general is an answer to the Apers of the day who thought
rhetorical doctrine outdated: and it can now be seen that Regulus was one
important contemporary representative of this view. Regulus, however, as still
living is not mentioned by name in the Institutio. What must now be noticed is
that Quintilian equally omits to connect with any of the names he mentions
the characteristics common to Regulus and, it might seem, many of his delator
predecessors: contempt for rhetorical rules, violence of language, increasing
political influence, moral failings of the first order. When it is remembered
that the delatores were the most important oratorical phenomenon of the
century, it becomes clear that Quintilian is glossing over the extent to which he
⁶⁹ Plin. Ep. 1.5.2. ⁷⁰ Plin. Ep. 1.20.14. ⁷¹ Plin. Ep. 1.5.11.

⁷² Syme (1958), 109 with n. 4. ⁷³ Tac. Dial. 2.1. ⁷⁴ Tac. Dial. 2.2.
⁷⁵ Tac. Dial. 19.1. ⁷⁶ Plin. Ep. 6.2.2.
⁷⁷ Note also how Aper spoke: acrius, ut solebat (Dial. 2.1) the pale reflexion of Regulus’ sav
age style?
himself is swimming against the tide in proclaiming a new Ciceronianism. Of
the Flavian orators, for instance, Eprius Marcellus does not appear at all, even
to be criticized. Perhaps he was better left out, in view of the ambiguities of his
end.⁷⁸ His rival Vibius Crispus is given a whitewashed picture, much like that
of Domitius Afer. For Quintilian,⁷⁹ Crispus was iocundus: so too for Juvenal.⁸⁰
He was only recently dead, and Domitian was still alive. Quintilian might have
said much more, but he could hardly have said less. Crispus, he noted, was
better⁸¹ in private than in public cases: we could if we liked see this as the
faintest of hints that Vibius Crispus was not exactly the most fitting example of
the vir bonus dicendi peritus. Other first-century orators mentioned by Quin-
tilian are not delatores.
But we should be wrong to say that Quintilian ignores the tendencies he
found flourishing around him, even if he did not name their most notorious
exponents, or, naming them, did not connect them with those tendencies. We
may first remark on his criticism of ‘naturalists’ (my word), people who relied
on their ingenium alone. In the second book, before starting on the Ars as
such, Quintilian pauses to observe that quosdam in ipso statim limine obsta-
turos mihi, qui nihil egere eius modi praeceptis eloquentiam putent, sed natura
sua et vulgari modo scholarum exercitatione contenti rideant etiam diligentiam
nostram.⁸² Quintilian immediately makes it appear as though these objectors
are merely professional declaimers who feel that one could declaim without
any detailed technical instruction. They rely on their ingenium alone, and
boast that they speak impetu, by inspiration,⁸³ claiming that there is no need
for dispositio or proof in cases that in any case are imaginary: what is wanted is
rather grandes sententiae.⁸⁴ All this is uncannily reminiscent of what we know
of Cassius Severus;⁸⁵ and it could be that Quintilian wants us to recognize
more important figures behind those foolish declaimers; at any rate, these
declaimers have much in common with the attitudes of Regulus.
⁷⁸ Syme (1958), 109 n. 1. ⁷⁹ Quint. 10.1.119; cf. 12.10.11; 5.13.48. ⁸⁰ Juv. 4.81.
⁸¹ Quint. 10.1.119: melior. ⁸² Quint. 2.11.1. Cf. Winterbottom (1964c), 120 ff.
⁸³ Quintilian is never loath to use insanity to explain or abuse the excesses of contemporary
rhetoric, cf. 2.12.9: iactatione gestus, motu capitis furentes, and often elsewhere. So even the sage
Chilon, according to Diogenes Laertius 1.70, λέγοντα μὴ κινεῖν τὴν χεῖρα· μανικὸν γάρ. We have
seen Pliny, echoing his master, talk of Regulus’ furor. Madness, now as always, was connected
closely with inspiration, and if the ‘naturalists’ boasted that they were speaking impetu, they were
perhaps taking up the criticism of their opponents and making a virtue of it (for impetus of
inspiration cf. e.g. Ov. Pont. 4.2.25: Impetus ille sacer qui vatum pectora nutrit. See too Quint.
10.7.14, where Cicero is quoted as saying that according to old orators a god is present in
successful extemporary effusion). [This issue is much expanded in A.12 below.] Behind Quinti
lian’s use of ratio to mean method at 2.2.4 (cf. 7) may lurk the implication that the Institutio
offered reason in place of the madness that now prevailed (Ov. Met. 14.701: postquam ratione
furorem / vincere non potuit).
⁸⁴ Quint. 2.11.2 3.
⁸⁵ Sen. Con. 3.pr.4 and 2: maioris ingenii quam studii . . . ingentibus plena sententiis (sc.
oratio); Tac. Dial. 26.5: contempto ordine rerum.
In the next chapter, however, Quintilian moves away from the declamation
school. The transition is imperceptible, but the change is clear: there is
mention of the litigant,⁸⁶ and of audience reaction in court.⁸⁷ We now have,
parallel with the naturalist declaimer, the naturalist orator. He is compared
with a gladiator rushing without training in rixam.⁸⁸ We shall remember that
Messalla in the Dialogus⁸⁹ makes exactly the same criticism of Cassius Severus.
Moreover, the naturalist orator, ineruditus as he is, is overprone to abusive-
ness:⁹⁰ so too Cassius Severus (plus bilis . . . quam sanguinis), so too Regulus
(Agnoscis eloquentiam Reguli). ‘And so’, says Quintilian, ‘let them be called
ingeniosi so long as it is understood that this is not a word we could use in
praise of anyone who was truly eloquent.’⁹¹ Here then Quintilian comes to
grips with his real adversaries: those who thought there was no point in
rhetorical rules. ‘Let us congratulate them’, he concludes ironically. ‘They
are eloquent without work, without method and without discipline.’ These
three qualities were what Quintilian proposed to put into the Institutio, and
they constituted a good deal of what he recommended in it. We can now see
whom he is criticizing, the spiritual descendants of Cassius Severus: and
among these, at least by implication, may be numbered the delatores, and in
particular Regulus himself.⁹²
But more generally than this, the whole background of delator eloquence
that has been sketched above throws light on much that might seem irrelevant
or academic in the Institutio. Half of the second book, for example, consists of
quaestiones about the status of rhetoric. Is it an art? (c. 17). If so, what kind of
art—a good one, or merely a neutral one: is it a virtus? (c. 20). Is it utilis?
(c. 16). Does nature or education contribute more to the great speaker? (c. 19).
All these questions, of course, had for long been discussed by writers on
rhetoric. But Quintilian goes over them again, and at length, because they
were topics of the moment. People were actually saying, and had for years
been saying, that rhetoric was a mere knack, to be picked up by experience in
the courts, a matter of ingenium schooled only by practice. Quintilian had at
⁸⁶ Quint. 2.12.4. ⁸⁷ Quint. 2.12.6.

⁸⁸ No need to search, as Spalding searched, for cases of rixa used of gladiatorial combat:
Quintilian is saying that a contest between untrained gladiators is a brawl, not a fight (not
dissimilarly, Sen. Dial. 10.12.2 talks of puerorum rixantium: they were wrestling, Seneca was
being scornful).
⁸⁹ Tac. Dial. 26.5: non pugnat sed rixatur. ⁹⁰ Quint. 2.12.4.
⁹¹ So at much the same time Mart. 7.9: Cum sexaginta numeret Cascellius annos, / ingeniosus
homo est: quando disertus erit?
⁹² For naturalists of a rather different kind see Quint. 12.10.40 ff. More relevantly, 9.4.3:
Neque ignoro quosdam esse, qui curam omnem compositionis excludant, atque illum horridum
sermonem, ut forte fluxerit, modo magis naturalem modo etiam magis virilem esse contendant.
Cf. Suillius on his vividam et incorruptam eloquentiam (Tac. Ann. 13.42.3). See also 11.3.10 11,
whose tone can instructively be compared with that of 2.12.12.
least to make a show of disproving these contentions: because otherwise the
whole mass of his doctrine fell to the ground.
But there is more to it than that. It is my contention that the same
background answers my opening question also: why did Quintilian insist
that the orator should be a good man? Orators are still famous, says Aper:⁹³
quos saepius vulgus . . . transeuntis nomine vocat et digito demonstrat? His
examples are delatores, Marcellus and Crispus, representatives of a class who
in this century agerent verterent cuncta odio et terrore.⁹⁴ Thus, as Maternus
rejoins, this fame was bought at a price; it, like the eloquence that produced it,
was ex malis moribus natus.⁹⁵ In the light of this, I suggest, we do not need to
look further for the reason for Quintilian’s emphasis on the moral qualities of
the perfect orator.
There could be no question, of course, of open condemnation of the
malpractices of the day. Domitian was still alive; so, no less importantly, was
the dangerous Regulus. What is more, Quintilian was in all probability writing
during the final Domitianic reign of terror, when Carus Mettius’ victoriae were
increasing in number, and sententia Messallini strepebat beyond the four walls
of the Alban villa.⁹⁶ Moreover, there was a matter of propriety. Quintilian was
a Flavian office-holder, appointed by Vespasian, and, under Domitian, tutor
for a while of royal children. Along with kind words about Domitian’s poetic
prowess had to go a discreet silence about the less agreeable aspects of Flavian
power. Indeed it is striking that Quintilian says as much as he does. In Book 2
he says that he thinks et fuisse multos et esse nonnullos . . . qui facultatem
dicendi ad hominum perniciem converterint.⁹⁷ Later, nam et minari et deferre
etiam non orator (even a non-orator) potest.⁹⁸ In Book 12, most openly of all,
accusatoriam vitam vivere et ad deferendos reos praemio duci proximum
latrocinio est.⁹⁹ Indeed, it is surprising that this should have been written, or
at least published, under Domitian at all.¹⁰⁰ We find the same tone of voice
under Trajan: Pliny in the Panegyric calls delators latrones.¹⁰¹
I suggest then that Quintilian was, like Plato, led to a moralistic view of the
function of rhetoric by what he saw going on around him. He found himself
disgusted by the way rhetoric was being misapplied: and we should not forget
that this was a matter of emotion to the academic Quintilian. Eloquence for
him was honesta ac rerum pulcherrima.¹⁰² Nature non parens sed noverca
⁹³ Tac. Dial. 7.4. ⁹⁴ Tac. Hist. 1.2.3. ⁹⁵ Tac. Dial. 12.2. ⁹⁶ Tac. Ag. 45.1.
⁹⁷ Quint. 2.20.2. ⁹⁸ Quint. 4.1.22.
⁹⁹ Quint. 12.7.3. Also in Book 12, note the emphasis on pecuniariae quaestiones in which
veritas had to be defended against calumnia by the good orator.
¹⁰⁰ The Institutio was ‘presumably published before Domitian’s death in 96. At least it seems
unlikely that if the murder had taken place before publication the complimentary passages would
have been allowed to remain’ (Colson (1924),  n. 5).
¹⁰¹ Plin. Pan. 34.1. So, it is true, did Columella (1.pr.9). ¹⁰² Quint. 1.12.16.
fuerit si facultatem dicendi sociam scelerum, adversam innocentiae, hostem
veritatis invenit.¹⁰³ It was on these convictions that Quintilian based his
assertions that the orator must be a good man, skilled in speaking. And it
will be no coincidence that Herennius Senecio drew the moral when he
described a contemporary orator as vir malus dicendi imperitus.¹⁰⁴ That con-
temporary was Marcus Aquillius Regulus.
A postscript may be added. Quintilian thought his age rich in rhetorical
talent;¹⁰⁵ there could be great orators once again, if the lessons of the Institutio
were thoroughly learnt. In a way he was wrong; ironically, with the crushing of
the delatores, Trajan seemed to kill oratory also. When Regulus died Pliny
found himself writing with a conscious paradox that he missed the man,
despite everything.¹⁰⁶ In the same mood, Tacitus wrote in the Agricola¹⁰⁷ of
stagnation under the first years of Trajan—the numbness and inertia of the
new peace. There was room only for panegyric now, and the driest of legal
advocacy: only occasionally the spice of a trial for misdemeanours in the
provinces.¹⁰⁸ There was, basically, nothing to do in the senate: Sunt quidem
cuncta sub unius arbitrio, qui pro utilitate communi solus omnium curas
laboresque suscepit.¹⁰⁹ And this is exactly the wistful note of Maternus’ last
speech in the Dialogus: Quid enim opus est longis in senatu sententiis, cum
optimi cito consentiant? Quid multis apud populum contionibus, cum de
republica non imperiti et multi deliberent, sed sapientissimus et unus?¹¹⁰ In
these circumstances Quintilian’s view of the orator as one whose primary task
it was to ‘guide the counsels of the senate and bring the errant people back to
better courses’¹¹¹ was absurdly out-of-date. Oratory could no longer have its
traditional¹¹² political justification.
¹⁰³ Quint. 12.1.2. ¹⁰⁴ Plin. Ep. 4.7.5.

¹⁰⁵ Quint. 10.1.122. Quintilian is less defensive here than at 2.5.23 4 ( . . . novos, quibus et ipsis
multa virtus adest. Neque enim nos tarditatis natura damnavit), with which compare Plin.
Ep. 6.21.1: Neque enim quasi lassa et effeta natura nihil iam laudabile parit. The period had
no great literary self confidence.
¹⁰⁶ Plin. Ep. 6.2.1. ¹⁰⁷ Tac. Ag. 3.1.
¹⁰⁸ Note especially Pliny on his lack of subjects for letters (Ep. 9.2); contrast the long letter
about the Priscus trial (2.11).
¹⁰⁹ Plin. Ep. 3.20.12.
¹¹⁰ Tac. Dial. 41.4. This suggests a clue to the varying tones of the Dialogus. Aper’s bright and
brash optimism reflects Tacitus’ youth under Vespasian, when the visitor from, say, the north of
Italy would look out for Eprius Marcellus in the streets of Rome. Messalla speaks for the
Quintilian view, formulated rather later in the century. Maternus’ final speech, filled with the
vague nostalgia of the early Trajanic period, dispels the different optimisms of Aper and
Messalla.
¹¹¹ Quint. 12.1.26.
¹¹² Cic. De orat. 2.55: Nemo enim studet eloquentiae nostrorum hominum nisi ut in causis et in
foro eluceat.
But perhaps in the long run Quintilian was more successful. Cicero was
remembered, and Regulus forgotten.¹¹³ And the view of the orator as vir bonus
dicendi peritus echoes, at intervals, down the centuries.¹¹⁴
[This early piece, much influenced in style and content by R. Syme, should be
read in conjunction with Goldberg (1999). For Tacitus’ Dialogus de oratoribus,
see also Winterbottom (2001).]
¹¹³ Except, apparently, by Martianus Capella RLM p. 453.1 Halm [= 3.432 Willis].
¹¹⁴ So Fortunatianus RLM p. 81.5 Halm [= p. 65.5 Calboli Montefusco]; Cassiodorus RLM
p. 495.5 Halm; Isidore RLM p. 507.16 Halm.
2
Problems in the Elder Seneca
The text of the Controversiae and Suasoriae of the Elder Seneca is very corrupt.
For thirty years at the end of last century it was a happy hunting ground
of critical endeavour. Many wounds were healed; many remain. Others,
however, were inflicted by the very scholars who sought to heal. Where
declaimers so cunning and elusive as those excerpted by Seneca are at play,
and where, so often, one has to make up one’s own context for isolated
epigrams, the greatest care has to be taken in emendation. Is one curing—or
merely misunderstanding?
It is easy to be hypnotized by past emendations once they achieve the
sanctity of print. One of the principal tasks of a new editor¹ of the Elder
Seneca would be, with a clear head, to sift through the discoveries of the past,
and appraise their varying merits. To take a few examples at random. In
Con. 1.1 a son has been disinherited by his father and adopted by his uncle;
now his uncle too is disinheriting him. The declaimer sings the son’s virtues:
Quam multi patres optant similem filium! Bis abdicor.² ‘Any other father
would be glad to have me—yet I get disinherited, twice!’ No very distinguished
epigram, but a point. Yet Vahlen’s ab his abdicor was accepted by Müller and
continued into Bornecque; it is infinitely feebler. In Con. 1.2 a priesthood is
[Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies 21 (1974), 20 42]

¹ That, on the basis of my recent Loeb (1974), I can hardly claim to be. This article does
not discuss all the conjectures of mine there printed (most of the others are trivial
variations on earlier efforts), nor does my Loeb print all the suggestions I make here. An
earlier version of this paper was read to the Oxford Philological Society on 30 October 1970.
The ensuing discussion produced some helpful comments, some of which are recorded in
my footnotes.
² Con. 1.1.9 (20.11 M.). References are by page and line to H. J. Müller’s edition (1887; repr.
Hildesheim 1963), on which I rely for all manuscript readings. Conjectures not mentioned by
Müller are given references. I have not assembled lists of emendations with which I disagree.
[The reference edition of the Elder Seneca’s declamations is now that of Håkanson (1989).
An unpublished commentary by Håkanson on Sen. Con. 1 has just been edited by F. Citti,
B. Santorelli, and A. Stramaglia: see Håkanson (2016).]
Problems in the Elder Seneca 17
sought by a woman who once was in a brothel and venientes ad se exorabat
stipem. The declaimer says in accusation of her: Ego illam dico prostitisse; illa
se dicit etiam mendicasse.³ ‘I say she was a prostitute; she says she was a beggar
too.’ She asked, that is, for alms; for her it is a defence,⁴ for her accuser it is an
aggravation of her guilt—she was on public sale, and she begged into the
bargain. A palpable hit. Yet editors have persisted with variations on Lipsius’
vindicasse. At Con. 7.7.18 (337.23 M.) we have Fuscus’ colour for the crucified
general who said Cavete proditionem from his cross: dixit alienatum iam
suppliciis animum et errantem has voces effudisse sine argumentis, sine reo.
Without, that is, naming a specific traitor and accusing him. What need of
Thomas’s sine ratione? Many such defences of the paradosis could be men-
tioned;⁵ the mark of success is that what is transmitted is, once the penny has
dropped, seen to be cleverer than what editors substitute.
All the same, no one would claim that the paradosis of the Elder Seneca is
faultless. This paper will be mainly concerned to tamper with it. I group my
suggestions under the heads, ‘The Manuscripts’, ‘Using the Excerpta’, ‘Clau-
sulae’, ‘Deletions’, ‘Additions’, ‘Other Conjectures’, and ‘The Greek’: though a
certain amount of overlap between these categories is unavoidable.
T H E MA N U S C R I P T S
One complication is the relationship of the three most important manuscripts

of the ‘main’, that is the non-excerpted, text of Seneca, A, B, and V. Müller
supposed that A and B descended from a hyparchetype x, while V descended
from a hyparchetype x¹. And I gather from Dr H. D. L. Vervliet, to whom I am
exceedingly grateful for much information on the manuscripts, that his further
researches on the tradition do not alter this basic picture of the top of the
stemma. Now, while AB give us a defective but uninterpolated text, V ‘ex alio
codice (x¹) descriptus est, quem ipsum homo doctus, multis locis haud dubie
suo tantum ingenio usus, non raro autem alium, ut opinor, eumque optimae
notae librum secutus, felicissime emendaverat, cui tamen idem vir doctus, cum
³ Con. 1.2.10 (36.2 M.).

⁴ Professor Goold, to whom I am indebted for his helpful comments, objects that etiam must
imply that the woman admitted the charge of being a prostitute. But she would really have said:
‘Yes, I was in the brothel, but I only took alms.’ The accuser twists this to: ‘I was a prostitute, and
I begged as well.’
⁵ I name honoris causa e.g. Summers’s defence (1911), 19 20 and 20 1, of adoravit at
Con. 1.2.20 (41.5 M.) and of deprehensus at 1.4.2 (51.22 M.); Shackleton Bailey’s (1969), 323 of
petis at 2.1.4 (108.7 M.); and Otto’s (1888), 132 3 of reducere at 2.1.18 (116.10 M.).
scripturam depravatam facili negotio sanare posse sibi videretur, multas et eas
manifestas interpolationes⁶ . . . inculcaverat.’⁷
It would, I think, be wrong to say that all the good readings in V that do not
appear in AB are due to conjecture, though I suspect that a very large number
are; I doubt if (looking at a sample fifteen pages of text) a medieval emender
could have achieved Con. 1.1.5 (17.17 M.) naturam mutare (AB have natura
militare), 1.1.7 (19.7 M.) essem scivisti cum (esse miscuisti eum), 1.1.23 (28.4 M.)
arbitrum (arbitriudi), though very many of the others are easily within the
grasp of anyone who knew Latin. It would be perverse, that is, to say that the
coincidence of AB should always be preferred, at least as a starting point, to
V. But so often do AB point towards, V away from the truth, that it is always
worth, in any doubtful case, pondering the possibility that V is interpolated
rather than transmitting inherited truth.⁸ x was, I take it, infinitely more like
the archetype than V. And how Müller distinguished cases where V was
drawing on a good outside source I do not know.
I do not wish to labour this point: though it accounts for my practice in many
of the passages I discuss of tacitly ignoring the phenomena of V. I point merely
to the matter of the words in V that are omitted by AB, not the common-or-
garden interpolations, but words that the editors accept with a will.
First, note an instructive case where V is caught out making an addition of
its own. At Con. 1.6.2 (64.7 M.) the text goes as follows: Artius nos fortuna
alligavit quam ut orba posset divellere. Vidisses tectum pannis corpus, omnia
membra vinculis pressa. So the manuscripts, except that (a) after alligavit ABV
all give <nisi corpus omnia vinculis>: and (b) when omnia . . . vinculis comes
round again only V gives the word membra, while AB omit it. The conclusion
is clear: when (in the archetype⁹ or behind it) (pan)nis corpus omnia vinculis
intruded into the previous sentence, membra was not present to be carried
along with the intruders. V or its ancestor x¹ will be responsible for the
addition—and, I should judge, acting suo Marte, though no doubt correctly.
Hagendahl gives an instructive list of words that appear in V but are lacking
in AB.¹⁰ He starts from a striking case, by him misinterpreted. The thema
of Con. 7.6 (318.15 M.) starts thus: Tyrannus permisit servis (servisi AB: servis
ut V) dominis interemptis—the E(xcerpta) omit the last two words, but no
⁶ A flagrant instance in the poem of Albinovanus Pedo (Suas. 1.15 (529.19 M.)): . . . audaces
ire . . . / †asperum† metas extremaque litora mundi. V gives hesperii (sic), Haupt, finely, ad
rerum.
⁷ Müller (1887),  .
⁸ I give a trivial but typical example. The quarrelsome Scaurus litiganti similior quam agenti
cupiebat evocare aliquam vocem adversariorum et in altercationem pervenire (Con. 10.pr.2
(447.10 M.)). Does not pervenire jar? It is V’s word; AB give vervenire. Did not the archetype
give that too, by corrupt reduplication for venire?
⁹ For those who see point, as I do not, in calculating the length of the line in the archetype this
passage will be of service. So will the anticipation of (carce)re vixerunt at Con. 9.2.1 (382.13 M.).
¹⁰ Hagendahl (1936), 312 13.
matter. Then E continues the sentence dominas suas rapere: the right sense
(cf. below: Cum omnes servi dominas suas vitiassent and esp. 7.6.13 (325.12
M.): tyrannus permisit dominas rapere, non coegit), and with no linguistic
objection (for the infinitive see 7.6.13 (325.12 M.) again). But AB omit the
words, V has a stop-gap: dominabus suis nubant. These words are perversely
ignored by the editors, according to Hagendahl: ‘Quo rarior est forma illa
dominabus . . . eo minus est, quod putemus eam interpolatam esse.’ On the
contrary: the rarer the form, the more we require a Senecan parallel. None is
forthcoming. And why nubant?¹¹—it is clear from everything in the con-
troversia that the decree allowed rape, while the father who wanted his
daughter to marry the ex-slave was going beyond the decree: plus servo
dominus permisit quam tyrannus.¹² An interpolation, then, and one that
reeks of its later date: -abus was particularly affected in the fourth century
and later.¹³ The Thesaurus cites dominabus¹⁴ from Baudonivia’s life of
St Radegund (c.600).
Hagendahl appends a summary list, again instructive. a, ad, in, de, sub, per,
et, si, sed, ut, quae, quam, se, me, non are found in V when AB omit them: a
total of thirty instances,¹⁵ all the simplest and most necessary of additions,
often with parallelism nearby to show the way. Hagendahl can register only
seven more substantial items. They are worth examining individually.
Con. 2.1.28 (122.15 M.): Cestius illo colore: quos abdicatione non potuit
terrere, putat se castigaturum adoptione. ‘Non ille tuum filium concupiscit: suos
corrigit. Dum illos correctos (correptos V: om. AB) putaverit, te satis minatum
abdicabit.’ Cum (so C. F. W. Müller) will be right for dum. And if we give me
for te (so Bursian) we get the good sense that it is the son who has done the
threatening. But it is perfectly on the cards that Seneca wrote: cum illis
putaverit me satis minatum, abdicabit. And even if he did not, the fact remains
that correctos¹⁶ is the simplest and dullest addition: it picks up corrigit from the
sentence before. The interpolator may be at work; he may even be wrong.
At Con. 7.3.1 (298.10 M.) I am prepared to believe that V had reus vivet:
vivet transmitted to it, despite AB’s omission of one vivet. But the extreme ease
with which the word could be coincidentally omitted reduces the value of this
instance. The same is true of 9.1.11 (378.20–1 M.), where V gives beneficium
twice, correctly, AB only once, and of 9.2.9 (385.22 M.) atqui quid interest
¹¹ Quite apart from the fact that the word is properly used of women (as Mr M. D. Reeve re
minded me).
¹² Con. 7.5.2 (319.15 M.). ¹³ Kühner Holzweissig (1912), 419 21.
¹⁴ TLL s.v. domina 1935.22.
¹⁵ But delete Con. 1.1.3 (17.6 M.), where non sit is probably wrong. At 2.6.4 (178.12 M.)
coercet vitia qui provocat might stand as a question without non.
¹⁶ The interpolator may even have written correptos, as V gives it. Corrigo and corripio were
constantly confused, at least in certain forms, and medievals may not have sharply distinguished
between their meanings.
convivium in forum an forum (an forum om. AB) in convivium attrahas,
though this might be within the range of the alert emender. The case at 9.5.3
(415.12 M.) is helpful here: filios quos perdidisti non quaeris, quem quaeris non
perdidisti. AB omit quem quaeris, understandably, but we know from 9.5.6
(421.6 M.) that Votienus said just this. V gives quaeris quem: the mark of the
interpolator, ignorant of the term homoeoteleuton but alert to sense.
Two final items. The gods, says one declaimer, have given their verdict in
favour of an ex-captive and ex-prostitute who wishes to be a priestess: inter tot
pericula non servassent illam dii nisi sibi (Con. 1.2.19 (40.15 M.)). All well. Yet
V tacks on servata fuisset; the Excerpta add servaturi fuissent. Both interpolate;
and, what convicts both, in different terms. Then at 7.2.3 (291.4 M.) we have
Non magis quisquam alius occidere Ciceronem potuit praeter Popillium praeter
Ciceronem defendere. The evident gap was filled by interpolation in V with the
ungrammatical quam nemo pupillium after Popillium. Thomas was right to
stress that V, or a forebear, is merely inventing, and right too, I think, to plug
the gap with quam quisquam alius Popillium.¹⁷
The matter does not quite end there, for Hagendahl’s list admits of expan-
sion. I can give a further twenty-two cases (there may be a few more).
Significantly the pattern is very similar. The majority are small words, that a
corrector could have added with ease. Thus ut (Con. 1.1.17 (25.9 M.); 2.4.1
(161.6 M.); 10.4.11 (486.1 M.): all essential to obvious constructions), an
(1.7.11 (77.10); 6.th. (558.7 M.): both ‘formulaic’), in (2.1.34 (126.6 M.)),
non (2.6.7 (180.11 M.); 10.1.7 (461.3 M.)), a(b) (2.7.9 (191.5 M.); 7.5.14
(318.4 M.)), de (7.6.2 (331.1 M.)), eo (9.pr.4 (371.20 M.), between usque and
ut), cum (9.2.24 (393.2 M.), to support a pluperfect subjunctive), and si (2.4.13
(160.13 M.); 10.3.11 (477.19 M.)). Of the others, 1.6.1 (63.16 M.) spei merely
completes an anaphora (perhaps unnecessarily, despite support from the
Excerpta); 2.5.19 (174.11 M.) publicis is dictated by the contrast with privatis;
while at 9.5.17 (421.18 M.) a sentence starting multa referam quae Montani-
ana Scaurus vocabat and proceeding uno hoc contentus ero cries out for a
negative (ne, C. F. W. Müller), which the interpolator fumbled with non. At
Suas. 1.1 (520.6 M.), the completion of post omnia oceanum nihil does call for
some critical sense (omnia <oceanus post> V), but this could be a case of
coincidental error in AB.
As to the three remaining cases: At Con. 1.5.7 (61.18 M.) the discussion is of
three possible choices. Both girls choose death, both marriage, or one mar-
riage, one death. Corruption has pruned this to aut nuptias optabunt aut
altera mortem altera nuptias. Proceeding, AB give¹⁸ optaverunt, non poterit
fieri quod utraque volet: uno modo poterit fieri quod utraque volet, si utraque
mortem optaverit. It was left to modern scholars to supplement the opening
¹⁷ Thomas (1899), 161 n. 6. ¹⁸ Here as elsewhere I ignore minor variations.

statement: best Gertz, who inserted mortem utraque aut before the first
nuptias.¹⁹ In what follows it is clear that optaverint (so V²) is necessary, and
that the bulk of a conditional clause giving the other two eventualities apart
from si utraque mortem optaverit has fallen out: parallelism demands <si aut
nuptias utraque aut altera mortem, altera nuptias> optaverint, as Gertz gave it.
We cannot do without the first aut, and editors should not have been deceived
by the fact that V has <si nuptias> optaverint into omitting it. V’s addition is
an interpolator’s—and the interpolator had forgotten the possibility of the
girls making different choices.
At Suas. 2.14 (540.15 M.) Cestius, cum descripsisset quos habituri essent si
pro patria cecidissent, adiecit: per sepulchra nostra iurabitur, V has honores
before quos: in that context not a difficult addition, though maybe not made in
the right place (better before habituri?).
Finally Abdica, inquit. Hoc pater versus. Quid adoptavit sperare possum?
(Con. 2.1.3 (107.8 M.)). So, with much corruption, AB. V improves with quid
<ab eo qui>, surely rightly.²⁰ It is difficult to see an interpolator at work here.
Coincidental omission in AB? Or a proof of the independence of V from the
common source of AB? If it is a proof, it is, I suggest, the only case among the
fifty or so places where AB omits words given by V that is not attributable to
an interpolator.²¹ It is a meagre haul; I do not dwell on it further, except to
suggest that this is the sort of situation one would expect where three manu-
scripts, one highly interpolated, descend from an archetype with no lower
common links. It remains true that other types of error in AB against
V suggest that the traditional stemma is correct. It is odd that the evidence
of omissions is so indecisive.
Caution about ‘additions’ in V should be matched by caution about addi-
tions found in D, an agreed descendant of V.²² I note a cluster in Con. 10.4. At
10.4.8 (484.3 M.) we have A te (A patre Kiessling) fortasse aliquis acceptam
stipem ad deos. D adds portat after stipem: it may, or may not, be the right verb
in the right position (rhythmic considerations would place it at the end of the
clause). Just below Lupa expositis infantibus, oblita feritatis, placida velut
fetibus suis ubera praebuisse fertur. Sic lupa venit ad infantes.²³ Expositis in-
fantibus is the addition of Haase, the first lupa appears in D but not in the
primary manuscripts. Neither addition is necessary. The context, as almost
¹⁹ Though it is true that below utraque is followed, as is more proper, by a singular verb.
²⁰ The corrector of the Toledo manuscript rightly restored the sentence thus: Abdico, inquit.
Hoc pater verus! Quid ab eo qui adoptabit sperare possum?
²¹ Contrast the sort of omissions that mark off A from BV (Suas. 1.14 (529.9 11 M.) quis
mihi ponam), B from AV (Con. 1.8.8 (87.6 M.) patrem quia), V from AB (Con. 9.4.9 10
(407.14 16) possit patrem). Those gaps could not be filled by conjecture.
²² I do not enquire about the relationship between D and the corrector of T. That does not
affect the present argument. But see Hagendahl (1936), 313 14.
²³ Con. 10.4.9 (484.16 M.).
always, is lost, but the declaimer has clearly been talking of Romulus and
Remus. The subject can be suppressed, and the dative be understood, till we
come to lupa and to ad infantes in the next sentence. That is certain. Less clear
10.4.12 (486.13 M.): Illi singulos exponunt, tu omnes debilitas: illi spem, tu
instrumenta vivendi detrahis. Here tu instrumenta vivendi is the contribution
of D; tu is right—for the rest we cannot know.²⁴
USIN G THE EXCERPTA
Clearly, the E(xcerpta), for all the adaptation which they have undergone,²⁵ are
vital to the constitution of the text of the corresponding Controversiae where
those are extant. And editors since Bursian have naturally made use of them
for this purpose. But they have not always resisted the temptation to assume
that words present in the excerpta must be inserted in the main text if they are
lacking there. At Con. 9.2.3 (383.11 M.) we have in the main text the excellent
epigram: Facilius est ut qui alia meretrici dederit homicidium neget quam ut
qui hoc quoque dederit quicquam. Müller adds negarit from E 9.2 (435.16 M.);
Bursian did better to add another neget. But E is making sure the reader
understands—and providing a proper clausula (hence the form?). We do not
need to follow.
Editors are not always careful in comparing the main text with E. In Con.
7.1.24 (285.23 M.) Hispanus’ colour is twice given, thus: Hispanus duro colore
usus est: Hoc, inquit, supplicium tamquam gravius elegi . . . et hoc colore per
totam declamationem usus est, ut diceret hoc se tamquam gravius elegisse. E,
summarizing this, gives: Hispanus, duro colore usus, hoc se tamquam gravius
elegisse dixit supplicii genus.²⁶ Müller uses this as a justification for adding
supplicii genus in the main text after elegisse:²⁷ speciously.
Other cases may be more disputable. Tyrannus suspicatus est nescio quid
istum de tyrannicidio cogitare, sive isti aliquid excidit, sive magna consilia non
bene voltus (benivolis ABV) exigunt (so AB: exibuit V). So the main text at
Con. 2.4.13 (161.16 M.). E gives: . . . sive non bene tegit vultus māgnă cōnsĭlĭă.²⁸
That may certainly stand in E—and Kiessling was wrong to suggest texit. What
of the main text? Should not the generalizing present appear there also?²⁹
²⁴ But we may guess: illi <vitam, tu> spem detrahis. For loss of hope as worse than loss of life
see Cic. Catil. 4.8: Eripit . . . spem, quae sola hominem in miseriis consolari solet etc. A verb may
have dropped out of the illi clause.
²⁵ Hagendahl (1936), 299 ff. ²⁶ E 7.1 (348.21 2 M.). ²⁷ Con. 7.1.24 (286.7 M.).
²⁸ E 2.5 (198.26 M.).
²⁹ So Castiglioni (1927), 117, suggesting vultus contegit. Cf. Sen. Thy. 330 1 multa sed trepidus
solet / detegere vultus.
Perhaps then tegit; or, bearing in mind exigunt, tegunt (cf. Cic. De orat. 2.148
voltus . . . perspiciamus omnis, qui sensus animi plerumque indicant).
At Con. 10.4.6 (482.21 M.) Fuscus appeals to the judges to pity a group of
cripples in court just as they pitied them individually on the streets: Misere-
mini horum, iudices, [et] misereri etiam singulorum soletis. E has: Miseremini
omnium, iudices, quorum singulorum misereri soletis.³⁰ Müller compromises
in the main text with Miseremini horum omnium, iudices, quorum misereri
etiam singulorum soletis. We may well do without quorum—two parallel
clauses give a good bite. And I think we should do without horum as well;
it will be ABV’s corruption of omnium (which is itself, of course, essential to
the contrast).
At Con. 9.5.14 (420.6) Varius’ epigram for the grandfather who kidnapped
his grandson after two previous grandsons had died is thus given by the main
text: Quae est ista aut tam (aut tam AB: aucta V) praepostera? Quaerere tuos a
tertio incipis. Something is clearly missing, and E confirms: Quae ista est tam
sera pietas, tam praepostera? Quaerere tuos a tertio incipis.³¹ The logic of this is
right. The father’s desire to get his third son back shows affection that is both
late in the day and topsy-turvy, not ‘si tardive ou si intempestive’ (Bornecque).
We should therefore delete aut in the main text (dittography between -a and t-),
and supplement merely tam <sera pietas, tam>, not, keeping the aut, <sera
pietas aut tam> (so editors since Bursian).
As to the manuscript tradition of the Excerpta, I can only judge from the
information in Müller’s apparatus. Müller’s own judgement is that by far the
best manuscript is the Montepessulanus (M), because it alone ‘interpolationi-
bus, quibus reliqui scatent, prorsus liber sit . . . nec tamen reliquos neglexi, cum
et complura in M perierint et satis multa in M perperam scripta ex uno vel
altero recentiorum codicum medelam accipere viderem.’³² In a sense the
supremacy of M should, I think, be put more highly. But the impression that
it contains almost all the evidence of value is artificially heightened by the
activities of the ‘recent’ corrector called by Müller M³, who saves the manu-
script from many errors³³ not found in other manuscripts, and may, in part,
have been drawing on those other manuscripts. It would be wrong to suppose
that all the other manuscripts descend from M. But so much more reliable is
M in general that it is always worth pausing before rejecting its readings.
Thus at E 6.6 (262.17 M.), where the main text is not available, an advocate
is replying on behalf of a wife accused of poisoning and adultery, partly
because she had said of her daughter ‘She will die sooner than be married’:
exciderunt illi verba quae non minus quam pater filiam luget. This makes
³⁰ E 10.3 (513.15 M.). ³¹ E 9.5 (442.15 M.). ³² Müller (1887),  .
³³ Often trivial or orthographical. M³ also introduces errors (sometimes available in other
manuscripts): e.g. at random E 1.3 (95.18 M.) dubitari <non> (M³P); E 2.7 (203.5 M.) animus
(M³P); E 7.7 (356.15 M.) nec (M³P).
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conducted congregation, and hoped that great good would result
from our efforts. This opposition, also, the Lord overruled to increase
our influence, and to give point and publicity to our assaults upon
the kingdom of Satan.
Though disappointed thus, some of the Publicans resolved to have
revenge. On the following Saturday evening, when a large meeting
was being addressed in our Green Street Church, which had to be
entered by a great iron gateway, a spirit merchant ran his van in
front of the gate, so that the people could not leave the Church
without its removal. Hearing this, I sent two of my young men to
draw it aside and clear the way. The Publican, watching near by in
league with two policemen, pounced upon the young men whenever
they seized the shafts, and gave them in charge for removing his
property. On hearing that the young men were being marched to the
Police Office, I ran after them and asked what was their offence?
They replied that they were prisoners for injuring the spirit
merchant’s property; and the officers tartly informed me that if I
further interfered I would be taken too. I replied, that as the young
men only did what was necessary, and at my request, I would go with
them to the Office. The cry now went through the street, that the
Publicans were sending the Missionary and his young men to the
Police Office, and a huge mob rushed together to rescue us; but I
earnestly entreated them not to raise disturbance, but allow us
quietly to pass on. At the Office, it appeared as if the lieutenant on
duty and the men under him were all in sympathy with the
Publicans. He took down in writing all their allegations, but would
not listen to us. At this stage a handsomely dressed and dignified
gentleman came forward and said,—
“What bail is required?”
A few sharp words passed; another, and apparently higher, officer
entered, and took part in the colloquy. I could only hear the
gentleman protest, in authoritative tones, the policemen having been
quietly asked some questions,—
“I know this whole case, I will expose it to the bottom; expect me
here to stand by the Missionary and these young men on Monday
morning.”
Before I could collect my wits to thank him, and before I quite
understood what was going on, he had disappeared; and the superior
officer turned to us and intimated in a very respectful manner that
the charge had been withdrawn, and that I and my friends were at
liberty. I never found out exactly who the gentleman was that
befriended us; but from the manner in which he asserted himself and
was listened to, I saw that he was well known in official quarters.
From that day our work progressed without further open opposition,
and many who had been slaves of intemperance were not only
reformed, but became fervent workers in the Total Abstinence cause.
Though intemperance was the main cause of poverty, suffering,
misery, and vice in that district of Glasgow, I had also considerable
opposition from Romanists and Infidels, many of whom met in
clubs, where they drank together and gloried in their wickedness and
in leading other young men astray. Against these I prepared and
delivered lectures, at the close of which discussion was allowed; but I
fear they did little good. These men embraced the opportunity of
airing their absurdities, or sowing the seeds of corruption in those
whom otherwise they could never have reached, while their own
hearts and minds were fast shut against all conviction or light.
One infidel Lecturer in the district became very ill. His wife called
me in to visit him. I found him possessed of a circulating library of
infidel books, by which he sought to pervert unwary minds. Though
he had talked and lectured much against the Gospel, he did not at all
really understand its message. He had read the Bible, but only to find
food there for ridicule. Now supposed to be dying, he confessed that
his mind was full of terror as to the Future. After several visits and
frequent conversations and prayers, he became genuinely and deeply
interested, drank in God’s message of salvation, and cried aloud with
many tears for pardon and peace. He bitterly lamented the evil he
had done, and called in all the infidel literature that he had in
circulation, with the purpose of destroying it. He began to speak
solemnly to any of his old companions that came to see him, telling
them what he had found in the Lord Jesus. At his request I bought
and brought to him a Bible, which he received with great joy, saying,
“This is the book for me now;” and adding, “Since you were here last,
I gathered together all my infidel books; my wife locked the door, till
she and my daughter tore them to pieces, and I struck the light that
reduced the pile to ashes.”
As long as he lived, this man was unwearied and unflinching in
testifying, to all that crossed his path, how much Jesus Christ had
been to his heart and soul; and he died in the possession of a full and
blessed hope.
Another Infidel, whose wife was a Roman Catholic, also became
unwell, and gradually sank under great suffering and agony. His
blasphemies against God were known and shuddered at by all the
neighbours. His wife pled with me to visit him. She refused, at my
suggestion, to call her own priest, so I accompanied her at last. The
man refused to hear one word about spiritual things, and foamed
with rage. He even spat at me, when I mentioned the name of Jesus.
“The natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God; for
they are foolishness unto him!” There is a wisdom which is at best
earthly, and at worst “sensual and devilish.” His wife asked me to
take care of the little money they had, as she would not entrust it to
her own priest. I visited the poor man daily, but his enmity to God
and his sufferings together seemed to drive him mad. His yells
gathered crowds on the streets. He tore to pieces his very bed-
clothes, till they had to bind him on the iron bed where he lay,
foaming and blaspheming. Towards the end I pled with him even
then to look to the Lord Jesus, and asked if I might pray with him?
With all his remaining strength, he shouted at me,—
“Pray for me to the devil!”
Reminding him how he had always denied that there was any
devil, I suggested that he must surely believe in one now, else he
would scarcely make such a request, even in mockery. In great rage
he cried,—
“Yes, I believe there is a devil, and a God, and a just God, too; but I
have hated Him in life, and I hate Him in death!”
With these awful words, he wriggled into Eternity; but his
shocking death produced a very serious impression for good,
especially amongst young men, in the district where his character
was known.
How different was the case of that Doctor who also had been an
unbeliever as well as a drunkard! Highly educated, skilful, and gifted
above most in his profession, he was taken into consultation for
specially dangerous cases, whenever they could find him tolerably
sober. After one of his excessive “bouts,” he had a dreadful attack of
delirium tremens. At one time, wife and watchers had a fierce
struggle to dash from his lips a draught of prussic acid; at another,
they detected the silver-hafted lancet concealed in the band of his
shirt, as he lay down, to bleed himself to death. His aunt came and
pled with me to visit him. My heart bled for his poor young wife and
two beautiful little children. Visiting him twice daily, and sometimes
even more frequently, I found the way somehow into his heart, and
he would do almost anything for me and longed for my visits. When
again the fit of self-destruction seized him, they sent for me; he held
out his hand eagerly, and grasping mine, said,—
“Put all these people out of the room, remain you with me; I will be
quiet, I will do everything you ask!”
I got them all to leave, but whispered to one in passing to “keep
near the door.”
Alone I sat beside him, my hand in his, and kept up a quiet
conversation for several hours. After we had talked of everything that
I could think of, and it was now far into the morning, I said,—
“If you had a Bible here, we might read a chapter, verse about.”
He said dreamily, “There was once a Bible above yon press; if you
can get up to it, you might find it there yet.”
Getting it, dusting it, and laying it on a small table which I drew
near to the sofa on which we sat, we read there and then a chapter
together. After this, I said, “Now, shall we pray?”
He replied heartily, “Yes.”
I having removed the little table, we kneeled down together at the
sofa; and after a solemn pause, I whispered, “You pray first.”
He replied, “I curse, I cannot pray; would you have me curse God
to His face?”
I answered, “You promised to do all that I asked; you must pray, or
try to pray, and let me hear that you cannot.”
He said, “I cannot curse God on my knees; let me stand, and I will
curse Him; I cannot pray.”
I gently held him on his knees, saying, “Just try to pray, and let me
hear you cannot.”
Instantly he cried out, “O Lord, Thou knowest I cannot pray,” and
was going to say something dreadful as he strove to rise up. But I just
took the words he had uttered as if they had been my own, and
continued the prayer, pleading for him and his dear ones as we knelt
there together, till he showed that he was completely subdued and
lying low at the feet of God. On rising from our knees he was
manifestly greatly impressed, and I said,—
“Now, as I must be at College by daybreak and must return to my
lodging for my books and an hour’s rest, will you do one thing more
for me before I go?”
“Yes,” was his reply.
“Then,” said I, “it is long since you had a refreshing sleep; now, will
you lie down, and I will sit by you till you fall asleep?”
He lay down, and was soon fast asleep. After commending him to
the care and blessing of the Lord, I quietly slipped out, and his wife
returned to watch by his side. When I came back later in the day,
after my classes were over, he, on hearing my foot and voice, came
running to meet me, and clasping me in his arms, cried,—
“Thank God, I can pray now! I rose this morning refreshed from
sleep, and prayed with my wife and children for the first time in my
life; and now I shall do so every day, and serve God while I live, who
hath dealt in so great mercy with me!”
After delightful conversation, he promised to go with me to Dr.
Symington’s church on Sabbath Day; there he took sittings beside
me; at next half-yearly communion he and his wife were received
into membership, and their children were baptized; and from that
day till his death he led a devoted and most useful Christian life.
Henceforth, as a medical man he delighted to attend all poor and
destitute cases which we brought under his care; he ministered to
them for Jesus’ sake, and spoke to them of their blessed Saviour.
When he came across cases that were hopeless, he sent for me to visit
them too, being as anxious for their souls as for their bodies. He
died, years after this, of consumption, partly at least the fruit of early
excesses; but he was serenely prepared for death, and happy in the
assured hope of eternal blessedness with Christ. He sleeps in Jesus;
and I do believe that I shall meet him in Glory as a trophy of
redeeming grace and love!
In my Mission district, I was the witness of many joyful departures
to be with Jesus,—I do not like to name them “deaths” at all. Even
now, at the distance of nearly forty years, many instances, especially
amongst the young men and women who attended my classes, rise
up before my mind. They left us, rejoicing in the bright assurance
that nothing present or to come “could ever separate them or us from
the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Several of them,
by their conversation even on their deathbed, were known to have
done much good. Many examples might be given; but I can find
room for only one. John Sim, a dear little boy, was carried away by
consumption. His childish heart seemed to be filled with joy about
seeing Jesus. His simple prattle, mingled with deep questionings,
arrested not only his young companions, but pierced the hearts of
some careless sinners who heard him, and greatly refreshed the faith
of God’s dear people. It was the very pathos of song incarnated to
hear the weak quaver of his dying voice sing out,—
“I lay my sins on Jesus,
The spotless Lamb of God.”
Shortly before his decease he said to his parents, “I am going soon

to be with Jesus; but I sometimes fear that I may not see you there.”
“Why so, my child?” said his weeping mother.
“Because,” he answered, “if you were set upon going to heaven and
seeing Jesus there, you would pray about it, and sing about it; you
would talk about Jesus to others, and tell them of that happy meeting
with Him in Glory. All this my dear Sabbath school teacher taught
me, and she will meet me there. Now why did not you, my father and
mother, tell me all these things about Jesus, if you are going to meet
Him too?”
Their tears fell fast over their dying child; and he little knew, in his
unthinking eighth year, what a message from God had pierced their
souls through his innocent words. One day an aunt from the country
visited his mother, and their talk had run in channels for which the
child no longer felt any interest. On my sitting down beside him, he
said,—
“Sit you down and talk with me about Jesus; I am tired hearing so
much talk about everything else but Jesus; I am going soon to be
with Him. Oh, do tell me everything you know or have ever heard
about Jesus, the spotless Lamb of God!”
At last the child literally longed to be away, not for rest, or freedom
from pain—for of that he had very little—but, as he himself always
put it, “to see Jesus.” And, after all, that was the wisdom of the heart,
however he learned it. Eternal life, here or hereafter, is just the vision
of Jesus.
Amongst many of the Roman Catholics in my Mission district,
also, I was very kindly received, and allowed even to read the
Scriptures and to pray. At length, however, a young woman who
professed to be converted by my classes and meetings brought things
to a crisis betwixt them and me. She had renounced her former faith,
was living in a Protestant family, and looked to me as her pastor and
teacher. One night, a closed carriage, with two men and women, was
sent from a Nunnery in Clyde Street, to take her and her little sister
with them. She refused, and declined all authority on their part,
declaring that she was now a Protestant by her own free choice.
During this altercation, a message had been sent for me. On arriving,
I found the house filled with a noisy crowd. Before them all, she
appealed to me for protection from these her enemies. The
Romanists, becoming enraged, jostled me into a corner of the room,
and there enclosed me. The two women pulled her out of bed by
force, for the girl had been sick, and began to dress her, but she
fainted among their hands.
I called out,—
“Do not murder the poor girl! Get her water, quick, quick!” and
leaving my hat on the table, I rushed through amongst them, as if in
search of water, and they let me pass. Knowing that the house had
only one door, I quickly slipped the key from within, shut and locked
the door outside, and with the key in my hand ran to the Police
Office. Having secured two constables to protect the girl and take the
would-be captors into custody, I returned, opened the door, and
found, alas! that these constables were themselves Roman Catholics,
and at once set about frustrating me and assisting their own friends.
The poor sick girl was supported by the arms into the carriage; the
policemen cleared the way through the crowd; and before I could
force my way through the obstructives in the house, the conveyance
was already starting. I appealed and shouted to the crowds to protect
the girl, and seize and take the whole party to the Police Office. A
gentleman in the crowd took my part, and said to a big Highland
policeman in the street,—
“Mac, I commit that conveyance and party to you on a criminal
charge, before witnesses; you will suffer, if they escape.”
The driver lashing at his horse to get away, Mac drew his baton
and struck, when the driver leapt down to the street on the opposite
side, and threw the reins in the policeman’s face. Thereupon our
stalwart friend at once mounted the box, and drove straight for the
Police Office. On arriving there, we discovered that only the women
were inside with the sick girl—the men having escaped in the scuffle
and the crush. What proved more disappointing was that the
lieutenant on duty happened to be a Papist, who, after hearing our
statement and conferring with the parties in the conveyance,
returned, and said,—
“Her friends are taking her to a comfortable home; you have no
right to interfere, and I have let them go.” He further refused to hear
the grounds of our complaint, and ordered the police to clear the
Office.
Next morning, a false and foolish account of the whole affair
appeared in the Newspapers, condemnatory of the Mission and of
myself; a meeting of the directors was summoned, and the
Superintendent came to my lodging to take me before them. Having
heard all, and questioned and cross-questioned me, they resolved to
prosecute the abductors of the girl. The Nunnery authorities
confessed that the little sister was with them, but denied that she had
been taken in there, or that they knew anything of her case. Though
the girl was sought for carefully by the Police, and by all the members
of my class, for nearly a fortnight, no trace of her or of the coachman
or of any of the parties could be discovered; till one day from a cellar,
through a grated window, she called to one of my class girls passing
by, and begged her to run and let me know that she was confined
there. At once, the directors of the City Mission were informed by
me, and Police were sent to rescue her; but on examining that house
they found that she had been again removed. The occupiers denied
all knowledge of where she had gone, or who had taken her away
from their lodging. All other efforts failed to find her, till she was left
at the Poor House door, far gone in dropsy, and soon after died in
that last refuge of the destitute and forsaken.
Anonymous letters were now sent, threatening my life; and I was
publicly cursed from the altar by the priests in Abercromby Street
Chapel. The directors of the Mission, fearing violence, advised me to
leave Glasgow for a short holiday, and even offered to arrange for my
being taken for work in Edinburgh for a year, that the fanatical
passions of the Irish Papists might have time to subside. But I
refused to leave my work. I went on conducting it all as in the past.
The worst thing that happened was, that on rushing one day past a
row of houses occupied exclusively by Papists, a stone thrown from
one of them cut me severely above the eye, and I fell stunned and
bleeding. When I recovered and scrambled to my feet, no person of
course that could be suspected was to be seen! The doctor having
dressed the wound, it rapidly healed, and after a short confinement I
resumed my work and my studies without any further serious
annoyance. Attempts were made more than once, in these Papist
closes, and I believe by the Papists themselves, to pour pails of
boiling water on my head, over windows and down dark stairs, but in
every case I marvellously escaped; and as I would not turn coward,
their malice tired itself out, and they ultimately left me entirely at
peace. Is not this a feature of the lower Irish, and especially Popish
population? Let them see that bullying makes you afraid, and they
will brutally and cruelly misuse you; but defy them fearlessly, or take
them by the nose, and they will crouch like whelps beneath your feet.
Is there anything in their Religion that accounts for this? Is it not a
system of alternating tyranny on the one part, and terror, abject
terror, on the other?
About this same time there was an election of elders for Dr.
Symington’s congregation, and I was by an almost unanimous vote
chosen for that office. For years now I had been attached to them as
City Missionary for their district, and many friends urged me to
accept the eldership, as likely to increase my usefulness, and give me
varied experience for my future work. My dear father, also, himself
an elder in the congregation at Dumfries, advised me similarly; and
though very young, comparatively, for such a post, I did accept the
office, and continued to act as an elder and member of Dr.
Symington’s kirk session, till by-and-by I was ordained as a
Missionary to the New Hebrides, where the great lot of my life had
been cast by the Lord, as yet unknown to me.
All through my City Mission period, I was painfully carrying on my
studies, first at the University of Glasgow, and thereafter at the
Reformed Presbyterian Divinity Hall; and also medical classes at the
Andersonian College. With the exception of one session, when failure
of health broke me down, I struggled patiently on through ten years.
The work was hard and most exacting; and if I never attained the
scholarship for which I thirsted—being but poorly grounded in my
younger days—I yet had much of the blessed Master’s presence in all
my efforts, which many better scholars sorely lacked; and I was
sustained by the lofty aim which burned all these years bright within
my soul, namely,—to be qualified as a preacher of the Gospel of
Christ, to be owned and used by Him for the salvation of perishing
men.
CHAPTER IV.
FOREIGN MISSION CLAIMS.
The Wail of the Heathen.—A Missionary Wanted.—Two Souls on

the Altar.—Lions in the Path.—The Old Folks at Home.—
Successors in Green Street Mission.—Old Green Street Hands.
—A Father in God.
Happy in my work as I felt, and successful by the blessing of God, yet

I continually heard, and chiefly during my last years in the Divinity
Hall, the wail of the perishing Heathen in the South Seas; and I saw
that few were caring for them, while I well knew that many would be
ready to take up my work in Calton, and carry it forward perhaps
with more efficiency than myself. Without revealing the state of my
mind to any person, this was the supreme subject of my daily
meditation and prayer; and this also led me to enter upon those
medical studies, in which I purposed taking the full course; but at the
close of my third year, an incident occurred, which led me at once to
offer myself for the Foreign Mission field.
The Reformed Presbyterian Church of Scotland, in which I had
been brought up, had been advertising for another Missionary to join
the Rev. John Inglis in his grand work in the New Hebrides. Dr.
Bates, the excellent convener of the Heathen Missions Committee,
was deeply grieved, because for two years their appeal had failed. At
length, the Synod, after much prayer and consultation, felt the claims
of the Heathen so urgently pressed upon them by the Lord’s repeated
calls, that they resolved to cast lots, to discover whether God would
thus select any Minister to be relieved from his home-charge, and
designated as a Missionary to the South Seas. Each member of
Synod, as I was informed, agreed to hand in, after solemn appeal to
God, the names of the three best qualified in his esteem for such a
work, and he who had the clear majority was to be loosed from his
congregation, and to proceed to the Mission field—or the first and
second highest, if two could be secured. Hearing this debate, and
feeling an intense interest in these most unusual proceedings, I
remember yet the hushed solemnity of the prayer before the names
were handed in. I remember the strained silence that held the
Assembly while the scrutinizers retired to examine the papers; and I
remember how tears blinded my eyes when they returned to
announce that the result was so indecisive, that it was clear that the
Lord had not in that way provided a Missionary. The cause was once
again solemnly laid before God in prayer, and a cloud of sadness
appeared to fall over all the Synod.
The Lord kept saying within me, “Since none better qualified can
be got, rise and offer yourself!” Almost overpowering was the
impulse to answer aloud, “Here am I, send me.” But I was dreadfully
afraid of mistaking my own emotions for the will of God. So I
resolved to make it a subject of close deliberation and prayer for a
few days longer, and to look at the proposal from every possible
aspect. Besides, I was keenly solicitous about the effect upon the
hundreds of young people and others, now attached to all my classes
and meetings; and yet I felt a growing assurance that this was the call
of God to His servant, and that He who was willing to employ me in
the work abroad, was both able and willing to provide for the on-
carrying of my work at home. The wail and the claims of the Heathen
were constantly sounding in my ears. I saw them perishing for lack of
the knowledge of the true God and His Son Jesus, while my Green
Street people had the open Bible, and all the means of grace within
easy reach, which, if they rejected, they did so wilfully, and at their
own peril. None seemed prepared for the Heathen field; many were
capable and ready for the Calton service. My medical studies, as well
as my literary and divinity training, had specially qualified me in
some ways for the Foreign field, and from every aspect at which I
could look the whole facts in the face, the voice within me sounded
like a voice from God.
It was under good Dr. Bates of West Campbell Street that I had
begun my career in Glasgow—receiving £25 per annum for district
visitation in connection with his congregation, along with instruction
under Mr. Hislop and his staff in the Free Church Normal Seminary
—and oh, how Dr. Bates did rejoice, and even weep for joy, when I
called on him, and offered myself for the New Hebrides Mission! I
returned to my lodging with a lighter heart than I had for some time
enjoyed, feeling that nothing so clears the vision, and lifts up the life,
as a decision to move forward in what you know to be entirely the
will of the Lord. I said to my fellow-student, who had chummed with
me all through our course at college,—
“I have been away signing my banishment” (a rather trifling way of
talk for such an occasion). “I have offered myself as a Missionary for
the New Hebrides.”
After a long and silent meditation, in which he seemed lost in far-
wandering thoughts, his answer was,—
“If they will accept of me, I also am resolved to go!”
I said, “Will you write the convener to that effect, or let me do so?”
He replied, “You may.”
A few minutes later his letter of offer was in the post office. Next
morning, Dr. Bates called upon us early, and after a long
conversation, commended us and our future work to the Lord God in
fervent prayer.
My fellow-student, Mr. Joseph Copeland, had also for some time
been a very successful City Missionary in the Camlachie district,
while attending along with me at the Divinity Hall. This leading of
God, whereby we both resolved at the same time to give ourselves to
the Foreign Mission field, was wholly unexpected by us, as we had
never once spoken to each other about going abroad. At a meeting of
the Heathen Missions Committee, held immediately thereafter, both
were, after due deliberation, formally accepted, on condition that we
passed successfully the usual examinations required of candidates
for the Ministry. And for the next twelve months we were placed
under the special committee for advice as to medical experience,
acquaintance with the rudiments of trades, and anything else which
might be thought useful to us in the Foreign field.
When it became known that I was preparing to go abroad as
Missionary, nearly all were dead against the proposal, except Dr.
Bates and my fellow-student. My dear father and mother, however,
when I consulted them, characteristically replied, “that they had long
since given me away to the Lord, and in this matter also would leave
me to God’s disposal.” From other quarters we were besieged with
the strongest opposition on all sides. Even Dr. Symington, one of my
professors in divinity, and the beloved Minister in connection with
whose congregation I had wrought so long as a City Missionary, and
in whose kirk session I had for years sat as an elder, repeatedly urged
me to remain at home. He argued, “that Green Street Church was
doubtless the sphere for which God had given me peculiar
qualifications, and in which He had so largely blessed my labours;
that if I left those now attending my classes and meetings, they might
be scattered, and many of them would probably fall away; that I was
leaving certainty for uncertainty—work in which God had made me
greatly useful, for work in which I might fail to be useful, and only
throw away my life amongst Cannibals.”
I replied, “that my mind was finally resolved; that, though I loved
my work and my people, yet I felt that I could leave them to the care
of Jesus, who would soon provide them a better pastor than I; and
that, with regard to my life amongst the Cannibals, as I had only once
to die, I was content to leave the time and place and means in the
hand of God, who had already marvellously preserved me when
visiting cholera patients and the fever-stricken poor; on that score I
had positively no further concern, having left it all absolutely to the
Lord, whom I sought to serve and honour, whether in life or by
death.”
The house connected with my Green Street Church, was now
offered to me for a Manse, and any reasonable salary that I cared to
ask (as against the promised £120 per annum for the far-off and
dangerous New Hebrides), on condition that I would remain at
home. I cannot honestly say that such offers or opposing influences
proved a heavy trial to me; they rather tended to confirm my
determination that the path of duty was to go abroad. Amongst many
who sought to deter me, was one dear old Christian gentleman,
whose crowning argument always was,—
“The Cannibals! you will be eaten by Cannibals!”
At last I replied, “Mr. Dickson, you are advanced in years now, and
your own prospect is soon to be laid in the grave, there to be eaten by
worms; I confess to you, that if I can but live and die serving and
honouring the Lord Jesus, it will make no difference to me whether I
am eaten by Cannibals or by worms; and in the Great Day my
resurrection body will arise as fair as yours in the likeness of our
risen Redeemer.”
The old gentleman, raising his hands in a deprecating attitude, left
the room exclaiming,—
“After that I have nothing more to say!”
My dear Green Street people grieved excessively at the thought of
my leaving them, and daily pled with me to remain. Indeed, the
opposition was so strong from nearly all, and many of them warm
Christian friends, that I was sorely tempted to question whether I
was carrying out the Divine will, or only some headstrong wish of my
own. This also caused me much anxiety, and drove me close to God
in prayer. But again every doubt would vanish, when I clearly saw
that all at home had free access to the Bible and the means of grace,
with Gospel light shining all around them, while the poor Heathen
were perishing, without even the chance of knowing all God’s love
and mercy to men. Conscience said louder and clearer every day,
“Leave all these results with Jesus your Lord, who said, ‘Go ye into all
the world, preach the gospel to every creature, and lo! I am with you
alway.’” These words kept ringing in my ears; these were our
marching orders.
Some retorted upon me, “There are Heathen at home; let us seek
and save, first of all, the lost ones perishing at our doors.” This I felt
to be most true, and an appalling fact; but I unfailingly observed that
those who made this retort neglected these home Heathen
themselves; and so the objection, as from them, lost all its power.
They would ungrudgingly spend more on a fashionable party at
dinner or tea, on concert or ball or theatre, or on some ostentatious
display, or worldly and selfish indulgence, ten times more, perhaps
in a single day, than they would give in a year, or in half a lifetime,
for the conversion of the whole Heathen World, either at home or
abroad. Objections from all such people must, of course, always
count for nothing among men to whom spiritual things are realities.
For these people themselves,—I do, and always did, only pity them,
as God’s stewards, making such a miserable use of time and money
entrusted to their care.
On meeting with so many obstructing influences, I again laid the
whole matter before my dear parents, and their reply was to this
effect:—“Heretofore we feared to bias you, but now we must tell you
why we praise God for the decision to which you have been led. Your
father’s heart was set upon being a Minister, but other claims forced
him to give it up. When you were given to them, your father and
mother laid you upon the altar, their first-born, to be consecrated, if
God saw fit, as a Missionary of the Cross; and it has been their
constant prayer that you might be prepared, qualified, and led to this
very decision; and we pray with all our heart that the Lord may
accept your offering, long spare you, and give you many souls from
the Heathen World for your hire.” From that moment, every doubt as
to my path of duty for ever vanished. I saw the hand of God very
visibly, not only preparing me for, but now leading me to, the
Foreign Mission field.
Well did I know that the sympathy and prayers of my dear parents
were warmly with me in all my studies and in all my Mission work;
but for my education they could, of course, give me no money help.
All through, on the contrary, it was my pride and joy to help them,
being the eldest in a family of eleven. First, I assisted them to
purchase the family cow, without whose invaluable aid my ever-
memorable mother never could have reared and fed her numerous
flock; then, I paid for them the house-rent and the cow’s grass on the
Bank Hill, till some of the others grew up and relieved me by paying
these in my stead; and finally, I helped to pay the school-fees, to
provide clothing—in short I gave, and gladly, what could possibly be
saved out of my City Mission salary of £40, ultimately advanced to
£45 per annum. Self-educated thus, and without the help of one
shilling from any other source, readers will easily imagine that I had
many a staggering difficulty to overcome in my long curriculum in
Arts, Divinity, and Medicine; but God so guided me, and blessed all
my little arrangements, that I never incurred one farthing of personal
debt. There was, however, a heavy burden always pressing upon me,
and crushing my spirit from the day I left my home, which had been
thus incurred.
The late owner of the Dalswinton estate allowed, as a prize, the
cottager who had the tidiest house and most beautiful flower-garden
to sit rent free. For several years in succession, my old sea-faring
grandfather won this prize, partly by his own handy skill, partly by
his wife’s joy in flowers. Unfortunately no clearance-receipt had been
asked or given for these rents—the proprietor and his cottars treating
each other as friends rather than as men of business. The new heir,
unexpectedly succeeding, found himself in need of money, and
threatened prosecution for such rents as arrears. The money had to
be borrowed. A money-lending lawyer gave it at usurious interest, on
condition of my father also becoming responsible for interest and
principal. This burden hung like a millstone around my grandfather’s
neck till the day of his death; and it then became suspended round
my father’s neck alone. The lawyer, on hearing of my giving up trade
and entering upon study, threatened to prosecute my father for the
capital, unless my name were given along with his for security. Every
shilling that I or any of us could save, all through these ten years of
my preparatory classes, went to pay off that interest and gradually to
reduce the capital; and this burden we managed, amongst us, to
extinguish just on the eve of my departure for the South Seas.
Indeed, one of the purest joys connected with that time was that I
received my first Foreign Mission salary and outfit money in
advance, and could send home a sum sufficient to wipe out the last
penny of a claim by that money-lender or by any one else against my
beloved parents, in connection with the noble struggle they had
made in rearing so large a family in thorough Scottish independence.
And that joy was hallowed by the knowledge that my other brothers
and sisters were now all willing and able to do what I had been doing
—for we stuck to each other and to the old folks like burs, and had all
things “in common,” as a family in Christ—and I knew that never
again, howsoever long they might be spared through a peaceful
autumn of life, would the dear old father and mother lack any joy or
comfort that the willing hands and loving hearts of all their children
could singly or unitedly provide. For all this I did praise the Lord. It
consoled me, beyond description, in parting from them, probably for
ever in this world at least.
The Directors of Glasgow City Mission along with the Great
Hamilton Street congregation, had made every effort to find a
suitable successor to me in my Green Street work, but in vain.
Despairing of success, as no inexperienced worker could with any
hope undertake it, Rev. Mr. Caie, the superintendent, felt moved to
appeal to my brother Walter,—then in a good business situation in
the city, who had been of late closely associated with me in all my
undertakings,—if he would not come to the rescue, devote himself to
the Mission, and prepare for the Holy Ministry. My brother resigned
a good position and excellent prospects in the business world, set
himself to carry forward the Green Street Mission and did so with
abundant energy and manifest blessing, persevered in his studies,
despite a long-continued illness through injury to his foot, and
became an honoured Minister of the Gospel, in the Reformed
Presbyterian Church first of all, and now in the Free Church of
Scotland, at Chapelton, near Hamilton.
On my brother withdrawing from Green Street, God provided for
the district a devoted young Minister, admirably adapted for the
work, Rev. John Edgar, M.A., who succeeded in drawing together
such a body of people that they hived off and built a new church in
Landressy Street, which is now, by amalgamation, known as the
Barrowfield Free Church of Glasgow. For that fruit too, while giving
all praise to other devoted workers, we bless God as we trace the
history of our Green Street Mission. Let him that soweth and him
that reapeth rejoice unfeignedly together! The spirit of the old Green
Street workers lives on too, as I have already said, in the new
premises erected close thereby; and in none more conspicuously
than in the son of my staunch patron and friend, another Thomas
Binnie, Esq., who in Foundry Boy meetings and otherwise devotes
the consecrated leisure of a busy and prosperous life to the direct
personal service of his Lord and Master. The blessing of Jehovah
God be ever upon that place, and upon all who there seek to win their
fellows to the love and service of Jesus Christ!
When I left Glasgow, many of the young men and women of my
classes would, if it had been possible, have gone with me, to live and
die among the Heathen. Though chiefly working girls and lads in
trades and mills, their deep interest led them to unite their pence
and sixpences and to buy web after web of calico, print, and woollen
stuffs, which they themselves shaped and sewed into dresses for the
women, and kilts and pants for men, on the New Hebrides. This
continued to be repeated year by year, long after I had left them; and
to this day no box from Glasgow goes to the New Hebrides Mission
which does not contain article after article from one or other of the
old Green Street hands. I do certainly anticipate that, when they and
I meet in Glory, those days in which we learned the joy of Christian
service in the Green Street Mission Halls will form no unwelcome
theme of holy and happy converse!
That able and devoted Minister of the Gospel, Dr. Bates, the
Convener of the Heathen Missions, had taken the deepest and most
fatherly interest in all our preparations. But on the morning of our
final examinations he was confined to bed with sickness; yet could
not be content without sending his daughter to wait in an adjoining
room near the Presbytery House, to learn the result, and instantly to
carry him word. When she, hurrying home, informed him that we
both had passed successfully, and that the day of our ordination as
Missionaries to the New Hebrides had been appointed, the apostolic
old man praised God for the glad tidings, and said his work was now
done, and that he could depart in peace,—having seen two devoted
men set apart to preach the Gospel to these dark and bloody Islands
in answer to his prayers and tears for many a day. Thereafter he
rapidly sank, and soon fell asleep in Jesus. He was from the first a
very precious friend to me, one of the ablest Ministers our Church
ever had, by far the warmest advocate of her Foreign Missions, and
altogether a most attractive, white-souled, and noble specimen of an
ambassador for Christ, beseeching men to be reconciled to God.
Stanford’s Geog. Estabt.,
London.

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Papers on Quintilian and Ancient

Declamation Michael Winterbottom

M I C HA E L WIN TE RBO TTO M

In the late spring of 1954, a promising Oxford undergraduate was working

⁵ Winterbottom (1982), 254 6 (= A.5 below, pp. 78 9); my italics.

¹¹ Håkanson Winterbottom (2015); Winterbottom (2017d) and (2018).

* = included in this volume. Periodicals are abbreviated according to L’Année

¹ Reissued in 2002 with a new bibliographical foreword.

20. William of Malmesbury. Gesta pontiﬁcum Anglorum, vol. 1 (Oxford, 2007).³

1. ‘Almeloveen’s manuscript of Quintilian’, CR  12 (1962), 121–2.

22. ‘The manuscript tradition of Tacitus’ Germania’, CPh 70 (1975), 1–7.

51. ‘Conjectures on some insular texts’, in D. Conso, N. Fick, and B. Poulle

98. ‘Lennart Håkanson: der Mensch, der Gelehrte’, in L. Håkanson,

1. A. E. Douglas, M. Tulli Ciceronis Brutus (Oxford, 1966), CR  17

3. G. Luck, Untersuchungen zur Textgeschichte Ovids (Heidelberg, 1969),

23. K. M. Coleman, J. Diggle, J. B. Hall, and H. D. Jocelyn (eds.),

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