Works 1

Whoever, I pray, desires to learn the ways of civic life, let him read these precepts which this book contains. King Charles, amid the cares of the court, wrote these things, and Albinus together with him: the one provided them, the other approves. One work of both, but the purpose of the two unequal: the one is the father of the world, the other a needy dweller within it. Do not despise the book, reader, for its small size: in a very small body the bee carries honey to you. Since God, venerable master Albinus, has brought you here and led you back, I ask that it be permitted me to question you a little concerning the precepts of the rhetorical art; for I remember that you once said that the whole force of that art is engaged in civil questions.

But, as you know very well, on account of the affairs of the kingdom and the cares of the palace we are wont to be constantly engaged in questions of this kind, and it seems ridiculous not to have known the precepts of that art with whose practice one must daily be involved. Indeed, ever since by a few of your responses you partly opened to me the doors of the rhetorical art and the bars of dialectical subtlety, you made me very intent upon those studies, especially because the other day you shrewdly led me into the storerooms of the discipline of arithmetic and illumined me with the splendor of astronomy. (A.)

God, my lord King Charles, has illumined you with every light of wisdom and adorned you with the brilliance of knowledge, so that you can not only readily follow the talents of masters, but even in many things swiftly outrun them; and although the spark of my small wit can add nothing to the flame-spewing light of your wisdom, nevertheless, lest any should brand me as disobedient, I answer your questions all too readily — and would that I might do so as shrewdly as obediently. (Ch.) First, master, lay open to me the beginning of this art or study. (A.) I shall lay it open, according to the authority of the ancients. For there was, as it is said, a certain time when men wandered here and there in the fields after the manner of beasts, and managed nothing by the reason of the mind, but did most things by the strength of the body.

Not yet was the order of divine religion or of human duty cultivated, but blind and reckless desire, ruling as mistress, abused the strength of the body to satisfy itself. At which time a certain man, great indeed and wise, recognized what material and how great an opportunity for the greatest things lay within the minds of men, if anyone could draw it forth and, by instructing it, render it better. He, by a certain reasoning, gathered into one place the men scattered in the fields and hidden in woodland shelters, and brought them together; and leading them on to each useful and honorable thing, though at first they protested on account of its unfamiliarity, then, as they listened more eagerly because of his reason and his eloquence, he rendered them from wild and savage into gentle and meek.

And to me indeed it seems, my lord king, that a wisdom neither silent nor lacking in eloquence could have accomplished this, namely, to turn men suddenly away from their habit and lead them over to the various rational ways of life. (Ch.) Whence is rhetoric so called? (A.) From 'apo tou retoreuein,' that is, from abundance of speaking. (Ch.) To what end does it look? (A.) To the science of speaking well. (Ch.) In what matters is it engaged? (A.) In civil, that is, in learned questions, which can be conceived by the natural ingenuity of the mind. For just as it is natural to all to defend themselves and to strike another, even if they have not learned by arms and training, so it is almost natural to all to accuse others and to clear themselves, even if they have not learned by practice.

But those use speech more usefully and more readily who are instructed in the disciplines and exercised by practice; for it is natural to all to speak, yet he greatly surpasses others who speaks by the rule of grammar. (Ch.) You speak well, master; indeed our whole life advances by the disciplines and is strengthened by use; therefore lay open to us the rules of this rhetorical discipline: now the daily necessity of our occupations compels us to be exercised in them. And first tell how many are the parts of that art. (A.) The parts of the rhetorical art are five: invention, arrangement, expression, memory, delivery. Invention is the devising of true or probable things which render the cause plausible. Arrangement is the distribution into order of the things invented.

Expression is the fitting of suitable words to the invention. Memory is the firm perception by the mind of the matters and words belonging to the invention. Delivery is the regulation of voice and body in accordance with the dignity of the matters and words. For first one must invent what to say, then arrange what one has invented, then unfold in words what one has arranged, fourthly grasp by memory what one has invented and arranged and clothed in speech, and lastly and supremely deliver what one has grasped by memory. (Ch.) If rhetoric is engaged in civil causes and questions, it is necessary, as it seems to me, that the causes themselves have definite kinds, which I would have wished to know and to have shown me by examples. (A.)

The rhetorical art is engaged in three kinds, that is, the demonstrative, the deliberative, and the judicial. The demonstrative kind is that which is assigned to the praise or blame of some particular person, as is read in Genesis concerning Abel and Cain: 'The Lord looked upon Abel and upon his gifts, but upon Cain and his gifts he looked not.' The deliberative is in persuasion and dissuasion, as is read in Kings, how Achitophel persuaded that David be destroyed more swiftly, and how Chushai dissuaded his counsel, that he might save the king.

The judicial is that in which there is accusation and defense, as we read in the Acts of the Apostles, how the Jews, together with a certain orator Tertullus, accused Paul before the governor Felix, and how Paul defended himself before the same governor. For in judicial cases it is more often asked what is just; in the demonstrative it is understood what is honorable; in the deliberative it is considered what is honorable and useful. (Ch.) How many circumstances has a cause? (A.) A complete cause has seven circumstances: person, deed, time, place, manner, occasion, means.

In the person it is asked who did it; in the deed, what he did; in the time, when he did it; in the place, where it was done; in the manner, how it could have been done; in the occasion, why he willed to do it; in the means, whether the power of doing was available to him. For by these a cause can be both confirmed and weakened. For in vain do you ask in controversies what was done, if the person of the doer is lacking; and again in vain do you point out the person, if the deed is not attached to the person. Likewise, such a thing could not be done at such a time or in such a place; likewise it could not have been done in the manner you assert; nor for that reason did he wish to do it; nor did such a man have such power that he could have done this. (Ch.) How many are the topics of controversies? (A.)

The topics of controversies, which the rhetoricians call the 'states' of causes — that is, where the question stands and where the parties first fail to agree — are either rational or legal. (Ch.) How many are the rational ones? (A.) Four, that is, of fact, or of name, or of quality, or of transference. (Ch.) Bring forth examples of each. (A.) The first is the controversy of the fact itself, as: 'You did it'; 'I did not do it.' And this first controversy, which consists in the fact, is called the conjectural constitution, because the matter is to be explored by conjectures, whether he did it or not. Or, when the litigants agree about the fact, then they often introduce a controversy of name, because the accuser strives to magnify the crime from its name, and the defender to diminish it.

For example, if someone has stolen a sacred thing from a private place, whether he is to be named a thief or a sacrilegious person. The defender wishes him to be a thief, because a thief pays fourfold; the accuser, a sacrilegious person, because a sacrilegious person is punished with death. And this constitution is called definitive, because what a thief is and what a sacrilegious person is must be defined by reason, and it must be seen into whose definition he falls who has stolen a sacred thing from a private place. But if accuser and defender agree about the fact and about the name of the fact, then the estimation of the fact must be sought, that is, of what sort the deed is — just or unjust, useful or useless. And this constitution is called general, of which the example is:

A certain Roman general, when he was besieged by his enemies and could in no way escape, made a pact with the foe that he would hand over his arms; but when the arms had been handed over, he led out his army safe. He is accused by certain persons of being guilty of treason. Here both parties agree about the fact and about the name of the fact, but it is asked of what sort the deed is, in this way: whether it were better to lose the soldiers or to come to this most shameful condition. Of this constitution there are several parts, of which we shall speak afterward. In the fourth constitution, which we name translative, it is asked whether he who did the thing ought to do it, or at that time, or in that manner, or in that place, or with those with whom he did it: as if Orestes were accused of having killed his mother Clytemnestra —

that the son did not justly kill the mother, although she had killed Agamemnon his father, king of the Greeks. Here it must be asked by transference whether he had acted justly or not. (Ch.) Once the state of the cause has been found, how is the state itself then to be considered? (A.) When the constitution of the cause has been discovered, it at once seems good to consider whether the question of the cause is simple or joined. A simple question is one which contains within itself a single question, in this way: 'Shall we declare war on the Corinthians or not?' A joined question is one which consists of several questions, in this fashion: 'Whether Carthage should be destroyed, or restored to the Carthaginians, or a colony settled there.' (Ch.) But now confirm the legal constitutions with examples. (A.)

It must be considered, as I have already said, whether the controversy is in reason or in writing. For the controversy of writing is that which arises from a written law, in this way: A law: 'Those who in an adverse storm abandon the ship shall lose everything, and the cargo and the ship shall belong to those who remain in it.' Two men, when they were sailing on the deep — the ship belonging to one and the cargo to the other — moved by mercy, took up into the ship a certain shipwrecked man who was swimming.

Afterward the storm began to toss them too somewhat more violently, to such a degree that the owner of the ship, who was also the helmsman, fled into the small boat which was tied fast to the ship (and from there helped the ship as much as he could); but he whose merchandise it was fell upon his sword there in the ship; and the shipwrecked man went to the rudder and steered the ship. With the storm calmed, the ship is brought into harbor. He who had fallen upon his sword, being lightly wounded, recovered from his wound. Each man claimed the ship with the cargo of these three as his own, according to the written law. And here a question arises from the writing — whose the ship is — once definitions are applied: what it is to abandon the ship, and what it is to remain in the ship.

Likewise ambiguity in a written law often produces a question, in this way: 'Let no prostitute possess a crown; if she possesses one, let it be confiscated.' Here there is ambiguity in the writing — whether the prostitute or the crown is to be confiscated. From contrary laws too a question often arises, when concerning one matter one law provides one way and another otherwise. A law: 'Whoever shall kill a tyrant, let him ask of the magistrate whatever thing he wills in place of a reward, and he shall receive it.' Another: 'When a tyrant has been killed, let the magistrate also put to death five of his nearest kinsmen.' Thebe, his own wife, by night killed Alexander, who had seized the tyranny in Thessaly. She demands for herself, in place of a reward, her son whom she had by the tyrant. There are some who say that the boy ought by law to be killed;

there are some who say he ought to be given back to his mother in place of a reward. The matter is in court. And here it must be considered which law pertains to the greater utility, and which was written first, and what legislators each had. A controversy arises from the writing and the intention, when one party uses the very words which are written, the other adds every interpretation to that which he will say the writer intended; as: a law forbids opening the gates by night. A certain man opens them and receives friends into the town, lest they be overwhelmed by the enemy if they remained outside. The accuser presses the letter alone; the defender, the intention: that the writer of the law had ordered the gates of the town to be closed against enemies, not against friends.

Questions arise through reasoning or through the definition of a law, when one party strives to interpret the writing by one reasoning, the other by another, or if they attempt to define the writer's intention in a different manner; and questions of this kind, as I have said, arise from the writing. (Ch.) Once the topic of the controversy has been examined according to what you have said — whether it be in reason or in writing — whither is the mind then to be directed? (A.) One must see what the question, what the reason, what the judication, and what the foundation of the cause is. (Ch.) Speak of each of these. (A.) The question is the constitution in which the disputation of the cause consists, in this way: 'You did not act lawfully'; 'I acted lawfully.'

The reason is that which the accused uses to show why he acted lawfully; as Orestes, if he were accused of matricide, has no defense unless he says this: 'I acted lawfully, for she had killed my father.' The judication is the sum drawn from the reason, of this kind: whether it were right that the mother be killed by Orestes, when she had killed Orestes' father. The foundation is the firmest argument of the defender; as if Orestes should wish to say that the mind of his mother toward his father, toward himself, toward the kingdom, and toward his whole race was such that her own children above all ought to have exacted punishment from her. (Ch.) Of the general constitution you said before that it had several parts: those I ask that you lay open to me, master, and confirm by examples through each one, while I keep silent and approve.

(A.) I shall do so; for that controversy which asks of what sort that deed is which is charged against the accused is called the general constitution, and it has two parts, the juridical and the negotial. The negotial is that in which it is considered what is lawful according to civil custom and equity — over whose careful handling the judges preside — and it has involved within it a controversy of civil law, in this way: A certain man, while he had no son, made a ward his heir. But the ward died before the inheritance had come into his power. A controversy arises from the second heirs of the father: 'The possession is ours.' The claim of the ward's kinsmen is: 'The money is ours, concerning which our kinsman did not make a testament.' The rebuttal is:

'Nay, it is ours, who are heirs by the father's testament.' The question is, whose it is. The reason: 'For the father wrote the testament for the ward, wherefore the things that are his must of necessity become ours.' The weakening of the reason: 'Nay, the father wrote a second heir for himself, not for the ward; wherefore the inheritance cannot be yours by the testament of the ward.' The judication: whether anyone can make a testament concerning the property of a ward who is a son; or whether the second heirs of the head of the family himself, and not also of his son the ward, are heirs. The juridical is that in which the reckoning of the just and the unjust, and of reward or punishment, is sought. Of this there are two parts, the absolute and the assumptive: the absolute, which contains within itself the question of right and wrong, in this way.

When the Thebans had overcome the Lacedaemonians in war, and it was nearly the custom among the Greeks, when they had waged war among themselves, that those who had conquered should set up some trophy on the borders — merely for the sake of declaring the victory at the present time, not that the memory of the war should remain forever — they set up a trophy of bronze. They are accused before the common council of Greece. The claim is: 'It was not fitting.' The rebuttal is: 'It was fitting.' The question is: 'Was it fitting?' The reason is: 'For that glory we won from the war by our valor; that its eternal emblems might be left to our descendants, we set up the trophy.' The weakening is: 'But nevertheless Greeks ought not to set up against Greeks an eternal monument of enmities.' The judication is:

when Greeks, for the sake of celebrating the highest valor, set up against Greeks an eternal monument of enmities, did they act rightly or not? The assumptive is when the deed itself cannot be proved, but is defended by some argument assumed from without. Of this there are four parts: comparison, transference of the crime, removal of the crime, and concession. Comparison is when some other deed, right or useful, is contended for — that, in order that it might be done, the thing which is charged is said to have been committed; as in that example which we set forth a little before. When a Roman general was besieged by the enemy, and could in no way escape unless he made a pact to give the enemy his arms: with the arms given, he preserved the soldiers, but afterward is accused of treason.

The claim is: 'It was not fitting to give up the arms.' The rebuttal is: 'It was fitting.' The question is: 'Was it fitting?' The reason is: 'For all the soldiers would have perished if I had not done this.' The weakening is: 'You did not do it on that account.' From which the judication is: would they have perished, and did he do it on that account? Comparison: whether it were better to come to this most shameful condition, or for the soldiers to perish. Transference of the crime is when the accused, having confessed the thing which is charged, shows that, induced by another's sin, he acted lawfully. It is of this kind. Horatius, after the three Curiatii were slain and two of his brothers lost, returned home a victor. He noticed that his sister was not grieving over the death of the brothers, but repeatedly calling upon the name of Curiatius her betrothed with groaning and lamentation.

Taking it ill, he killed the maiden; he is accused. The claim is: 'You unjustly killed your sister.' The rebuttal: 'I justly killed her.' The question is: 'Did he kill her justly?' The reason is: 'For she mourned the death of the enemy, neglected that of her brothers, and was grieved that I and the Roman people had conquered.' The weakening is: 'Nevertheless, the sister ought not to have been put to death by her brother uncondemned.' From which the judication arises: when Horatia neglected the death of her brothers, mourned that of the enemy, and did not rejoice at the victory of her brother and of the commonwealth, ought she to have been killed by her brother uncondemned? Removal of the crime is when the intention of the deed, which is brought by the adversary, is shifted onto another person or onto another crime. This is done in two ways: for now the cause, now the thing itself is removed.

Let this serve us as an example of the removal of the cause: The Rhodians sent certain men as envoys to Athens; to the envoys the quaestors had not given the expense money which ought to have been given; the envoys did not set out, and are accused. The claim is: 'It was fitting to set out.' The rebuttal is: 'It was not fitting.' The question is: 'Was it fitting?' The reason is: 'For the expense money, which is wont to be given from the public treasury, was not given to these men by the quaestor.' The weakening is: 'Yet you ought to have accomplished that which had been given to you as public business.' The judication is: when, to those who were envoys, the expense money owed from the public treasury was not given, ought they nonetheless to have accomplished the embassy?

But the removal of the thing itself takes place when the accused denies that what is laid to his charge pertained either to himself or to his office, nor, if there be any fault in it, that it ought to be attributed to him. That kind of cause is of this sort: In that treaty which was once made with the Samnites, a certain noble youth held the pig at the command of the commander; but when the treaty was disapproved by the senate and the commander was handed over to the Samnites, a certain man in the senate says that he too, who had held the pig, ought to be handed over. The claim is: he ought to be handed over. The rebuttal is: 'He ought not.' The question is: 'Ought he?'

The reason: 'For it was not my office nor my power, since I was not of that age and was a private person, and with the highest authority and power the commander gave the command, he who was to see to it that a treaty honorable enough should be struck.' The weakening is: 'But indeed, since you became a participant in a most shameful treaty of the highest religious solemnity, it is fitting that you be handed over.' The judication is: when he who had no power took part, at the commander's command, in a treaty and in so great a religious solemnity, whether he ought to be handed over to the enemy or not. This kind of cause differs from the previous one in that, in that case, the accused concedes that he ought to have done what the accuser says ought to have been done, but attributes that cause to some thing or person which was a hindrance to his own will;

but in this case he ought not to accuse another, nor transfer the blame onto another, but to show that the matter pertained nothing to himself, nor to his power, nor to his office, nor pertains. Concession is that through which the deed itself is not justified by the accused, but it is asked that he be pardoned. Of this there are two parts, purgation and deprecation. Purgation is that through which, of him who is accused, not the deed itself but the will is defended. It has three parts: imprudence, chance, and necessity. Imprudence is when it is denied that he who is charged had known something; as: Among certain people there was a law that no one should sacrifice a calf to Diana.

Certain sailors, when they were being tossed on the deep by an adverse storm, vowed that, if they should gain possession of the harbor which they could see, they would sacrifice a calf to the god who was there. By chance there was in that harbor a shrine of that very Diana, to whom it was not permitted to sacrifice a calf. Being unaware of the law, when they had disembarked, they sacrificed a calf; they are accused. The claim is: 'You sacrificed a calf to that god to whom it was not permitted.' The rebuttal is deposited in the concession. The reason is: 'I did not know it was not permitted.' The weakening is: 'Yet, since you did what was not permitted by law, you are worthy of punishment.' The judication is: when he did what he ought not to have done, and did not know that it ought not to be done, is he worthy of punishment?

But chance is brought into the concession when it is shown that some force of fortune stood in the way of the will, as in this case: When the Lacedaemonians had a law that, unless a contractor furnished victims for a certain sacrifice, it should be a capital offense, he who had contracted to furnish the victims, when the day of the sacrifice was at hand, began to drive the victims into the city from the country; when suddenly the river Eurotas, which flows past Lacedaemon, stirred up by great storms, became so great and violent that the victims could in no way be brought across it. The contractor, in order to show his own willingness, stationed all the victims on the shore, so that those who were across the river could see them.

Although all knew, through his zeal, that the sudden swelling of the river had been a hindrance, nevertheless certain men summoned him on a capital charge. The claim is: 'The victims which you owed were not at hand for the sacrifice.' The rebuttal: concession. The reason: 'For the river suddenly rose, and on that account they could not be brought across.' The weakening: 'Yet, since what the law commands was not done, you are worthy of punishment.' The judication is: when in this matter the contractor did something contrary to the law, in which matter the sudden greatness of the river stood in the way of his zeal, is he worthy of punishment? But necessity is brought in when the accused is defended on the ground that he did what he did by some force, in this way. There is a law among the Rhodians that, if any beaked ship be caught in the harbor, it should be confiscated.

When a great storm was raging on the high sea, the force of the winds drove the ship into the harbour of the Rhodians against the will of the sailors. The quaestor declares the ship to be public property; the owner of the ship denies that it ought to be confiscated. The point at issue is: 'a beaked warship was seized in the harbour.' The defence is by way of admission; the plea is: 'we were driven into the harbour by force and necessity.' The rebuttal is: 'nevertheless, by the law the ship ought to belong to the state.' The question for judgement is: since the law has confiscated any beaked warship seized in a harbour, and since this ship was cast into the harbour against the sailors' will by the force of the storm, ought it to be confiscated?

There is the plea for mercy (deprecatio), when the accused confesses both that he has done wrong and that he did wrong deliberately, yet asks nonetheless to be pardoned. This kind of case can very rarely arise, for in it there is contained not a defence of the deed but a request for pardon. This kind can scarcely be sustained in court, for the reason that, once the offence has been granted, it is difficult to obtain pardon from him whose duty it is to punish offences. Behold, you now have an account of the topics of questions, of the status of cases, and of the parts of instruction, all of which you recognize from daily practice as nature reveals it. Charlemagne: I shall recognize them, if the Creator of natures helps me; and yet I still have something to ask of you. Alcuin: Ask what you please; I shall go wherever you lead me. Charlemagne: How many persons are commonly involved in trials? Alcuin: Four:

the accuser of the case, the defender of the case, the witnesses, and the judge. Charlemagne: What function does each of them perform? Alcuin: The judge employs equity, the witnesses truth, the accuser the charge in order to enlarge the case, the defender extenuation in order to lessen the case — unless perchance the case happens to be one of praise or of a petition for reward: then, with the order reversed, the accuser must use extenuation and the defender amplification. Charlemagne: In how many ways is the amplifying or extenuating of a case accomplished? Alcuin: In two: by impulse (inpulsio) or by deliberation (ratiocinatio).

Impulse is that which, without reflection, urges a man to do something through some affection of the mind — such as love, anger, grief, drunkenness, and altogether all states in which the mind appears so affected that it could not examine the matter with counsel and care, and did what it did rather by a certain rush of feeling than by deliberation. Deliberation is a careful and considered weighing of whether to do something or not to do it.

Deliberation will be said to have been present whenever the mind appears, for a definite reason, to have avoided or pursued the doing or not doing of something: if something is said to have been done for the sake of friendship, or for taking vengeance on an enemy, or out of fear, or for glory, or for money — in short, to embrace all cases by their kinds, for the sake of retaining, increasing, or obtaining some advantage, or on the contrary for the sake of rejecting, diminishing, or avoiding some disadvantage. Charlemagne: In what manner ought the accuser or the defender to make use of impulse or deliberation? Alcuin:

Therefore, when the accuser asserts that something was done through impulse, he must, by words and sentences, magnify that rush and a certain agitation and affection of the mind, and show how great is the power of love, how great a disturbance of the mind arises from anger or from any one of those causes by which he says the man was impelled to do the deed — so that it may seem no wonder if a mind stirred by such a disturbance proceeded to some crime; and he must confirm it by examples of past deeds, where others under a like impulse committed something similar. But when he asserts that someone committed a thing not by impulse but by deliberation, he must show what advantage he pursued or what disadvantage he fled, and magnify this as much as possible, so that:

if it was for the sake of glory, how great a glory he supposed he would obtain; likewise if for the sake of domination, or of money, or of friendship, or of enmities; and in general whatever there will be that he says benefits the case, this he ought to magnify to the utmost. The defender, on the contrary, will first say either that there was no impulse at all, or, if he grants that there was, he will extenuate it and show that it was something very small, or he will argue that deeds of this kind are not wont to arise from it. As for deliberation, he will weaken its suspicions, if he argues either that there was no advantage, or only a small one, or one greater for others, or none greater for himself than for others:

or he will say that the disadvantage to himself was greater than the advantage, so that the magnitude of that advantage which is said to have been sought could by no means be compared either with the disadvantage that resulted, or with the danger that was incurred. All these same topics will be handled in like manner in the matter of avoiding disadvantage. Charlemagne: Since you have spoken of the persons in cases, tell me, I beg, the places of each of them. Alcuin: I shall tell you, although this pertains not so much to the precepts of the art as to the decorum of office. The judge sits on the tribunal, the case placed in the midst before him for praise or for penalty — as it might be, the defence or the betrayal of one's fatherland; the accuser stands to the left of the case and the defender to the right, the witnesses behind. Charlemagne: Do each of them have their own insignia? Alcuin: They do.

The judge must be armed with the sceptre of equity, the accuser with the dagger of malice, the defender with the shield of piety, the witnesses with the trumpet of truth. Charlemagne: Even when all these circumstances surrounding the case have been found, what then must be sought, master? Alcuin: What else but the several parts of the whole case? Charlemagne: What and how many those are, I desire to hear. Alcuin: For there are six parts by which the orator must arrange the speech of a case: the exordium (introduction), the narration, the partition, the confirmation, the refutation, and the conclusion. Charlemagne: What is the exordium? Alcuin: It is a speech that suitably prepares the hearer's mind for the rest of what is to be said. Charlemagne: How is this accomplished? Alcuin: First, so that you make the hearer well-disposed, attentive, and receptive. Charlemagne:

As it seems to me, this must above all be taken care of, that the hearer be made well-disposed, attentive, and receptive; but in what manner this same thing can be brought about, I should like to know. Alcuin: Good will is procured from four topics: from our own person, from that of our adversaries, from that of the judges, and from the case. From our own, if we speak of our own deeds and offices without arrogance; if we dissolve the charges brought against us and any less honourable suspicions cast upon us; if we set forth any disadvantages that have befallen us or difficulties that press upon us; if we use humble and suppliant prayer and entreaty. From our adversaries', if we bring them into hatred, or envy, or contempt. They will be brought into hatred if some foul, proud, cruel, or malicious deed of theirs is set forth:

into envy, if their force, power, riches, kinship, and moneys are set forth, together with their arrogant and intolerable use of these, so that they seem to trust in these things rather than in their own case; they will be brought into contempt, if their sloth, negligence, cowardice, idle pursuit, and luxurious leisure are set forth. From the person of the hearers good will will be sought, if their deeds, bravely, wisely, and gently performed, are set forth — yet so that no excessive flattery be signified — if it is shown how honourable an esteem they enjoy and how great is the expectation of their judgement and authority; from the matters themselves, if by praising we exalt our own case and by contempt we disparage that of others.

We shall make the hearers attentive, if we show that the things we are about to say are great, novel, and incredible, or that they pertain to all men, or to those who are listening, or to certain illustrious persons, or to the immortal gods, or to the highest interest of the commonwealth; and if we promise that we shall demonstrate our case briefly, and set forth the point for judgement, or the points, if there be several. We shall make the hearers receptive, if we set forth openly and briefly the sum of the case, that is, in what the controversy consists. But whoever wishes to begin well must first carefully recognize the kind of his case. Charlemagne: How many kinds of cases are there? Alcuin: Five: the honourable, the surprising, the lowly, the doubtful, and the obscure.

The honourable kind of case is that which the hearer's mind favours at once, even before our speech; the surprising, that from which the minds of those about to hear are alienated; the lowly, that which is neglected by the hearer and seems not greatly worth attending to; the doubtful, in which either the judgement is uncertain, or the case partakes both of honour and of baseness, so that it begets both good will and offence; the obscure, in which either the hearers are slow, or the case is entangled in matters rather difficult to understand. Charlemagne: Ought the orator always to begin in a clear manner? Alcuin: Sometimes clearly, sometimes by a roundabout way. A clear speech is one which the hearer's mind soon favours, as is the case in the honourable kind:

but that speech which is made by a roundabout way steals secretly into the hearer's mind, as must be done in the lowly, doubtful, or obscure kind of case. But this must be known: that the exordium ought to have very much of weighty sentiments and gravity, and altogether everything that pertains to dignity, but very little of display and elaborate polish — for the reason that from these there arises a certain suspicion of artful contrivance, which most of all robs the speech of credit and the orator of authority. Charlemagne: Behold, I now have how a case ought to begin; now expound the texture of the narration. Alcuin: The narration is the setting forth of things done, or as if done, which ought to have three qualities, that is, to be brief, to be clear, and to be plausible.

It will be brief, if it takes its beginning from where it is necessary, and is not fetched from the very furthest point; and if, where it will be enough to have stated the sum of some matter, its parts are not stated — for often it is enough to say what was done, without narrating how it was done; and if one proceeds in the narration no further than is needful; and if the speech does not pass off into any other matter; and if it is so told that sometimes, from what has been said, what has not been said is understood; and if not only what is harmful, but also what is neither harmful nor helpful, is passed over: and one must forbear no less from a multitude of unnecessary matters than from a multitude of words.

The narration will be able to be clear, if whatever was done first is expounded first, and the order of events and times is preserved, so that things are narrated as they were done, or as they seemed capable of having been done. Here it must be considered that nothing be said confusedly, nothing in a tangled way, and that there be no passing off into any other matter.

The narration will be plausible, if there appear to be in it those things which are wont to appear in truth: if the dignities of the persons are preserved; if the causes of the deeds are evident; if there appear to have been the means of doing them; if it is shown that there was a suitable time, enough space, and an opportune place for that very matter of which the narration is told; if the matter is adapted both to the nature of those who act, and to the rumour of the crowd, and to the opinion of those who will hear. Charlemagne: The order demands that you speak of the partition. Alcuin: I shall. The partition is the division of the matters pertaining to the case itself, which, when rightly made, renders the whole speech clear and luminous. It has two parts:

one part is that which shows what is agreed upon with the adversaries and what is left in controversy, from which something definite is set before the hearer, on which he ought to keep his mind occupied; the other is that in which a brief, distributed exposition of those matters of which we are about to speak is set down, from which it results that the hearer holds certain matters in his mind; for this part too ought to have brevity, completeness, and fewness. Brevity is when no word is taken up except what is necessary; completeness is that whereby we embrace in the partition all the kinds of matters which fall within the case and of which we must speak:

fewness is that which sets down in the partition only those matters which must necessarily be spoken of a second time, and lest we say that we shall demonstrate more than is enough — in this way: 'I shall show that the adversaries, in the matter of which we accuse them, both could have done it, and wished to do it, and did it' — when it is enough to show that they did it. Charlemagne: Now turn, master, to the precepts of confirmation, which I think the most necessary of all, so that each man may know how to confirm his own case; and although he may do this of his own accord, yet it cannot be done worthily enough without precepts and practice. Alcuin: It is so, my lord king, as you say. For all argumentations tend toward the methods of confirmation; but so vast is the forest of arguments that scarcely anything can be opened up within the brevity of this our dialogue.

Charlemagne: Yet compress much into few words; for often by one key many treasure-chambers of treasures are opened. Alcuin: I shall do as I can. Confirmation is the argumentation by which you procure credit and authority for your case, and it is made in two ways, that is, from persons or from circumstances (negotia). And to persons we think these things are assigned: name, nature, manner of life, fortune, condition, affection, pursuits, counsels, deeds, chances, and speeches; for from each one of these arguments can be made, according as the advantage of the case presents itself. Charlemagne: Although you study brevity, yet I desire these matters more fully. Alcuin:

From a name an argument is made in this way, as if we should say that someone is called 'Callidus' (Crafty) because he acts with rash and sudden counsel — and that we may use an example from Sacred Scripture as well. For Esau says of his brother Jacob: 'rightly is his name called Jacob, that is, supplanter: behold, a second time he has supplanted me.' In nature, sex, nation, fatherland, kinship, and age are considered: in sex, whether man or woman; in nation, whether Greek or barbarian; in fatherland, whether Athenian or Roman; in kinship, of what ancestors, of what blood-relations he is; in age, whether boy or youth, more advanced in years or an old man. Likewise an inference is often to be drawn from the advantages or disadvantages of nature, in this way:

whether strong or weak, tall or short, handsome or ugly, swift or slow, sharp or dull, of good memory or forgetful, crafty or simple. And from a man's manner of life many suspicions are drawn, when it is inquired in what way, among whom, and by whom he was reared and educated, and with whom he lives, and by what plan of life and in what domestic custom he lives. And from fortune an argumentation often arises, when it is considered whether he is, or has been, or will be a slave or free, moneyed or poor, noble or ignoble, fortunate or unfortunate, a private man or in a position of power; or finally when something is inquired of those things which are understood to be assigned to fortune.

Condition consists in some perfected and constant completeness of mind or body — in which class are virtue, knowledge, and their contraries; the matter and case as set forth will teach whether this topic too discloses anything of suspicion. For the account of affection is wont to bear an evident inference openly before it, such as love, anger, distress — for the reason that both their force is understood, and the things which follow upon any one of these are easy to recognize. And since pursuit is an assiduous and vehement occupation applied to some object with great pleasure, an argumentation is easily drawn from it, according as the matter itself in the case shall require. Likewise something of suspicion is taken from counsel;

for counsel is a deliberated plan of doing or not doing something. But deeds, chances, and speeches will be considered from three times: what he has done, or what has happened to him, or what he has said; and what he does, what happens to him, what he says; or what he is about to do, what is about to befall him, what speech he is going to use. From which it will be easy to see what they bring toward confirming the inference of suspicion. Charlemagne: Are these topics common to the accuser and the defender? Alcuin: They are employed according to the advantage of each side's case. Charlemagne: In what way? Alcuin:

For the accuser must censure the past life of him whom he accuses, or his insolent nature, or his malicious pursuits, or his wicked morals, or his bloody deeds, and show, if he can, whether he has previously been convicted of a like offence, and how base or covetous or wanton or bloody he was, so that it be no wonder that such a man rushed forth to such a crime. For as much as is detracted from the honour and authority of him who is accused, so much is diminished from the resource of his whole defence. If the accused cannot be defamed by any past offence, the judges are to be exhorted that not the man's old reputation, but his new crime, is to be judged. For previously it was concealed what sort of man he was, but now it is manifest:

wherefore this present matter ought not to be considered from his earlier life, but his earlier life ought to be discredited by this present baseness. Charlemagne: If the accuser heaps all these things upon the accused, what place of defence is left to him? Alcuin: A suitable place of defence is left; for often, with one shield protecting, many darts of the assailant are repelled. The defender first, if he can, must show that the man's life was most honourable and most faithful, whether toward the commonwealth, or toward his parents, kinsmen, and friends; and his deeds, faithfully and bravely accomplished, if there be any, are to be set forth; and that it is a pitiable thing for such conspicuous goods to be obscured by so small a charge.

And that he committed this very thing not out of any covetousness or malice or faithlessness, but did it by chance and ignorance, or at another's suggestion; and that no one would wish to be zealous for the welfare of his fatherland, or for piety toward parents, or for dignity of morals, if his earlier goods are to be annulled by any small or trivial charge whatsoever. And that this is ruinous to the best of men, that any malicious person should dare to accuse the good. But if there are any baseness in his past life, it must be said that he committed these either through the constraint of imprudence or the persuasion of youth, or that they were feigned through the envy of certain persons, or brought against him by false opinion.

But if in no way can the baseness or infamy of his life be softened by the speech, it will be fitting to refuse to inquire about his life and morals, and to deal only with the one crime of which he is accused — wherefore, leaving aside the past, that which is at hand ought to be dealt with. Charlemagne: You said that some arguments are from persons, others from circumstances; for these which you have just spoken of are from persons; but it remains for you to speak of those from circumstances, and first tell me what you call a 'circumstance' (negotium). Alcuin: A circumstance is the very deed itself, in which there is controversy between the accuser and the defender. But when arguments are to be drawn from circumstances, three things must be considered:

first, what was before the deed, what was in the deed, what was after the deed — as in the case of the innkeeper, before the deed there was the fact that those two travellers went along familiarly on the journey, that they turned aside together into the inn, and dined together; in the deed: night, sleep, the slaying; after the deed: that he went off alone, that he left his companion behind, that he had a bloody sword. There is also a fourth thing pertaining to the circumstance, that is, what is the law concerning that matter, or who are its authors, or by what name that which was done ought to be called. For before the deed the motive of the deed must be considered, that is, whether he killed the man in hope of gain, or for the sake of enmity, or fear, or a friend; for it is incredible that anyone should wish to kill a man for no reason.

Altogether, in the carrying out of the deed, place, time, occasion, manner, and means are wont to be considered, that is, it must be inquired in what place, or at what time, or by what manner, or by what occasion or means he killed the man. After the deed is done, certain signs of the deed done will be considered, as blood is a sign of slaughter, and flight is often wont to be a sign of guilt. Charlemagne: You have recounted the topics of arguments and of confirmations; but the argumentation itself, as I think, can by no means be uniform. Alcuin: It is not uniform; but every argumentation that is composed from those topics which we have recounted ought to be either probable or necessary. Necessary are those things which cannot be otherwise, as: 'if she has given birth, she has lain with a man.'

These are accomplished by way of a dilemma (complexio), or by way of enumeration, or by a simple conclusion. By dilemma, in which whichever side you grant is censured, in this manner: 'if he is wicked, why do you protect him? if he is upright, why do you accuse him?' By enumeration, in which, several things being brought forward, one is of necessity confirmed, in this fashion: 'it is necessary that this man was killed by him either for the sake of enmity, or fear, or hope, or of some friend; and if none of these holds, it remains that he was not killed by him; for a man cannot be killed for no reason.' By a simple conclusion, in this manner: 'if you say that I did that at that time, I at that time was across the sea; therefore that which you say, not only did I not do, but I could not even have done it.' Charlemagne:

These, as I understand, are altogether necessary; but also, as I see, it must be carefully looked to, lest in some way this kind of argumentation can be refuted. Alcuin: It is so, as you understand. Charlemagne: These arguments which you have spoken of are necessary; now tell of the probable ones too. Alcuin: Probable are those things which generally are wont to happen, as: 'if she is a mother, she loves her son; if he is greedy, he disregards an oath.' Charlemagne: Are probable things always true? Alcuin: Some are true in opinion, others in resemblance: in opinion, as 'that there are infernal regions beneath the earth'; resemblance is observed in contraries and in parallels. Charlemagne: How in contraries and in parallels? Alcuin: In contraries in this manner:

'for if it is fitting that those who have done harm imprudently be pardoned, then to those who have necessarily done good no thanks ought to be given.' From a parallel thus: 'for as a place without a harbour cannot be safe for ships, so a mind without faith cannot be steadfast for friends.' Charlemagne: Is every argumentation confirmed, adorned, and considered only from these topics? Alcuin: There are also argumentations which are handled by way of induction or of reasoning (ratiocinatio), but these pertain rather to philosophers. Charlemagne: Yet tell me of those. Alcuin: Induction is a discourse which, through certain established things, proves certain uncertain things and leads the unwilling into assent. Charlemagne: This seems wonderful, if it can bring it about that one unwilling consents. Alcuin: You shall hear, and perhaps by an example you will believe.

For a certain philosopher entered into a discussion with a certain Xenophon and his wife, and first began a conversation with the wife. 'Tell me, I pray, wife of Xenophon: if your neighbour had better gold than you have, would you prefer hers or your own?' 'Hers,' she said. 'What if she had a garment and the rest of a woman's finery of greater value than you have — would you prefer yours or hers?' She answered, 'Hers, indeed.' 'Come,' he said, 'what if she had a better husband than you have — would you prefer your own husband or hers?' Here the woman blushed. The philosopher then began a conversation with Xenophon. 'I ask you, Xenophon,' he said, 'if your neighbour had a better horse than yours is, would you prefer your horse or his?' 'His,' he said.

'What if he had a better estate than you have — which estate, after all, would you rather have?' 'His,' he said, 'the better one, of course.' 'What if he had a better wife than you have — which would you prefer?' And at this Xenophon too himself fell silent. Afterward the philosopher said: 'Since each of you has failed to answer me only that one thing which alone I wished to hear, I myself will say what each of you is thinking. For you, woman, wish to have the best husband, and you, Xenophon, most of all wish to have the most excellent wife. Wherefore, unless you accomplish this — that there be on earth no better man and no more excellent woman — assuredly you will always most of all seek that which you shall judge to be best: that you, the husband, may be married to the very best woman, and that she may be married to the very best man.'

Here, by means of things not doubtful, he proved doubtful things, on account of the resemblance of the induction. But if anyone were to inquire of each thing separately, perhaps it would not be granted. Charlemagne: That philosopher was not an evangelical one. Alcuin: He was not an evangelical, but a rhetorical one. Charlemagne: Why do we believe him? Alcuin: He followed his own art. Charlemagne: What of it? Shall we too follow our own? Alcuin: Follow what you will; I shall follow you as you follow. Charlemagne: What sort of thing ought that induction to be? Alcuin: Always similar to that matter for the sake of which it is brought forward. Charlemagne: Should it be lucid or obscure? Alcuin: It must be seen to with diligent care, that the adversary does not perceive whither those first inductions are tending and to what end they are going to arrive; for he who sees, either by keeping silent or by denying, does not allow the questioning to go further. Charlemagne: If he denies? Alcuin:

The resemblance of those things which were previously granted must be shown. Charlemagne: If he keeps silent? Alcuin: Then a response must be elicited; or, since silence imitates confession, the argumentation must be concluded, just as in things granted. Charlemagne: How is an argumentation to be confirmed by way of reasoning? Alcuin: For that is made by a proposition, an approbation or assumption, and a conclusion. Charlemagne: Make these things plainer by any example. Alcuin: The proposition is, as: 'those things which are carried on with counsel are better managed than those which are administered without counsel.' The approbation is: 'that household which is governed by reason and counsel is better furnished in all things than that which is administered without reason and counsel.' The assumption is: 'but nothing of all things is better administered than the whole world.'

Here a second proof is brought in: 'for the risings and settings of the constellations, and the yearly changes of crops, of seasons, and of days, are arranged in a sufficiently wonderful order and with a sure alternation — which are signs that the world is governed by great counsel.' Then the considered conclusion must be brought forth in this manner: 'but if those things are better carried on which are administered with counsel than those without counsel, and nothing of all things is better administered than the whole world, therefore the world is administered by counsel.' This argument avails against those who say that the world is driven by chance, not governed by counsel. Charlemagne: What is more foolish than for this to be thought? Alcuin: The fool esteems foolish things, to whom nevertheless, according to Solomon, an answer must be given, lest he seem wise in his own eyes. Charlemagne:

I recall, master, that among the parts of the speech you named refutation; but I have heard so great a series of confirmations, that scarcely does any place seem left to the one refuting, by which he might weaken a case confirmed by these arguments. Alcuin: There is left to him a place for weakening; but we ought not to labour over that: nearly every case has within itself both the topics for confirming and the topics for refuting. Charlemagne: I am in suspense nonetheless as to what you wish to say about it. Alcuin: I shall say it, and I shall say it briefly. Refutation is that whereby, by argument, the adversaries' confirmation is either weakened or overthrown. And this is drawn from the same topics from which confirmation also is, because nearly every matter can be weakened from the very source from which it can be confirmed;

this happens thus: if either it is false, from which the confirmation is composed, in this manner: 'one cannot be wise who has neglected money' — but many wise men have neglected money; or it is common, which can no less be said by the adversaries, in this manner: 'for this reason, judges, because I had a true case, I pleaded briefly'; or it is trivial: 'if it had not come into his mind, he would not have committed it'; or it is remote and begins further back than is enough: 'if Scipio had not given his daughter Cornelia to Tiberius Gracchus, this sedition would not have arisen among the people through their sons; wherefore this evil must be imputed to Scipio.' Or it is offensive, that is, what injures the will of those who hear, as if perchance, before a miser, you should accuse the love of money:

...or the adversary, that is, something that works against your own case, as if, when you ought to be exhorting your soldiers, you should praise the forces and the valor of the enemy. Likewise a dilemma (complexio) is refuted if it can be turned around in this way: 'for if he is afraid, he is not to be accused, because he is honest; but if he is not afraid, he knows himself to be innocent, and therefore he is not to be accused.' Here, whether you say that he fears or does not fear, the speaker supposes it must be granted that you should deny he is to be accused; which is refuted by reversal thus: 'on the contrary, he is to be accused, if he fears, having testified that he is not innocent; but if he does not fear, he is not honest and therefore is to be accused.' Likewise an enumeration is refuted if something is passed over in the enumeration, in this manner:

'since you have this horse, either you bought it, or it came to you by inheritance, or it was given to you as a gift, or, if it is none of these, you must have stolen it.' This is refuted if it can be said to have been captured from the enemy. By these and many other ways arguments can be refuted, which the orator must guard against with the utmost diligence — more so than I need to, given the brevity of my explanation. K. There remains only the conclusion, which you placed as the last of the six parts of a speech, and the order requires that you speak of it. A. The conclusion is the close and the settling of the whole case. K. How many parts does it have? A. Three: the recapitulation, the rousing of indignation, and the appeal for pity. K. What is the recapitulation of the conclusion? A.

The recapitulation of the conclusion is that by which the points scattered through the speech are gathered into one place and, for the sake of refreshing the memory, are set together before the eyes at once, in this manner: 'what more, O judges, do you desire, when I have told you this and this, and made this and this plain to you?' K. What does the rousing of indignation accomplish? A. Hatred toward the adversary, or offense at his case. K. This above all I should like to know — how it can be brought about. A. Its precepts are very many, such as these: if we show that the thing which the adversary defends seems unworthy to the immortal gods, to the wisest of men, to the senate, and to the people; likewise if we show other deeds of the adversary to be cruel, unjust, greedy, dishonorable, defiant; likewise if we condemn his past life and character;

likewise what evil will come about if he is not punished; likewise that pardon ought not to be granted for a deliberate or unusual crime; likewise if we display his pride or arrogance; likewise to make the judge reflect upon himself or upon his dear ones, if some such thing had happened to them; likewise that many are eagerly awaiting what shall be decided in this matter, so that from what is here conceded they too may understand what may be permitted to themselves in a like case. Likewise we feel indignation that a foul, cruel, wicked, tyrannical crime should go unavenged, one remote from all law and equity — that such a deed should go unpunished. Likewise we shall speak of cruel deeds done against those who could neither harm another nor defend themselves, such as against children, women, the aged, the infirm;

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

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

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

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

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