英文对吗 做回原来的自己I AM GOING TO DO BACK TO THE ORIGINAL MYSELF.这句话对吗?_百度作业帮
英文对吗 做回原来的自己I AM GOING TO DO BACK TO THE ORIGINAL MYSELF.这句话对吗?
英文对吗 做回原来的自己I AM GOING TO DO BACK TO THE ORIGINAL MYSELF.这句话对吗?
不太对,其实简单点说就好了,I AM GOING BACK MYSELF.
JUST BE MYSELF.这样就够了。
I will be original own...你那个是用网上翻译的.....我可是人工的哦要选我哦.....嘻嘻
晕 楼上的····“我自己”可以用own表示的吗？just be myself 这个说法简洁明了
Just be myself就可以了不要讲求字面上的绝对相符合，这样翻译出来的句子就会与原意有偏差。
I am what I amI am looking forward to your reply that will be highly appreciated. 这句话写得对吗？_百度知道
I am looking forward to your reply that will be highly appreciated. 这句话写得对吗？
在信尾处，想表达的意思就是，我期待你的回复，对你的回复感激不尽。英文这样写对吗？I am looking forward to your reply that will be highly appreciated.
使用“I am looking forward to hearing from you” 就很礼貌和足够了。
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Your Majesty ... here's the answer : I am looking forward to your reply - 我期待你的回复 Your prompt reply will be highly appreciated. - 对你的迅速回复感激不尽...
不太好礼貌用语：I am looking forward to your reply，which I think will be highly appreciated。
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出门在外也不愁Works of Lucian, Vol. II: The Way to Write History
THE WAY TO WRITE HISTORY
MY DEAR PHILO,
There is a story of a curious epidemic at Abdera, just after the accession of King Lysimachus. It began with the whole population's exhibiting feverish symptoms, strongly marked and unintermittent from the very first attack. About the seventh day, the fever was relieved, in some cases by a violent flow of blood from the nose, in others by perspiration not less violent. The mental effects, however,
they were all stage-struck, mouthing blank verse and ranting at the top of their voices. Their favourite recitation was the Andromeda of E one after another would go through the great speech of P the whole place was full of pale ghosts, who were our seventh-day tragedians vociferating,
O Love, who lord’st it over Gods and men,
and the rest of it. This continued for some time, till the coming of winter put an end to their madness with a sharp frost. I find the explanation of the form it took in this fact: Archelaus was then the great tragic actor, and in the middle of the summer, during some very hot weather, he had played the Andromeda most of them took the fever in the theatre, and convalescence was followed by a relapse--into tragedy, the Andromeda haunting their memories, and Perseus hovering, Gorgon's head in hand, before the mind's eye.
Well, to compare like with like, the majority of our educated class is now suffering from an Abderite epidemic. They are not stage-struck, that would have been a minor infatuation--to be possessed with other people's verses, but from the beginning of the present excitements--the barbarian war, the Armenian disaster, the succession of victories--you cannot find a man bu nay, every one you meet is a Thucydides, a Herodotus, a Xenophon. The old saying must be true, and war be the father of all things&, seeing what a litter of historians it has now teemed forth at a birth.
Such sights and sounds, my Philo, brought into my head that old anecdote about the Sinopean. A report that Philip was marching on the town had thrown all C one was furbishing his arms, another wheeling stones, a third patching the wall, a fourth strengthening a battlement, every one making himself useful somehow or other. Diogenes having nothing to do--of course no one thought of giving him a job--was moved by the sight to gird up his philosopher's cloak and begin rolling his tub-dwelling energetically up and down the C an acquaintance asked, and got, the explanation: 'I do not want to be thought the only idler in s I am rolling my tub to be like the rest.'
I too am reluctant to be the only dumb man at so vociferous I do not like walking across the stage, like a 'super', so I decided to roll my cask as best I could. I do not intend to write a history, or atte I am not courag have no apprehe I realize the danger of rolling the thing over the rocks, especially if it is only a poor little jar of brittle e I should very soon knock against some pebble and find myself picking up the pieces. Come, I will tell you
my idea for campaigning in safety, and keeping well out of range.
Give a wide berth to all that foam and spray,
and to the anxieties which vex the historian--that I shall
but I propose to give a little advice, and lay down a few principles for the benefit of those who do venture. I shall have a share in their building, if not in the de my finger-tips will at least have touched their wet mortar.
However, most of them see no need for advice here: there might as well be an art of talking, seeing, history-writing is perfectly easy, comes natural, all that is necessary is the faculty of translating your thoughts into words. But the truth is--you know it without my telling, old friend--, it is not a task to be lightly undertaken, or carried th no, it needs as much care as any sort of composition whatever, if one means to create 'a possession for ever,' as Thucydides calls it. Well, I know I shall not get a hearing from many of them, and some will be seriously offended--especially any who have finished and in cases where its first reception was favourable, it would be folly to expect the authors
has it not the stamp of finality? is it not almost a State document? Yet even they ma we are not likely
we have dispose but there might be a Celto-Gothic or an Indo-B then our friends' composition might be improved by the application of my measuring-rod--always supposing that they recog failing that, let them do their own mensuration with the old foot- the doctor will not particularly mind, though all Abdera insists on spouting the Andromeda.
Advice has two provinces--one of choice, th
let us first decide what the historian is to avoid--of what faults he must purge himself--, and then proceed to the measures he must take for putting himself on the straight high road. This will include the manner of his beginning, the order in which he should marshal his facts, the questions of proportion, of discreet silence, of full or cursory narration, of comment and connexion. Of all that, however, for the present we deal with the vices to which bad writers are liable. As to those faults of diction, construction, meaning, and general amateurishness, which are common to every kind of composition, to discuss them is neither compatible with my space nor relevant to my purpose.
But there are mistakes your own observation will show you just those which a constant attendance at authors' readings& you have only to keep your ears open at every opportunity. It will be convenient, however, to refer by the way to a few illustrations in recent histories. Here is a serious fault to begin with. It is the fashion to neglect the examination of facts, and give the space gained to eulogies of gen those of their own side they exalt to the skies, the other side they disparage intemperately. They forget that between history and panegyric there is a great gulf fixed, b in musical phrase, the two things are a couple of octaves apart. The panegyrist has only one concern--to commend and gratify his living the if misrepresentation will serve his purpose, he has no objection to that. History, on the other hand, abhors the intrusion of any least
it is like the windpipe, which the doctors tell us will not tolerate a morsel of stray food.
Another thing these gentlemen seem not to know is that poetry and history offer different wares, and have their separate rules. Poetry enjoys
it has but one law--the poet's fancy. He is inspired and possessed by the M if he chooses to horse his car with winged steeds, or set others a-galloping over the sea, or standing corn, none
his Zeus, with a single cord, may haul up earth and sea, and hold them dangling together--there is no fear the cord may break, the load come tumbling down and be smashed to atoms. In a complimentary picture of Agamemnon, there is nothing against his having Zeus's head and eyes, his brother Posidon's chest, Ares's belt--in fact, the son of Atreus and A&rope will naturally be an epitome of all D Zeus or Posidon or Ares could not singly or severally provide the requisite perfections. But, if history adopts such servile arts, it is nothing but poet the exalt and imposition of other kinds without the assistance of metre is only the more easily detected. It is surely a great, a superlative weakness, this inability to distinguish what, bedizen history, like her sister, with tale and eulogy and their attendant exaggerations? as well take some mighty athlete with muscles of steel, rig him up with purple drapery and meretricious ornament, rouge a faugh, what an object would one make of him with such defilements!
I would not be understood to exclude eulogy fro it is to be kept to its place and used with moderation, is not to tax the reader' I shall presently show, indeed, that in all such matters an eye is to be had to posterity. It is true, there is a school which makes a pretty division of history into the agreeable and the useful, and defends the introduction
of panegyric on the ground that it is agreeable, and pleases the general reader. But nothing could be further from the truth. In the first place the division
history has only one concern and aim, an which again has one single source, and that is truth. The agreeable is no doubt an addition, so is
but a Nicostratus, who is a fine fellow and proves himself a better man than either of his opponents, gets his recognition as a Heracles, however
and if one opponent is the handsome Alcaeus himself--handsome enough to make Nicostratus in love with him, says the story--, that does not affect the issue. History too, if it can deal incidentally in the agreeable, will attract a but so long as it does its proper business efficiently--and that is the establishment of truth--, it may be indifferent to beauty.
It is further to be remarked, that in history sheer extravagance has not even the meri and the extravagance of eulogy is doubly repulsive, as extravagance, at least it is only welcome to the vulgar majority, not to that critical, that perhaps hypercritical audience, whom no slip can escape, who are all eyes like Argus, but keener than he, who test every word as a moneychanger might his coins, rejecting the false on the spot, but accepting the goo it is they that we should have in mind as we write history, and never heed the others, though they applaud till they crack their voices. If you neglect the critics, and indulge in the cloying sweetness of tales and eulogies and such baits, you will soon find your history a 'Heracles in Lydia.' No doubt you have seen some picture of him: he is Omphale's slave, dressed up in an absurd costume, his lion-skin and club transferred to her, as though she were the true Heracles, while he, in saffron robe and purple jacket, is combing wool and wincing under Omphale's slipper. A degrading spectacle it
is--the dress loose and flapping open, and all that was man in him turned to woman.
The vulgar may very likely extend
but the select (whose judgement you disregard) will get a good deal of entertainment out of your heterogeneous, disjointed, fragmentary stuff. There is nothing which has not but take it out of its proper sphere, and the misuse turns its beauty to ugliness. Eulogy, I need hardly say, may possibly please one person, the eulogized, but will di this is particularly so with the monstrous exaggerations
the authors are so intent on the patron-hunt that they cannot relinquish it without a full exh they have no idea of finesse, never mask their flattery, but blurt out their unconvincing bald tale anyhow.
The consequence is, they miss even the objects of their praise are more inclined (and quite right too) to dislike and discard them for toadies--if they are men of spirit, at any rate. Aristobulus inserted in his history an account of a single combat between Alexander and Porus, and selected this passage to read he reckoned that his best chance of pleasing was to invent heroic deeds for the king, and heighten his achievements. Well, they were on board ship in the H Alexander took hold of the book, and 'the author should have been treated the same way, by rights,' he added, 'for presuming to fight duels for me like that, and shoot down elephants single-handed.' A very natural indignation in Alexander, of a piece with his treatment of the this person offered to convert the whole of Mount Athos into a colossal statue of the king--who however decided that he was a toady, and actually gave him less employment in ordinary than before.
The fact is, there is nothing agreeable in these things, except to any one who is fool enough to enjoy commendations which
the slightest inquiry will p of course there are ugly persons--women more especially--who ask artists to paint them as b they think they will be really better-looking if the painter heightens the rose a little and distributes a good deal of the lily. There you have the origin of the present crowd of historians, intent only upon the passing day, the selfish interest, the profit which they reckon to ma execration is their desert--in the present for their undisguised clumsy flattery, in the future for the stigma which their exaggerations bring upon history in general. If any one takes some admixture of the agreeable to be an absolute necessity, let him be content with the independe these are agreeable but they are usually neglected now, for the better foisting upon us of irrelevant substitutes.
Passing from that point, I wish to put on record some fresh recollections of Ionian histories--supported, now I think of it, by Greek analogies also of recent date--both concerned with the war already alluded to. You may trust my report, the G I would take oath to its truth, if it were polite to swear on paper. One writer started with invoking the Muses to lend a hand. What a tasteful exordium! How suited to the historic spirit! How appropriate to the style! When he had got a little way on, he compared our ruler to Achilles, and the Parthian king to T he forgot that Achilles would have done better if he had had Hector instead of Thersites to beat, if there had been a man of might fleeing in front,
But at his heels a mightier far than he.
[paragraph continues] He next proceeded to say something handsome about himself, as a fit chronicler of such brilliant deeds. As he got near his point of departure, he threw in a word for his native town of Miletus, adding that he was thus improving on Homer, who
never so much as mentioned his birthplace. And he concluded his preface with a plain express promise to advance our cause and personally wage war against the barbarians, to the best of his ability. The actual history, and recital of the causes of hostilities, began with these words:--'The detestable Vologesus (whom Heaven confound!) commenced war on the following pretext.'
Enough of him. Another is a keen emulator of Thucydides, and by way of close approximation to his model starts with his own name--most graceful of beginnings, redolent of Attic thyme! Look at it: 'Crepereius Calpurnianus of Pompeiopolis wrote the history of the war between Parthia and Rome, how they warred one upon the other, beginning with the commencement of the war.' After that exordium, what need to describe the rest--what harangues he delivers in Armenia, resuscitating our old friend the Corcyrean envoy--what a plague he inflicts on Nisibis (which would not espouse the Roman cause), lifting the whole thing bodily from Thucydides--except the Pelasgicum and the Long Walls, where the victims of the earlier
there like the other, 'it began in Ethiopia, whence it descended to Egypt,' and to most of the Parthian empire, where it very discreetly remained. I left him engaged in burying the poor Athenians in Nisibis, and knew quite well how he would continue after my exit. Indeed it is a pretty common belief at present that you are writing like Thucydides, if you just use his actual words, mutatis mutandis&. Ah, and I almost forgot to mention one thing: this same writer gives many names of weapons and military engines in Latin--phossa for trench, pons for bridge, and so forth. Just think of the dignity of history, and the Thucydidean style--the Attic embroidered with these Latin words, like a toga relieved and picked out with the purple stripe--so harmonious!
Another puts down a bald list of events, as prosy and commonplace as a private's or a carpenter's or a sutler's diary. However, there is more sense in this poor man' he flies his true co he has cleared the ground for some educated person who knows how to deal with history. The only fault I have to find with him is that he inscribes his volumes with a solemnity rather disproportioned to the rank of their contents--'Parthian History, by Callimorphus, Surgeon of the 6th Pikemen, volume so-and-so.' Ah, yes, and there is a lamentable preface, which closes with the remark that, since Asclepius is the son of Apollo, and Apollo director of the Muses and patron of all culture, it is very proper for a doctor to write history. Also, he starts in Ionic, but very soon, for no apparent reason, abandons it for every-day Greek, still keeping the Ionic es and ks and ous, but otherwise writing like ordinary people--rather too ordinary, indeed.
Perhaps I should balance him with a p
this gentleman's name I will conceal, and merely indicate his attitude, as revealed in a recent publication at Corinth. Much had been expected of him, starting straight off with the first sentence of the preface, he subjects his readers to a dialectic catechism, his thesis being the highly philosophic one, that no one but a philosopher should write history. Very shortly there follows a second logical process, itself in fact the whole preface is one mass of dialectic figures. There is flattery, indeed, ad nauseam, eulogy vulgar t but never without t always that dialectical catechism. I confess it strikes me as a vulgarity also, hardly worthy of a philosopher with so long and white a beard, when he gives it in his preface as our ruler's special good fortune that philosophers should consent t he had better have left us to reach that conclusion for ourselves--if at all.
Again, it would be a sinful neglect to omit the man who begins like this:--'I devise to tell of Romans and Persians'; then a little later, 'For 'twas Heaven's decree that the Persians should suffer evils'; and again, 'One Osroes there was, whom Hellenes name Oxyroes'--and much more in that style. He corresponds, you see, to one of
only he is a second Herodotus, and the other a second Thucydides.
There is another distinguished artist in words--again rather more Thucydidean than Thucydides--, who gives, according to his own idea, the clearest, most convincing descriptions of every town, mountain, plain, or river. I wish my bitterest foe no worse fate than the reading of them. Frigid? Caspian snows, Celtic ice, are warm in comparison. A whole book hardly suffices him for the Emperor's shield--the Gorgon on its boss, with eyes of blue and white and black, rainbow girdle, and snakes twined and knotted. Why, Vologesus's breeches or his bridle, God bless me, they take up several t the same for the look of Osroes's hair as he swims the Tigris--or what the cave was like that sheltered him, ivy and myrtle and bay clustered all together to shut out every ray of light. You observe how indispensable it a without the scene, how could we have comprehended the action?
It is helplessness about the real essentials, or ignorance of what should be given, that makes them take refuge in word-painting--landscapes, caves, and when they do come upon a series of important matters, they are just like a slave whose master has left him his money and he does not know how to put on his clothes or ta partridges or sweetbread but he rushes in, and fills himself up with pea soup or salt fish, till he is fit to burst. Well, the man I spoke of gives the most unconvincing wounds and singular deaths: some one has his big toe injured,
the general Priscus calls
out, and seven-and-twenty of the enemy fall dead at the sound. As to the numbers killed, he actually
at Europus he slaughters 70,236 of the enemy, while the Romans lose two, and have seven wounded! How any man of sense can tolerate such stuff, I do not know.
Here is another point quite worth mention. This writer has such a passion for unadulterated Attic, and for refining speech to the last degree of purity, that he metamorphoses the Latin names and translates them into G Saturninus figures as Cronius, Fronto must be Phrontis, Titianus Titanius, with queerer transmogrifications yet. Further, on the subject of Severian's death, he accuses all other writers of a blunder in putt he is really to have starved himself to death, as the
the fact, however, is that it was all over in three days, whereas seven days is the regular are we perhaps to conceive an Osroes waiting about for Severian to complete the process, and putting off his assault till after the seventh day?
Then, Philo, how shall we class the historians who indulge in poetical phraseology? 'The catapult rocked responsive,' 'Loud thundered the breach'; or, somewhere else in this delectable history, 'Thus Edessa was girdled with clash of arms, and all was din and turmoil,' or, 'The general pondered in his heart how to attack the wall.' Only he fills up the interstices with such wretched common lower-class phrases as 'The military prefect wrote His Majesty,' 'The troops were procuring the needful,' 'They got a wash& and put in an appearance,' and so on. It is like an actor with one foot raised on a high buskin, and the other in a slipper.
You will find others writing brilliant high-sounding prefaces of outrageous length, raising great expectations of the wonders to follow--and then comes a poor little appendix of a-- it is like nothing in the world but a child--say the Eros you must have seen in a picture playing in an enormous mask of Heracles or a T parturiunt montes, cries the audience, very naturally. That is not
the whole should be homogeneous and uniform, and the body in proportion to the head--not a helmet of gold, a ridiculous breastplate patched up out of rags or rotten leather, shield of wicker, and pig-skin greaves. You will find plenty of historians prepared to set the Rhodian Colossus's head on others on the contrary show us headless bodies, and plunge into the facts without exordium. These plead the example of Xenophon, who starts with 'Darius and Parysatis had two children'; if they only knew it, there is such a thing as a virtual exordium, not realized
but of that hereafter.
However, any mistake in mere expression or arra but when you come to fancy geography, differing from the other not by miles or leagues, but by whole days' journeys, where is the classical model for that? One writer has taken so little trouble with his facts--never met a Syrian, I suppose, nor listened to the stray information you may pick up at the barber's--, that he thus locates Europus:--'Europus lies in Mesopotamia, two days' journey from the Euphrates, and is a colony from Edessa.' Not content with that, this enterprising person has in the same book taken up my native Samosata and shifted it, citadel, walls, and all, into Mesopotamia, giving it the two rivers for boundaries, and making them shave past it, all but touching the walls on either side. I suspect you would laugh at me, Philo, if I were to set about convincing you that I am neither Parthian nor Mesopotamian, as this whimsical colony-planter makes me.
By the way, he has also a very attractive tale of Severian,
learnt, he assures us on oath, from one of the actual fugitives. According to this, he would not die by the sword, the rope, or poison, but contrived a death which should be tragic and impressive. He was the owner of some large goblets of the having made up his mind to die, he broke the largest of these, and used a splinter of it for the purpose, cutting his throat with the glass. A dagger or a lancet, good enough instruments for a manly and heroic death, he could not come at, forsooth!
Then, as Thucydides composed a funeral oration over the first victims of that old war, our author feels it incumbent on him to do the same for S they all challenge Thucydides, you see, little as he can be held responsible for the Armenian troubles. So he buries Severian, and then solemnly ushers up to the grave, as Pericles's rival, one Afranius Silo, the flood of rhetoric which follows is so copious and remarkable that it drew tears from me--ye Graces!-- most of all where the eloquent Afranius, drawing to a close, makes mention, with weeping and distressful moans, of all those costly dinners and toasts. But he is a very Ajax in his conclusion. He draws his sword, gallantly as an Afranius should, and in sight of all cuts his throat over the grave--and God knows it was high time for an execution, if oratory can be felony. The historian states that all the spectators admired and lauded A as for me, I was inclined to condemn him on general grounds--he had all but given a catalogue of sauces and dishes, and shed tears over the memory of departed cakes--, but his capital offence was that he had not cut the historian-tragedian's throat before he left this life himself.
I assure you, my friend, I could largely increase my list of but one or two more will suffice, before proceeding to the second part of my undertaking, the suggestions
for improvement. There are some, then, who leave alone, or deal very cursorily with, all that is amateurs and not artists, they have no selective faculty, and loiter over copious laboured descriptions of it is as if a visitor to Olympia, instead of examining, commending or describing to his stay-at-home friends the general greatness and beauty of the Zeus, were to be struck with the exact symmetry and polish of its footstool, or the proportions of its shoe, and give all his attention to these minor points.
For instance, I have known a man get through the battle of Europus in less than seven whole lines, and then spend twenty mortal hours on a dull and perfectly irrelevant tale about a Moorish trooper. The trooper's name was M he wandered up the hills in search of water, and came upon some Syrian yokels at first they were afraid of him, but when they found he was on the right side, they invited h for one of them had travelled in the Moorish country, having a brother serving in the army. Then come long stories and descriptions of how he hunted there, and saw a great herd of elephants at pasture, and was nearly eaten up by a lion, and what huge fish he had bought at Caesarea. So this quaint historian leaves the terrible carnage to go on at Europus, and lets the pursuit, the forced armistice, the settling of outposts, shift for themselves, while he lingers far into the evening watching Malchion the Syrian cheapen big mackarel at C if night had not come all too soon, I dare say he would have dined with him when the fish was cooked. If all this had not been accurately set down in the history, what sad ignorance we should have been left in! The loss to the Romans would have been irreparable, if Mausacas the Moor had got nothing to quench his thirst, and come back fasting to camp. Yet I am wilfully omitting innumerable details of yet greater importance--the arrival of a flute-girl from the next village,
the exchange of gifts (Mausacas's was a spear, Malchion's a brooch), and other incidents most essential to the battle of Europus. It is no exaggeration to say that such writers never give the rose a glance, but devote all their curiosity to the thorns on its stem.
Another entertaining person, who has never set foot outside Corinth, nor travelled as far as its harbour--not to mention seeing Syria or Armenia--, starts with words which impressed themselves on my memory:--'Seeing is believing: I therefore write what I have seen, not what I have been told.' His personal observation has been so close that he describes the Parthian 'Dragons' (they use this ensign as a numerical formula--a thousand men to the Dragon, I believe): they are huge live dragons, he says, breeding in Persian territory beyond I these are first fastened to great poles and hoisted up aloft, striking terror at a distance while the then, when the battle begins, they are released
numbers of our men, it seems, were actually swallowed by them, and others strangled or cr of all this he was an eye-witness, taking his observations, however, from a safe perch up a tree. Thank goodness he did not come to close quarters with the brutes! we should have lost a very remarkable historian, and one who did doughty deeds in this war wit for he had many adventures, and was wounded at Sura (in the course of a stroll from the Craneum to Lerna, apparently). All this he used to read to a Corinthian audience, which was perfectly aware that he had never so much as seen a battle-picture. Why, he did not know one weapon or the names of manœuvres and formations ha flank or front, line or column, it was all one.
Then there is a splendid fellow, who has boiled down into the compass of five hundred lines (or less, to be accurate) the
whole business from beginning to end--campaigns in Armenia, in Syria, in Mesopotamia, on the Tigris, and in M and having done it, he calls it a history. His title very narrowly misses being longer than his book: 'An account of the late campaigns of the Romans in Armenia, Mesopotamia, and Media, by Antiochianus, victor at the festival of Apollo'; he had probably won some junior flat race.
I have known one writer compile a history of the future, including the capture of Vologesus, the execution of Osroes (he is to be thrown to the lions), and, crowning all, our long-deferred triumph. In this prophetic vein, he sweeps hastily on to yet he finds time for the foundation in Mesopotamia of a city, greatest of the great, and he is still debating, however, whether the most appropriate name will be Victoria, Concord, or P t we must leave the fair city unn but it is already thickly populated--with empty dreams and literary drivellings. He has also pledged himself to an account of coming events in India, and a circumnavigation of the A nay, the ple the preface to the India the third legion, the Celtic contingent, and a small Moorish division, have crossed the Indus in full force under C our most original historian will soon be posting us up in their doings--their method of 'receiving elephants,' for instance--in letters dated Muziris or Oxydracae.
These people's uneducated they have no eyes for the noteworthy, nor, if they had eyes, any adequate f invention and fiction provide their matter, and belief in the first word th they pride themselves on the number of books they run to, and yet
for these again are quite absurd:--So-and-so's so many books of P The Parthis, book I; The Parthis, book II--quite a rival to the
[paragraph continues] Atthis, eh? Another does it (I have read the book) still more neatly--'The Parthonicy of Demetrius of Sagalassus.' I do not wish to ridicule or make a jest of th I write for a practical purpose: any one who avoids these and similar errors is already well on the road t nay, he is almost there, if the logical axiom is correct, that, with incompatibles, denial of the one amounts to affirmation of the other.
Well, I may be told, you ha the thorns and brambles have all been extirpated, the debris of others' buildings has been carted of, the rough places h come, do a little construction yourself, and show that you are not only good at destroying, but capable of yourself planning a model, in which criticism itself shall find nothing to criticize.
Well then, my perfect historian must start with two indispensable the one is political insight, the other the f the first is a gift of nature, which the second should have been acquired by long practice, unremitting toil, and loving study of the classics. There is nothing technical here, and no room fo this essay does not profess to bestow insight and acumen on those who are not endowed valuable, or invaluable rather, would it have been, if it could recast and modify like that, transmute lead into gold, tin into silver, magnify a Conon or Leotrophides into Titormus or Milo.
But what is the function of professional advice? not the creation of qualities which should be already there, but the indication of their proper use. No trainer, of course,--let him be Iccus, Herodicus, Theon, or who he may--will suggest that he can take a Perdiccas& and make an Olympic victor of him,
fit to face Theagenes of Thasos or Polydamas of S what he will tell you is that, given a constitution that will stand training, his system will considerably improve it. So with us--we are not to have every failure cast in our teeth, if we claim to have invented a system for so great and difficult a subject. We do not offer to take the first comer and make a historian of him--only to point out to any one who has natural insight and acquired literary skill certain straight roads (they may or may not be so in reality) which will bring him with less waste of time and effort to his goal.
I do not suppose you will object that the man with insight has no need of system and instruction upon the thin in that case he might have played the harp or flute untaught, and in fact have been omniscient. But, as things are at present, he cannot perform in these ways untaught, though with some assistance he will learn very easily, and soon be able to get along by himself.
You now know what sort of a pupil I (like the trainer) insist upon. He must not be weak either at understanding or at making himself understood, but a man of penetration, a capable administrator--potentially, that is,--with a soldierly spirit (which does not however exclude the civil spirit), and some at the least he must have been in camp, seen troops drilled or manœuvred, know a little about weapons and military engines, the differences between line and column, cavalry and infantry tactics (with the reasons for them), front in a word, none of your armchair strategists relying wholly on hearsay.
But first and foremost, let him be a man of independent spirit, with nothing to fear
else he will be a corrupt judge open to undue influences. If Philip's eye is knocked out at Olynthus by Aster the Amphipolite archer, it is not his business to exclaim, but just
he is not to think whether Alexander will be annoyed by a circumstantial account of the cruel murder of Clitus at table. If a Cleon has the ear of the assembly, and a monopoly of the tribune, he will not shrink on that account from describing him a all Athens will not stop him from dwelling on the Sicilian disaster, the capture of Demosthenes, the death of Nicias, the thirst, the foul water, and the shooting down of the drinkers. He will consider very rightly that no man of sense will blame him for recounting the effects of misfortune or fol he is not the author, but only the reporter of them. If a fleet is destroyed, it is if there is a rout, he is not in pursuit--unless perhaps he ought to have prayed for better things, and omitted to do so. Of course, if silence or contradiction would have put matters right, Thucydides might with a stroke of the pen have knocked down the counterwall on Epipolae, sent Hermocrates's trireme to the bottom, let daylight through the accursed Gylippus before he had done blocking the roads with wall and trench, and, finally, have cast the Syracusans into their own quarries and sent the Athenians cruising round Sicily and Italy with Alcibiades's first high hopes still on board. Alas, not Fate itself may undo the work of Fate.
The historian's one task is to tell the thing as it happened. This he cannot do, if he is Artaxerxes's physician& trembling before him, or hoping to get a purple cloak, a golden chain, a horse of the Nisaean breed, in payment for his laudations. A fair historian, a Xenophon, a Thucydides, will not accept that position. He may nurse some private dislikes, but he will attach far more importance to the public good, and set the truth he may have his favourites, but he will not spare their errors. For history, I say again, has this and t if a man will start upon it, he must
sacrifice to no God but T he m his sole rule and unerring guide is this--to think not of those who are listening to him now, but of the yet unborn who shall seek his converse.
Any one who is intent only upon the immediate effect may reasonably be classed
and History has long ago realized that flattery is as little congenial to her as the arts of personal adornment to an athlete's training. An anecdote of Alexander is to the point. 'Ah, Onesicritus,' said he, 'how I should like to come to life again for a little while, and see how your stuff strikes at present they have good enough reason to p that is their way of angling for a share of my favour.' On the same principle some people actually accept Homer's history of Achilles, full of ex the one great guarantee which they recognize of his truth is the fact that his su that leaves him no motive for lying.
There stands my model, then: fearless, incorruptible, independent, a believer in fr one that will call a spade a spade, make no concession to likes and dislikes, nor spare any man for pity or
an impartial judge, kind to all,
a literary cosmopolite with neither suzerain nor king, never heeding what this or that man may think, but setting down the thing that befell.
Thucydides is
he marked the admiration that met Herodotus and gave the Muses' nam and thereupon he drew the line which parts a good historian from a bad: our work is to be a possession for ever, not a bid fo we are not to seize upon the sensational, but bequeath the truth to
he applies the test of use, and defines the end which a wise historian will set before himself: it is that, should history
ever repeat itself, the records of the past may give present guidance.
Such are to be my historian's principles. As for diction and style, he is not to set about his work armed to the teeth from the rhetorician's arsenal of impetuosity and incisiveness, rolling periods, close-packed arguments, for him a serener mood. His matter should be homogeneous and compact, his vocabulary fit to be understanded of the people, for the clearest possible setting forth of his subject.
For to those marks which we set up for the historic spirit--frankness and truth--corresponds one at which the historic style should first of all aim, namely, a lucidity which leaves nothing obscure, impartially avoiding abstruse out-of-the-way expressions, and the illiberal
we wish the vulgar to comprehend, the cultivated to commend us. Ornament should be unobtrusive, and never smack of elaboration, if it is not to remind us of over-seasoned dishes.
The historian's spirit should not be without a touch of the it needs, like poetry, to employ impressive and exalted tones, especially when it finds itself in the midst of battle array and conf it is then that the poetic gale must blow to speed the vessel on, and help her ride the waves in majesty. But the diction is to be content with terra firma, rising a little to assimilate itself to the beauty and grandeur of the subject, but never startling the hearer, nor forget there is great risk at such times of its running wild and fallin and then it is that writers should hold themselves in with them as with horses an uncontrollable temper means disaster. At these times it is best for the spirit to go a-horseback, and the expression to run beside on foot, holding on to the saddle so as not to be outstripped.
As to the marshalling of your words, a moderate compromise
is desirable between the harshness which results from separating what belongs together, and the jingling concatenations--one may almost call them-- one extreme is a definite vice, and the other repellent.
Facts are not to be collected at haphazard, but with careful, laborious, re when possible, a man should have been present
failing that, he should prefer the disinterested account, selecting the informants least likely to diminish or magnify from partiality. And here comes the occasion for exercising the judgement in weighing probabilities.
The material once complete, or nearly so, an abstract should be made of it, and a rough draught of the whole work put down, not yet distri the detailed arrangement should then be introduced, after which adornment may be added, the diction receive its colour, the phrasing and rhythm be perfected.
The historian's position should now be precisely that of Zeus in Homer, surveying now the Mysians’, now the Thracian horsemen's land. Even so he will survey now his own party (telling us what we looked like to him from his post of vantage), now the Persians, and yet again both at once, if they come to blows. And when they are face to face, his eyes are not to be on one division, nor yet on one man, mounted or afoot--unless it be a Brasidas leading the forlorn hope, or a Demo his attention should be for the g their exhortations should be recorded, the dispositions they make, and the motives and plans that prompted them. When the engagement has begun, he should give us a bird's-eye view of it, show the scales oscillating, and accompany pursuers and pursued alike.
All this, however, a subject is not t no neglect of proportion, no childish engrossment,
but easy transitions. He should call a halt here, while he crosses over to another set of operations whi that settled up, he can return to the first set, he must pass swiftly to each in turn, keeping his different lines of advance as nearly as possible level, fly from Armenia to Media, thence swoop straight upon Iberia, and then take wing for Italy, everywhere present at the nick of time.
He has to make of his brain a mirror, unclouded, bright, and then he will reflect events as they presented themselves to him, neither distorted, discoloured, nor variable. Historians are not writing what they have to say is before them, and will get itself said somehow, their task is to arrange a they have not to consider what to say, but how to say it. The historian, we may say, should be like Phidias, Praxiteles, Alcamenes, or any great sculptor. They similarly did not create the gold, silver, ivory, or othe it was ready to their hands, provided by Athens, Elis, or A they only made the model, sawed, polished, cemented, proportioned the ivory, and that was what their art consisted in--the right arrangement of their material. The historian's business is similar--to superinduce upon events the charm of order, and set them forth in the most lucid fashion he can manage. When subsequently a hearer feels as though he were looking at what is being told him, and expresses his approval, then our historical Phidias's work has reached perfection, and received its appropriate reward.
When all is ready, a writer will sometimes start without formal preface, if there is no pressing occasion to clear away preliminaries by that means, though even then his explanation of what he is to say constitutes a virtual preface.
When a formal preface is used, one of the three objects to
which a public speaker devotes his exord the historian, that is, has not to bespeak goodwill--only attention and an open mind. The way to secure the reader's attention is to show that the affairs to be narrated are great in themselves, throw light on Destiny, or come home to hi and as to the open mind, the lucidity in the body of the work, which is to secure that, will be facilitated by a preliminary view of the causes in operation and a precise summary of events.
Prefaces of this character have been employed by the best historians--by Herodotus, 'to the end that what befell may not grow dim by lapse of time, seeing that it was great and wondrous, and showed forth withal Greeks vanquishing and barbarians vanquished'; and by Thucydides, 'believing that that war would be great and memorable bey for indeed great calamities took place during its course.'
After the preface, long or short in proportion to the subject, should come an easy natural transit for the body of the history which remains is nothing from beginning to end
it must therefore be graced with the narrative virtues--smooth, level, and consistent progress, neither soaring nor crawling, and the charm of lucidity--which is attained, as I remarked above, partly by the diction, and partly by the treatment of connected events. For, though all parts must be independently perfected, when the first is complete the second will be brought into essential connexion with it, and attached like one link o there must be no possibilit no mere bundle the first is not simply to be next to the second, but part of it, their extremities intermingling.
Brevity is always desirable, and especially wher and the problem is less a grammatical th the solution, I mean, is to deal summarily with
all immaterial details, and give adequate treatment to
much, indeed, is better omitted altogether. Suppose yourself giving a dinner, and ext there is pastry, game, kickshaws without end, wild boar, hare, well, you will not produce among these a pike, or a bowl of peasoup, just because they are
you will dispense with such common things.
Restraint in descriptions of mountains, walls, rivers, and the like, you must not give the impression that you are making a tasteless display of word-painting, and expatiating independently while the history takes care of itself. Just a light touch--no more than meets the need of clearness--, and you should pass on, evading the snare, and denying yourself all such indulgences. You have the mighty Homer's ex poet as he is, he yet hurries past Tantalus and Ixion, Tityus and the rest of them. If Parthenius, Euphorion, or Callimachus had been in his place, how many lines do you suppose it would have taken to get the water to Tantalus' how many more to set Ixion spinning? Better still, mark how Thucydides--a very sparing dealer in description--leaves the subject at once, as soon as he has given an idea (very necessary and useful, too) of an engine or a siege-operation, of the conformation of Epipolae, or the Syracusan harbour. It may occur to you that his account o but you must a then you will ap he it is only that the weight of matter holds him back in spite of himself.
When it comes in your way to introduce a speech, the first requirement is that it should suit the character both of the speaker the second is (once more) but in these cases you have the counsel's right of showing your eloquence.
Not so wi these should be sparing,
cautious, avoiding hypercriticism and producing proofs, always brief, historical characters are not prisoners on trial. Without these precautions you will share the ill name of Theopompus, who delights in flinging accusations broadcast, makes a business of the thing in fact, and of himself rather a public prosecutor than a historian.
It may occasionally happen that some extraordinary story
it should be simply narrated, without guarantee of its truth, thrown down for any one to ma the writer takes no risks and shows no preference.
But the general principle I would have remembered--it will ever be on my lips--is this: do not write merely with an eye to the present, that those now living may co aim at eternity, compose for posterity, and fro and that reward?--that it be said of you, 'This was a man indeed, free and free- flattery and servi he was truth all through.' It is a name which a man of judgement might well prefer to all the fleeting hopes of the present.
Do you know the story of the great Cnidian architect? He was the builder of that incomparable work, whether for size or beauty, the Pharus tower. Its light was to warn ships far out at sea, and save them from running on the Paraetonia, a spot so fatal to all who get among its reefs that escape is said to be hopeless. When the building was done, he inscribed on the actual masonry his own name, but covered this up with plaster, on which he then added the name of the reigning king. He knew that, as happened later, letters and plaster would fall off together, and reveal the words:
SOSTRATUS SON OF DEXIPHANES OF CNIDUS ON BEHALF OF ALL MARINERS TO THE SAVIOUR GODS
[paragraph continues] He looked not, it appears, to that time, nor to the space of his own little life, but to this time, and to all time, as long as his tower shall stand and his art abide.
So too should the historian write, consorting with Truth and not with flattery, looking to the future hope, not to the gratification of the flattered.
There is your measuring-line for just history. If any one be found to use it, I have not written in vain: if none, yet have I rolled my tub on the Craneum.
See note on Icaromenippus, 8.
These were very common in Roman Imperial times, for purposes of advertisement, of eliciting criticism, &c. 'The audience at recitations may be compared with the modern literary reviews, discharging the functions of a preventive and emendatory, not merely of a correctional tribunal. Before publication a work might thus be known to more hearers than it would now find readers' Mayor, Juvenal, iii. 9.
Omitting, with Dindorf, the words which appear in the Teubner text, after emendation, as: μικρὰ ῥάκια, ὅπως, καὶ αὐτὸς ἃν φαίνης, οὺ δἰ αὐτήν.
It was suggested in the Introduction that Lucian's criticism is for practical
but Prescott writes: 'He was surrounded by a party of friends, who had dropped in, it seems, after mass, to inquire after the state of his health, some of whom had remained to partake of his repast.'
Omitting, with Dindorf, a note on Perdiccas which runs thus: 'if Perdiccas it was, and not rather Seleucus's son Antiochus, who was wasted to a shadow by his passion for his step-mother.'
See Ctesias in Notes.}