Early Music and Historically Informed Performance Practice

The Performer as Orator

Cicero statue

Summary

Baroque musicians and theorists saw many parallels between the Greek and Roman art of rhetoric (oratory) and music.

According to ancient writers, such as Aristotle, Cicero and Quintilian, orators employed rhetorical means to control and direct the emotions of their audiences and so persuade and move them.

It is not surprising to find Marin Mersenne in Harmonie universelle (1636) describing musicians as ‘harmonic orators’.

The following is a transcript of a lecture given at the Baroque Winter Academy
(University of Melbourne) on 19 July 2020.

The Performer as Orator

Introduction

In this lecture I will be elaborating the concept of the performer as orator and arguing its fundamental importance in any discussion of performance practice, in particular the performance of Western music from the 17th and 18th centuries.

Baroque musicians and theorists saw many parallels between the Greek and Roman art of rhetoric (oratory) and music. According to ancient writers, such as Aristotle, Cicero and Quintilian, orators employed rhetorical means to control and direct the emotions of their audiences and so persuade and move them. It is not surprising to find Marin Mersenne in Harmonie universelle (1636) describing musicians as ‘harmonic orators’.

Rhetoric (the theoretical art of speaking) and oratory (the practical application of rhetoric) are synonymous terms for the art of discourse and communication, of speaking with elegance and eloquence. In On Rhetoric Aristotle states that there are three equally important elements in oratory: the speech itself (in music this is the piece being performed), the speaker (the performers) and the audience. The audience plays an important role and can influence a live performance in a very real way.

Direct communication with an audience was the primary motivation of most music from the 17th and 18th centuries.

Let’s begin with a quote from Quantz.

Musical execution may be compared with the delivery of an orator. The orator and the musician have, at bottom, the same aim in regard to both the preparation and the final execution of their productions, namely to make themselves masters of the hearts of their listeners, to arouse or still their passions, and to transport them now to this sentiment, now to that. Thus it is advantageous to both, if each has some knowledge of the duties of the other.

— Johann Joachim Quantz: Versuch einer Anweisung die Flöte traversiere zu spielen (Berlin, 1752)

This is how Quantz opens the chapter titled ‘Of good execution in general in singing and playing’. He uses the word Vortrag, which can also be translated as ‘manner of performance’. In oratory this is called delivery.

I first read this passage in the mid 1970s when I was an undergraduate at Sydney University. I had been a member of The Renaissance Players (directed by Winsome Evans) for a few years and had started playing the baroque flute.

It struck me as important because it described something I had experienced when playing and listening to music, though at the time I did not fully understand its meaning. I have spent the years since then on the long search for understanding.

Performance practice

In Western music today, performance is usually conceived as an interpretive art. Shai Burstyn, in an article in the journal Early Music titled ‘In quest of the period ear’, writes that underpinning this concept is the idea of a ‘communication triangle’, a division of labour whereby

composers create musical works and notate them in scores from which performers perform [i.e. interpret] for the edification and pleasure of listeners (Burstyn, 1997). [1]

This deeply entrenched view reflects the ‘romantic glorification of the inspired composer’, who is seen as the ‘creator of original musical edifices’ (Burstyn, 1997).

One of the more significant contributions of the early music movement in the 20th century, with its shift of emphasis from the composer and the composition to performance practice, is that it has demonstrated that

at least as far as pre-classical music is concerned, [the concept of a division of labour] is far from accurate and in many cases simply false’ (Burstyn, 1997).

By bringing together musicological research and practical music making, performance practice studies have revealed a more complex and subtle picture about the relationships of performer and composer.

We can now speak of the two tasks of the performer, which mirror the twin tasks of the modern rhetorician: that of genesis (creation) and analysis (interpretation).

In other words, in addition to the concept of the performer as interpreter, we can speak of the performer as composer. Furthermore, I contend that these two concepts are in fact two interdependent branches of a higher concept: the performer as orator.

Not only was this a dominant conception of the 17th and 18th centuries in Western musical thought, and therefore worth exploring by those interested in performing music from that time, but it may also be useful when thinking about music from other times and cultures. This is because rhetoric deals with both genesis and analysis, and has much to say about the role of the audience, an, until recently, neglected area.[2]

The performer as interpreter

The concept of the performer as interpreter is a relatively recent one, coinciding with the development of musical notation. However, for many centuries various aspects of a piece of music were not notated, either because the performer was the composer, or because the composer was involved in directing the performance or because the system of notation used, or the technology available to reproduce it (for example, block-type versus engraving), was not adequate, or for other reasons to be discussed below.

One of the tasks of performance practice studies is to elucidate these unnotated aspects (often termed performance conventions). While the trend has been for an increasing complexity of notation—from Beethoven onwards composers have attempted, more and more, to take back the responsibility for the creation and interpretation of their works—there will always be a need for performance practice studies because of the inherently limited nature of any type of musical notation.

However, a piece of music is not the notes on the page but the sounds that the audience hears, just as oratory is primarily a verbal rather than literary art. The musical ‘text’ should be seen as a set of ‘notes’ (as in guidelines or reminders) for a performance (musical delivery or oration): the ‘notes’ embody the ideas and arguments of the composer, which the performer (orator) then uses for the primary task of communication, which in music, as Quantz and his contemporaries attest, can best be described as moving the affections.

Because, as rhetoric recognises, a particular performance takes place at a particular time and place, before a particular audience (even if is only the performer himself), in a particular venue and so forth (that is, within a particular context or situation), the performer (orator) needs to make judgements about how best to use the composer’s ‘notes’ in their delivery. This may include making anything from minor modifications or additions to major adjustments.

The act of interpretation is like an act of criticism (in the sense of the analysis and judgement of the merits and faults of an artistic work). The aim is to make the piece of music meaningful (or moving) for a particular audience, and as such can be conceived as an act of renewal or completion. It is through exercising their judgement that the performer also takes on the role of composer; and at different periods in music history the performer had the responsibility of exercising this judgement to a greater or lesser extent.

The performer as composer

As we have seen, Quantz regarded a musician as both performer and composer. In the 17th and 18th centuries the performer of a piece often was its composer. David Fuller, in the introductory comments to a chapter titled ‘The performer as composer’, summarises the position as follows:

In the 17th and 18th centuries, the collaboration between composer and performer, without which no music can exist that is not improvised or composed directly into its medium (like electronic music), was weighted more heavily towards the performer than at any time since and perhaps before.

A large part of the music of the whole era was sketched rather than fully realized, and the performer had something of the responsibility of a child with a colouring book, to turn these sketches into rounded art-works (Fuller, 1989).[3]

He goes on to mention and give advice about many of the problem areas that are now well known to students of performance practice, but his main focus is on three areas particularly related to problems of notation (or the lack of it):

  • basso continuo (which he sees as lying on the border between notated and unnotated music),

  • ornamentation and

  • rhythm (particularly, rhythmic alteration).

What he does not do is attempt to explain why composers left so much up to the performer. This is a topic for another time.

If the primary motivation of a composer is self-expression (as, for example, I would argue is the case in Romantic music), perhaps there is less need for the performer as composer.

If the primary motivation is communication, as is the case with 17th and 18th century music, the need for the performer as composer is clear (and a grasp of rhetoric is vital) in order to bridge the gap or make the connection with a particular audience at a particular time and place.

The qualities of the ideal performer

The most important attribute of a performer is good judgement, or, as 17th- and 18th-century musicians and theorists described it, good taste. Whether consciously or unconsciously, the performer is constantly making decisions or value judgements.

The degree of judgement a performer may or is expected to exercise varies from period to period, and even from repertoire to repertoire within any particular period (it may even vary from piece to piece within the corpus of one composer). It may also vary according to the expectations and taste of a particular audience at a particular time.

This raises a number of important questions:

  • what informs good judgement or good taste?; and,

  • can good judgement or taste be taught?

Classical (Greek and Roman) rhetoric also addressed such important pedagogical issues. For example, Quintilian’s Institutio Oratoria [Education of the Orator] (c.95 CE) discusses the education of the orator from birth to death.

Put another way, we may ask: what are the qualities a performer needs to make good judgements or have good taste?

These qualities relate to the Greek concept of ethos (‘character’, the moral character of a person, either the speaker or the listener), as expounded by Aristotle, who identified it as one of the three artistic or intrinsic means of persuasion (the other two are logos and pathos).

The answer to what qualities are required involves two parts or elements, both of which inform and complete the other, and both of which, ideally, need to be present:

  • intuition (talent) and

  • intellect (knowledge).

Intuition is the talent or capacity to do the musically ‘right’ thing, seemingly without instruction or special consideration (also called musicality).

Intellect has to do with the sources of musical insight, the means by which a musician increases their knowledge through the pursuit of relevant information and through reflection and analysis (criticism).

The discussion of the qualities required of a musician (whether composer or performer) is not new. In the Introduction to the Versuch, titled ‘Of the qualities required of those who would dedicate themselves to music’, Quantz puts it as follows. The first quality required of someone who wishes to become a good musician is ‘a particularly good talent, or natural gift’ (Introduction, § 4), and secondly, that to excel in music the musician must ‘feel in himself a perpetual and untiring love for it, a willingness and eagerness to spare neither industry nor pains’ (Introduction, § 8). He later calls this ‘the inclination for music’ (Introduction, § 9).

Quantz then goes on to caution that

[i]ndustry founded upon ardent love and insatiable enthusiasm for music must be united with constant and diligent inquiry, and mature reflection and examination. In this respect a noble pride must prevent the beginner from being easily satisfied, and must inspire him to gradually perfect himself (Introduction, § 12).

In all this a balance must be maintained, for

[t]oo great a dependence upon talent is a great obstacle to industry and subsequent reflection. Experience teaches that we encounter more ignorant persons among those who possess especially good natural gifts than among those who enhance mediocre talents through industry and reflection (Introduction, § 14).

The process of constant and diligent inquiry combined with mature reflection and examination can be seen as a process of conceptualisation, the search for explanations and understanding. It is a process of education rather than just training: of asking, ‘Why should I do this?, rather than, ‘What should I do?’

A multidisciplinary approach to the study of performance practice

There is obvious utility in a multidisciplinary or holistic approach to the study of performance practice. One would expect that such an approach needs little justification, however there are practitioners and teachers today, as in the past, who view such an approach as ‘academic’ (in the negative sense of theoretical or intellectual rather than practical) and see those who follow such an approach as ‘specialists’ (in the sense of ‘non-mainstream’).

These same people, and many can be found in music departments and faculties in Australia as elsewhere, regard the main function of (tertiary) study as training rather than education. I refute such a narrow view. If one thing should become clear, it is that the approach I am advocating (and which I have followed myself) is intensely practical, of invaluable use in solving the many practical problems a performer encounters and in answering the many questions a performer should ask.

The anti-academic view is not new. Again it is apposite to quote a telling passage from Quantz’s Introduction to his Versuch, where he argues for a multidisciplinary approach. It reveals something of Quantz’s own background, and also that of his audience, one that included a knowledge of Greek philosophy and oratory, as well as an interest in pedagogy:

He who does not possess sufficient natural gifts for academic study probably has even fewer gifts for music. Yet if someone who gives himself to academic studies has sufficient talent for music, and devotes just as much industry to it as to the former, he not only has an advantage over other musicians, but also can be of greater service to music in general [and thereby also to society] [4] than others, as can be demonstrated with many examples.

Whoever is aware of how much influence mathematics[5] and the other related sciences, such as philosophy, poetry, and oratory, have upon music, will have to own not only that music has a greater compass than many imagine, but also that the evident lack of knowledge about the above-mentioned sciences among the majority of professional musicians is a great obstacle to their further advancement, and the reason why music has not yet been brought to a more perfect state.

This seems inevitable, since those who have a command of theory are seldom strong in practice, and those who excel in practice can seldom pretend to be masters of theory. In these circumstances is it possible to bring music to some degree of perfection? To do so, serious counsel must be given to young people who dedicate themselves to music that they endeavour not to remain strangers at least to those sciences mentioned above, and some foreign languages besides, even if time does not permit them to engage in all academic studies. And for those who propose to make composition their goal, a thorough knowledge of acting [= delivery?] will not be unserviceable.

— Quantz, Versuch, Introduction, § 19).

While we must acknowledge the context of Quantz’s work, that ‘it is the synthesis of the experience of one man active at a particular period in time in a certain milieu’ [6], his observations and comments about the state of music are still relevant today, as is his call for a broader, multidisciplinary (holistic) approach.

Rhetoric: an overview

The ancient Greeks and Romans saw rhetoric as a tool of knowledge. I have found that it provides legitimate explanations of relevance to the study of performance practice (and of all music generally). As Quantz said, it is advantageous for a musician to have some knowledge of the duties of the orator.

George A. Kennedy defines classical rhetoric as that theory of discourse developed by the Greeks and Romans of the classical period, applied in both oratory and in literary genres, and taught in schools in antiquity, in the Greek and western Middle Ages, and throughout the Renaissance and early modern period (Kennedy, 1994).[7]

By the end of antiquity classical rhetoric was a standard body of knowledge derived from a small number of Greek and Roman sources, which, once fully developed, remained essentially unaltered. It was, however, constantly revised and adapted, and often made more detailed. It is an incipient characteristic of classical rhetoric that over its long history it underwent a process of compartmentalisation and fragmentation. This, combined with the shift of emphasis from oral to written language after the disappearance of public forums following the end of the Roman republic, led to its decline as a tool of knowledge, especially after the sixteenth century.

By the 19th century, classical rhetoric, or what little part of it that remained, had been discredited. Negative views toward classical rhetoric, or rather what it became after antiquity, persisted well into the 20th century and even today the word rhetoric is usually used pejoratively.

Since the 1930s a renewed interest in rhetoric has emerged along with an attempt to restore it to the study of communication. This has taken two forms:

  1. studies, such as George A. Kennedy’s Classical Rhetoric and its Christian and Secular Tradition from Ancient to Modern Times (1980) and A New History of Classical Rhetoric (1994), and Brian Vicker’s In Defense of Rhetoric (1988), that present accounts of classical rhetoric and its relevance today; and

  2. the development of what has been termed modern or new rhetoric, which takes classical (largely Aristotelian) rhetoric as a starting point and shifts the emphasis from the speaker or writer to the auditor or reader.

For Chaim Perelman, author of The New Rhetoric, modern rhetoric

is a practical discipline that aims not at producing a work of art but at exerting through speech a persuasive action on an audience’ (Perelman, 1999).[8]

This definition is in fact an accurate description of classical rhetoric as it was originally conceived by the ancient Greeks, especially Aristotle. In reclaiming or restating this view of rhetoric, which they see as having philosophical interest, proponents of the new rhetoric are consciously rejecting a view that sees rhetoric as an art of expression (or self-expression) aimed at producing a work of art, whether literary or verbal (or musical), with, they would argue, mainly decorative or aesthetic value.

Both these points of view are present in classical rhetoric (historically, the second grew out of the first), and can be characterised as primary or functional rhetoric (the art of persuasion) and secondary or decorative rhetoric (the art of speaking or writing well).

Throughout its long history, rhetoric has experienced shifts of emphasis between these two poles, and modern rhetoric can be seen as attempting to shift the emphasis of rhetoric back to its primary or functional role (the Aristotelian position).

In the 17th and early–18th centuries in France there was also a shift of emphasis back to primary rhetoric that is reflected in the musical thought of that time. This French thinking had an influence on some later German musicians, such as Quantz, who virtually ignored the emphasis placed on secondary rhetoric by their German contemporaries and forebears [from Burmeister to Mattheson].

The perspective of modern rhetoric (denoted by the term ‘situation’) is one of context, based on the belief that

all utterance [or all human discourse], except perhaps the mathematical formula, is aimed at influencing a particular audience at a particular time and place, even if the only audience is the speaker or writer himself’ (Sloan (1), 1999);

and the methodology (denoted by the term ‘argumentation’) it uses for

the uncovering of those strategies whereby the interest, values, or emotions of an audience are engaged by any speaker or writer through his discourse’ (Sloan (2), 1999)

is based on the belief that

any utterance may be interpreted rhetorically by being studied in terms of its situation—within its original milieu or even within its relationship to any reader or hearer—as if it were an argument’ (Sloan (1), 1999).

According to this view, the ‘traditional figures of rhetoric’, which are a manifestation of secondary rhetoric and which have received the main emphasis in modern studies on musical rhetoric, ‘are usually only abridged arguments, as, for instance, a metaphor is an abbreviated analogy’ (Perelman (2), 1999).

What makes modern rhetoric such a powerful higher-level theory is that it links a focus on genesis (creation)—the focus of classical rhetoric—with a focus on analysis (interpretation); that is, it links the speaker or writer with the auditor or reader. As Sloan states:

Rhetorical analysis is actually an analogue of traditional rhetorical genesis: both view the message through the situation of the auditor or reader as well as the situation of the speaker or writer. Both view the message as compounded of elements of time and place [the milieu of creation], motivation [the mind of the creator] and response [the audience] (Sloan (2), 1999.

The context, then, is made up of three elements, each of which influence the others, and which itself influences both genesis and analysis. The preceding discussion is summarised in Diagram 1.

An interpretation or analysis that emphasises the context of a ‘text’ is therefore, by definition, a rhetorical analysis, as distinct from other kinds of analysis (denoted as literary or stylistic analysis) that attempt to isolate or abstract the ‘text’ from its context. Perelman states this position as follows:

the new rhetoric is opposed to the tradition of modern, purely literary rhetoric, better called stylistic, which reduces rhetoric to a study of figures of style, because it [new rhetoric] is not concerned with the forms of discourse for their ornamental or aesthetic value but solely in so far as they are means of persuasion and, more especially, means of creating “presence” (i.e., bringing to the mind of the hearer things that are not immediately present) through techniques of presentation (Perelman 3).

Many so-called rhetorical analyses of music are in fact stylistic analyses (using the labels and terminology of rhetoric and applying them to musical figures). The figures of speech (or style), which became such an important element of classical rhetoric, are best viewed as tools to be used in the twin processes or tasks of rhetoric (genesis and analysis – see diagram 1).

Classical rhetoricians included a discussion of the figures under the heading elocutio (or decoratio), which is usually translated as ‘style’, and divided them into two categories according to function: the tropes (textural effects) and the schemes (structural principles).

Tropes, such as metaphor, simile and hyperbole, ‘pertain…to the texture of the discourse, the local colour or details’; schemes, such as allegory, antithesis and apostrophe, pertain ‘to the structure [of the discourse], the shape of the total argument’ (Sloan 3).

Such a neat division is certainly attractive, especially when using the figures (viewed as lower-level components) as the basis for a literary or stylistic analysis; what we could call a non-holistic, reductive explanation. However, Sloan makes an important point that highlights the limited value of such analyses:

a certain slippage in the categories trope and scheme became inevitable, not simply because rhetoricians were inconsistent in their use of terms but because well-constructed discourse reflects a fusion of structure and texture. One is virtually indistinguishable from the other (Sloan 3).

In other words, the figures cannot usefully be extracted or abstracted from the context as outlined in Diagram 1. Sloan summarises these points as follows:

a modern rhetorician would insist that the figures, like all the elements of rhetoric, reflect and determine not only the conceptualizing processes of the speaker’s mind but also an audience’s potential response. For all these reasons figures of speech are crucial means of examining the transactional nature of discourse (Sloan 3).

The notion of a transaction (a two-way process) brings us back to a central argument of this lecture: that the primary motivation of 17th- and 18th-century musicians was communication (an end outside or beyond itself) rather than self-expression (an end in itself), with the aim (the conclusion or settlement of the transaction) of arousing the passions of the audience.

If we accept that the most important attribute of a performer is good judgement or good taste, then the perspective of (modern) rhetoric is of undeniable use in the study of performance practice because it provides a rational or logical framework for discussing value judgements. Quantz clearly accepted this, not only in his discussion of good execution, but also in the important final chapter of the Versuch —‘How a musician and a musical composition are to be judged’—which deals with forms and styles.

Rhetoric and music: music as eloquence

A dominant assumption underlying musical thought in the 17th and 18th centuries is that the ancient Greeks were correct in their belief that music plays a fundamental role in society because of its power to have a direct effect upon the soul and actions of mankind. This presupposes that music possesses a content beyond its purely musical syntax and structure (the ‘notes’), and that this content is describable in emotive terms (the passions). This is itself based on the view, first discussed by Plato and Aristotle, that music ‘imitates’ or ‘represents’ the characters and passionate tones of men with the aim of arousing such passions in the listener.

René Descartes, in the opening sentence of his Compendium Musicæ (a treatise on music written in 1618 but not published until 1656), defines music in terms of its power to arouse the passions:

The OBJECT of this Art is a Sound. The END; to delight, and move various Affections in us.’

For Descartes, music has the same primary function as rhetoric.

[Sidenote: Descartes and his French contemporaries were Aristotelians. This reflects a shift of emphasis back to primary rhetoric in 17th-century France. The English and German emphasis at this time was more on secondary rhetoric.]

But musicians and theorists of the 17th and 18th centuries (and, indeed, those of earlier periods) saw parallels between rhetoric and music on the secondary or decorative level as well: the level that includes musical syntax and structure. In Harmonie universelle (Paris, 1636), Marin Mersenne, a friend and correspondent of Descartes, states that:

Airs in a way ought to imitate orations, in order to have members, parts and periods, and make use of all manner of figures and harmonic passages, as the orator does, so that the art of composing and writing counterpoint will not be second to rhetoric.

This view was still current at the beginning of the 18th century, and, if anything, had become more widely accepted. Michel de Saint Lambert, in Les principes du clavecin (Paris, 1702), turns things around and states that an oration actually imitates a piece of music, and adds that music is more naturally rhetorical than speech. This view was also held by Bernard Lamy in L’art de parler (1675) who argued that passions could be aroused by sound alone.

Saint Lambert’s treatise is not a philosophical work (like those of Descartes and, to a large extent, of Mersenne), but a practical handbook aimed at beginner harpsichordists. His statements occur in Chapter 8—‘Concerning the signs that indicate metre and tempo’—the type of chapter one would find in any music primer today that aimed to teach the beginning student how to read music. By making the analogy with rhetoric, Saint Lambert is assuming his readers already have a grasp of that discipline. He says:

A piece of music somewhat resembles a piece of eloquence [une Pièce d’Éloquence], or rather it is the piece of eloquence which resembles the piece of music.

This quote directly linking music with oratory echoes Quantz’s words quoted at the start and brings us back to where we began. This seems like a good place for me to finish my exposition.

This lecture uses PhD research I undertook at The University of Melbourne many years ago. I never submitted a final thesis, but the research has sustained and inspired me through most of my career as a performer.

© Greg Dikmans


  1. Shai Burstyn. ‘In quest of the period ear’. Early Music 25.4 (1997): 693–701.  ↩

  2. See Burstyn, ‘In quest of the period ear’. His rationale is worth quoting: ‘At the third corner of the music communication triangle is, of course, the listener. In the heat of research efforts and arguments about the exciting topics of compositional intentions, the status of notation and the freedom of the performer, the listener has been neglected, left aside as a lesser problem; listening, after all, more than any other musical activity, is intuitively practiced and experienced by everyone. While the ‘intentional fallacy’ helped weaken the thesis of the composer’s centrality, its intense focus on the work itself tended to ignore the reader, spectator and listener. Thus, in spite of a steadily growing interest and activity in reception history and theory which have yielded some important studies, listening is, by and large, either still taken for granted, or entrusted to music psychologists—an astonishing state of affairs in the heyday of reader response criticism. In calling attention to the period ear, this article thereby attempts to shift focus from the musical work to the listener’s role in making it meaningful; it is a modest contribution to listener response criticism’ (p. 693).  ↩

  3. David Fuller. ‘The performer as composer’. Ch. 6 in Performance Practice: Music after 1600, Howard Mayer Brown and Stanley Sadie, eds. London: Macmillan, 1989. 117–146.  ↩

  4. In §1 of the Introduction Quantz states that: ‘Before I begin my instructions for playing the flute, and for becoming a good musician at the same time, I feel that it is necessary to give those who wish to apply themselves to music, and by that means make themselves useful members of society, some rules by which they may determine whether they are gifted with all the qualities necessary to a good musician [my emphasis].’ Quantz is here echoing the ancient Greek belief, espoused by philosophers such as Plato and Aristotle, that music plays a fundamental role in society because of its power to have a direct effect upon the soul and actions of mankind.  ↩

  5. It is probable that Quantz is here thinking of ancient Greek teachings on the nature of music: Pythagoras, for example, saw music as virtually a department of mathematics. St Augustine, at the end of classical antiquity, and St Thomas Aquinas, who reiterated Augustine’s beliefs in the Middle Ages, agreed with Pythagoras and held that music thereby reflects celestial movement and order (the harmony of the spheres). In the seventeenth century, René Descartes also saw the basis of music as mathematical. (He also followed Plato in beleiving music has an ethical dimension.)  ↩

  6. Edward R. Reilly, translator’s introduction to On playing the flute, xi.  ↩

  7. George A. Kennedy. A New History of Classical Rhetoric. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994. (An extensive rev. and abr. of The Art of Persuasion in Greece, The Art of Rhetoric in the Roman World and Greek Rhetoric under Christian Emperors).  ↩

  8. Chaim Perelman. ‘Rhetoric: Rhetoric in philosophy: The new rhetoric.’ Britannica CD 99 Standard Edition. Chicago: Encylcopaedia Britannica, 1999.  ↩