That, then, is the sort of man the historian should be: fearless, incorruptible, free, a friend of free expression and the truth, intent, as the comic poet
 Aristophanes, on the dubious authority of Tzetzes (see Kock, Comic. Graec. Fragm. III, p. 451). 
 says, on calling a fig a fig and a trough a trough, giving nothing to hatred or to friendship, sparing no one, showing neither pity nor shame nor obsequiousness, an impartial judge, well disposed to all men up to the point of not giving one side more than its due, in his books a stranger and a man without a country, independent, subject to no sovereign, not reckoning what this or that man will think, but stating the facts.
 Thucydides laid down this law very well: he distinguished virtue and vice in historical writing, when he saw Herodotus greatly admired to the point where his books were named after the Muses. For Thucydides says that he is writing a possession for evermore rather than a prize-essay for the occasion, that he does not welcome fiction but is leaving to posterity the true account of what happened. He brings in, too, the question of usefulness and what is, surely, the purpose of sound history: that if ever again men find themselves in a like situation they may be


 

able, he says, from a consideration of the records of the past to handle rightly what now confronts them.
 That then is the sort of mind the historian should have, please, when he comes along. Now as to his language and power of expression, he need not at the beginning of his work sharpen his teeth to perfect proficiency in that vehement, sharp-fanged style that you know, packed with periods, and intricate with logical reasoning or other features of clever rhetoric. No, his tone should be more pacific, his thought coherent and well-knit, his language exact and statesmanlike, of a kind to set forth the subject with the utmost clarity and accuracy.
 For just as we set free expression and truthfulness as the target for the historian’s mind, so for his language this should be the first aim: to set forth the matter exactly and to expound it as lucidly as possible, using neither unknown or out-of-the-way words nor that vulgar language of the market-place, but such as ordinary folk may understand and the educated commend. Then, let figures adorn the work that give no offence and in particular appear unlaboured; otherwise he makes language seem like highly-seasoned sauces.
 Let his mind have a touch and share of poetry, since that too is lofty and sublime, especially when he has to do with battle arrays, with land and sea fights; for then he will have need of a wind of poetry to fill his sails and help carry his ship along, high on the crest of the waves. Let his diction nevertheless keep its feet on the ground, rising with the beauty and greatness of his subjects and as far as possible resembling them, but without becoming more unfamiliar



 

or carried away than the occasion warrants. For then its greatest risk is that of going mad and being swept down into poetry’s wild enthusiasm, so that at such times above all he must obey the curb and show prudence, in the knowledge that a stallion’s pride in literature as in life is no trifling ailment. It is better, then, that when his mind is on horseback his exposition should go on foot, running alongside and holding the saddle-cloth, so as not to be left behind.