The great secret for moving the passions is to be moved ourselves, for
the imitation of grief, anger, indignation, will often be ridiculous if
conforming to only our words and countenance, while our heart at the
same time is estranged from them. What other reason makes the afflicted
exclaim in so eloquent a manner during the first transports of their
grief? And how, otherwise, do the most ignorant speak eloquently in
anger, unless it be from this force and these mental feelings?
In such passions, therefore, which we would represent as true copies of
real ones, let us be ourselves like those who unfeignedly suffer, and
let our speech proceed from such a disposition of mind as that in which
we would have the judge be. Will he grieve who hears me speak with an
expressionless face and air of indifference? Will he be angry when I,
who am to excite him to anger, remain cool and sedate? Will he shed
tears when I plead unconcerned? All this is attempting impossibilities.
Nothing warms nor moistens but that which is endued with the quality of
heat or moisture, nor does anything give to another a color it has not
itself. The principal consideration, then, must be that we, ourselves,
retain the impression of which we would have the judges susceptible, and
be ourselves affected before we endeavor to affect others.