so much a remarkable as a necessary share in forming the character of a
compleat Orator, and are likewise common to _his_ with many other
professions;--and though, to invent, and judge with accuracy, what is
proper to be said, are important accomplishments, and the same as the soul
is to the body, yet they rather belong to _prudence_ than to Eloquence. In
what cause, however, can _prudence_ be idle? Our Orator, therefore, who is
to be all perfection, should be thoroughly acquainted with the sources of
argument and proof. For as every thing which can become the subject of
debate, must rest upon one or another of these particulars, viz.--whether
a fact has been really committed, or what name it ought to bear in law, or
whether it is agreeable or contrary to justice; and as the reality of a
fact must be determined by force of evidence, the true name of it by it's
definition, and the quality of it by the received notions of right and
wrong;--an Orator (not an ordinary one, but the finished Speaker we are
describing) will always turn off the controversy, as much as possible,
from particular persons and times, (for we may argue more at liberty
concerning general topics than about circumstances) in such a manner that
what is proved to be true _universally_, may necessarily appear to be so
in all _subordinate_ cases. The point in debate being thus abstracted from
particular persons and times, and brought to rest upon general principles,
is called a _thesis_. In _this_ the famous Aristotle carefully practised
his scholars;--not to argue with the formal precision of Philosophers, but
to canvass a point handsomely and readily on both sides, and with all the
copiousness so much admired in the Rhetoricians: and for this purpose he
delivered a set of _common places_ (for so he calls them) which were to
serve as so many marks or characters for the discovery of arguments, and
from which a discourse might be aptly framed on either side of a question.
Our Orator then, (for I am not speaking of a mere school-declaimer, or a
noisy ranter in the Forum, but of a well-accomplished and a finished
Speaker)--our Orator, as there is such a copious variety of common-places,
will examine them all, and employ those which suit his purpose in as
general and indefinite a manner as his cause will permit, and carefully
trace and investigate them to their inmost sources. But he will use the
plenty before him with discretion, and weighing every thing with the
utmost accuracy, select what is best: for the stress of an argument does
not always, and in every cause, depend upon similar topics. He will,
therefore, exercise his judgment; and not only discover what _may_ be
said, but thoroughly examine the _force_ of it. For nothing is more
fertile than the powers of genius, and especially those which have been
blessed with the cultivation of science. But as a rich and fruitful soil
not only produces corn in abundance, but also weeds to choak and smother
it; so from the common-places we are speaking of, many arguments will
arise, which are either trivial, or foreign to our purpose, or entirely
useless. An Orator, therefore, should carefully examine each, that he may
be able to select with propriety. Otherwise, how can he enlarge upon those
which are most pertinent, and dwell upon such as more particularly affect
his cause? Or how can he soften a harsh circumstance, or conceal, and (if
possible) entirely suppress what would be deemed unanswerable, or steal
off the attention of the hearer to a different topic? Or how alledge
another argument in reply, which shall be still more plausible than that
of his antagonist?
But after he has thus _invented_ what is proper to be said, with what
accuracy must he _methodize_ it? For this is the second of the three
articles above-mentioned. Accordingly, he will give the portal of his
Harangue a graceful appearance, and make the entrance to his cause as neat
and splendid as the importance of it will permit. When he has thus made
himself master of the hearer's good wishes at the first onset, he will
endeavour to invalidate what makes against him; and having, by this means,
cleared his way, his strongest arguments will appear some of them in the
front, and others at the close of his discourse; and as to those of more
trifling consequence, he will occasionally introduce [Footnote: In the
Original it is _inculcabit_, he will _tread them in_, (like the sand or
loose dust in a new pavement) to support and strengthen the whole.] them
here and there, where he judges them likely to be most serviceable. Thus,
then, we have given a cursory view of what he ought to be, in the two
first departments of Oratory. But, as we before observed, these, though
very important in their consequences, require less art and application.
After he has thus invented what is proper to be said, and in what order,
the greatest difficulty is still behind;--namely to consider _how_ he is
to say it, and _in what manner_. For the observation of our favourite
_Carneades_ is well-known,--"That _Clitomachus_ had a perpetual sameness
of sentiment, and Charmidas a tiresome uniformity of expression." But if
it is a circumstance of so much moment in Philosophy, _in what manner_ we
express ourselves, where the matter, and not the language, is principally
regarded; what must we think of public debates, which are wholly ruled and
swayed by the powers of Elocution? Accordingly, my Brutus, I am sensible
from your letters, that you mean to inquire what are my notions of a
finished Speaker, not so much with respect to his Invention and
Disposition, as to his talents of _Elocution_:--a severe task! and the
most difficult you could have fixed upon! For as language is ever soft and
yielding, and so amazingly pliable that you may bend and form it at your
pleasure; so different natures and dispositions have given rise to
different kinds of Elocution. Some, for instance, who place the chief
merit of it in it's rapidity, are mightily pleased with a torrent of
words, and a volubility of expression. Others again are better pleased
with regular, and measured intervals, and frequent stops, and pauses. What
can be more opposite? and yet both have their proper excellence. Some also
confine their attention to the smoothness and equability of their periods,
and aim at a style which is perfectly neat and clear: while others affect
a harshness, and severity of diction, and to give a gloomy cast to their
language:--and as we have already observed that some endeavour to be
nervous and majestic, others neat and simple, and some to be smooth and
florid, it necessarily follows that there must be as many different kinds
of Orators, as there are of Eloquence. But as I have already enlarged the
talk you have imposed upon me;--(for though your enquiries related only to
Elocution, I have ventured a few hints on the arts of Invention and
Disposition;)--I shall now treat not only of _Elocution_, but of _action_.
By this means, every part of Oratory will be attended to: for as to
_memory_, which is common to this with many other arts, it is entirely out
of the question.
The Art of Speaking then, so far as it regards only the _manner_ in which
our thoughts should be expressed, consists in _action_ and _Elocution_;
for action is the Eloquence of the body, and implies the proper management
of our _voice_ and _gesture_. As to the inflexions of the voice, they are
as numerous as the various passions it is capable of exciting. The
finished Orator, therefore, who is the subject of this Essay, in whatever
manner he would appear to be affected himself, and touch the heart of his
hearer, will employ a suitable and corresponding tone of voice:--a topic
which I could willingly enlarge upon, if delivering precepts was any part
of my present design, or of your request. I should likewise have treated
concerning _gesture_, of which the management of the countenance is a
material part: for it is scarcely credible of what great importance it is
to an Orator to recommend himself by these external accomplishments. For
even those who were far from being masters of good language, have many
times, by the sole dignity of their action, reaped the fruits of
Eloquence; while others who had the finest powers of Elocution, have too
often, by the mere awkwardness of their delivery, led people to imagine
that they were scarcely able to express themselves:--so that Demosthenes,
with sufficient reason, assigned the first place, and likewise the second
and third to _pronunciation_. For if Eloquence without this is nothing,
but this, even without Eloquence, has such a wonderful efficacy, it must
be allowed to bear the principal sway in the practice of Speaking.
If an Orator, then, who is ambitious to win the palm of Eloquence, has any
thing to deliver which is warm and cutting, let his voice be strong and
quick;--if what is calm and gentle, let it be mild and easy;--if what is
grave and sedate, let it be cool and settled;--and if what is mournful and
affecting, let his accents be plaintive and flexible. For the voice may be
raised or depressed, and extended or contracted to an astonishing degree;
thus in Music (for instance) it's three tones, the _mean_, the _acute_,
and the _grave_, may be so managed by art, as to produce a pleasing and an
infinite variety of sounds. Nay, even in Speaking, there may be a
concealed kind of music:--not like the whining epilogue of a Phrygian or a
Carian declaimer, but such as was intended by _Aeschines_, and
_Demosthenes_, when the one upbraids and reproaches the other with the
artificial modulations of his voice. _Demosthenes_, however, says most
upon this head, and often speaks of his accuser as having a sweet and
clear pronunciation. There is another circumstance, which may farther
enforce our attention to the agreeable management of the voice; for Nature
herself, as if she meant to harmonize the speech of man, has placed an
accent on every word, and one accent only, which never lies farther than
the third syllable from the last. Why, therefore, should we hesitate to
follow her example, and to do our best to gratify the ear? A good voice,
indeed, though a desirable accomplishment, is not in our power to
acquire:--but to exercise, and improve it, is certainly in the power of
every person.
The Orator, then, who means to be the prince of his profession, will
change and vary his voice with the most delicate propriety; and by
sometimes raising, and sometimes depressing it, pursue it gradually
through all it's different tones, and modulations. He will likewise
regulate his _gesture_, so as to avoid even a single motion which is
either superfluous or impertinent. His posture will be erect and manly:--
he will move from his ground but seldom, and not even then too
precipitately; and his advances will be few and moderate. He will practise
no languishing, no effeminate airs of the head, no finical playing of the
fingers, no measured movement of the joints. The chief part of his gesture
will consist in the firm and graceful sway of his body, and in extending
his arm when his arguments are pressing, and drawing it again when his
vehemence abates. But as to the _countenance_, which next to the voice has
the greatest efficacy, what dignity and gracefulness is it not capable of
supporting! and when you have been careful that it may neither be
unmeaning, nor ostentatious, there is still much to be left to the
expression of the _eyes_. For if the countenance is the _image_ of the
mind, the eyes are it's _interpreters_, whose degree of pleasantry or
sadness must be proportioned to the importance of our subject.
But we are to exhibit the portrait of a finished Orator, whose chief
excellence must be supposed, from his very name, to consist in his
_Elocution_; while his other qualifications (though equally complete) are
less conspicuous. For a mere inventor, a mere digester, or a mere actor,
are titles never made use of to comprize the whole character; but an
Orator derives his name, both in Greek and Latin, from the single talent
of Elocution. As to his other qualifications, every man of sense may claim
a share of them: but the full powers of language are exerted by himself
alone. Some of the philosophers, indeed, have expressed themselves in a
very handsome manner: for _Theophrastus_ derived his name from the
divinity of his style; _Aristotle_ rivalled the glory of _Isocrates_; and
the Muses themselves are said to have spoken from the lips of _Xenophon_;
and, to say no more, the great _Plato_ is acknowledged in majesty and
sweetness to have far exceeded all who ever wrote or spoke. But their
language has neither the nerves nor the sting which is required in the
Orator's, when he harangues the crowded Forum. They speak only to the
learned, whose passions they rather choose to compose than disturb; and
they discourse about matters of calm and untumultuous speculation, merely
as teachers, and not like eager antagonists: though even _here_, when they
endeavour to amuse and delight us, they are thought by some to exceed the
limits of their province. It will be easy, therefore, to distinguish this
species of Elocution from the Eloquence we are attempting to delineate.
For the language of philosophy is gentle and composed, and entirely
calculated for the shady walks of the Academy;--not armed with those
forcible sentiments, and rapid turns of expression, which are suited to
move the populace, nor measured by exact numbers and regular periods, but
easy, free, and unconfined. It has nothing resentful belonging to it,
nothing invidious, nothing fierce and flaming, nothing exaggerated,
nothing marvellous, nothing artful and designing; but resembles a chaste,
a bashful, and an unpolluted virgin. We may, therefore, consider it as a
kind of polite conversation, rather than a species of Oratory.
As to the _Sophists_, whom I have already mentioned, the resemblance ought
to be more accurately distinguished: for they industriously pursue the
same flowers which are used by an Orator in the Forum. But they differ in
this,--that, as their principal aim is not to disturb the passions, but
rather to allay them, and not so much to persuade as to please,--they
attempt the latter more openly, and more frequently than we do. They seek
for agreeable sentiments, rather than probable ones; they use more
frequent digressions, intermingle tales and fables, employ more shewy
metaphors, and work them into their discourses with as much fancy and
variety as a painter does his colours; and they abound in contrasts and
antitheses, and in similar and corresponding cadences.
Nearly allied to these is _History_, which conducts her narratives with
elegance and ease, and now and then sketches out a country, or a battle.
She likewise diversifies her story with short speeches, and florid
harangues: but in these, only neatness and fluency is to be expected, and
not the vehemence and poignant severity of an Orator [Footnote: In the
Original it is,--_sed in his tracta quaedam et fluens expetitur, nan haec
contorta, et acris Oratorio_; upon which Dr. Ward has made the following
remark:--"Sentences, with respect to their form or composition, are
distinguished into two sorts, called by Cicero _tracta_, strait or direct,
and _contorta_, bent or winding. By the former are meant such, whose
members follow each other in a direct order, without any inflexion; and by
the latter, those which strictly speaking are called periods."].
There is much the same difference between Eloquence and _Poetry_; for the
Poets likewise have started the question, What it is which distinguishes
them from the Orators? It was formerly supposed to be their _number_ and
_metre_: but numbers are now as familiar to the Orator, as to the Poet;
for whatever falls under the regulation of the ear, though it bears no
resemblance to verse (which in Oratory would be a capital fault) is called
_number_, and by the Greeks _rhyme_. [Footnote: [Greek: Ruthmos]] In the
opinion of some, therefore, the style of _Plato_ and _Democritus_, on
account of it's majestic flow, and the splendor of it's ornaments, though
it is far from being verse, has a nearer resemblance to poetry than the
style of the Comedians, who, excepting their metre, have nothing different
from the style of conversation. Metre, however, is far from being the
principal merit of the Poets; though it is certainly no small
recommendation, that, while they pursue all the beauties of Eloquence, the
harmony of their numbers is far more regular and exact. But, though the
language of Poetry is equally grand and ornamental with that of an Orator,
she undoubtedly takes greater liberties both in making and compounding
word; and frequently administers to the pleasure of her hearers, more by
the pomp and lustre of her expressions, than by the weight and dignity of
her sentiments. Though judgment, therefore, and a proper choice of words,
is alike common to both, yet their difference in other respects is
sufficiently discernible: but if it affords any matter of doubt (as to
some, perhaps, it may) the discussion of it is no way necessary to our
present purpose.
We are, therefore, to delineate the Orator who differs equally from the
Eloquence of the Philosopher, the Sophist, the Historian, and the Poet.
He, then, is truly eloquent, (for after _him_ we must search, by the
direction of Antonius) who in the Forum, and in public debates, can so
speak, as to _prove_, _delight_, and _force the passions_. To _prove_, is
a matter of necessity:--to _delight_, is indispensably requisite to engage
the attention:--and to _force the passions_, is the surest means of
victory; for this contributes more effectually than both the others to get
a cause decided to our wishes. But as the duties of an Orator, so the
kinds of Elocution are three. The neat and accurate is used in _proving;_
the moderately florid in _delighting_ apd the vehement and impetuous in
_forcing_ _the passions,_ in which alone all the power of Eloquence
consists. Great, therefore, must be the judgment, and wonderful the
talents of the man, who can properly conduct, and, as it were, temper this
threefold variety: for he will at once determine what is suitable to every
case; and be always able to express himself as the nature of his subject
may require.
Discretion, therefore, is the basis of Eloquence, as well as of every
other accomplishment. For, as in the conduct of life, so in the practice
of Speaking, nothing is more difficult than to maintain a propriety of
character. This is called by the Greeks [Greek: to prepon], _the
becoming,_ but we shall call it _decorum;_--a subject which has been
excellently and very copiously canvassed, and richly merits our attention.
An unacquaintance with this has been the source of innumerable errors, not
only in the business of life, but in Poetry and Eloquence. An Orator,
therefore, should examine what is becoming, as well in the turn of his
language, as in that of his sentiments. For not every condition, not every
rank, not every character, nor every age, or place, or time, nor every
hearer is to be treated with the same invariable train either of sentiment
or expression:--but we should always consider in every part of a public
Oration, as well as of life, what will be most becoming,--a circumstance
which naturally depends on the nature of the subject, and the respective
characters of the Speaker and Hearer. Philosophers, therefore, have
carefully discussed this extensive and important topic in the doctrine of
Ethics, (though not, indeed, when they treat of right and wrong, because
those are invariably the fame:)--nor is it less attended to by the Critics
in their poetical Essays, or by men of Eloquence in every species and
every part of their public debates. For what would be more out of
character, than to use a lofty style, and ransack every topic of argument,
when we are speaking only of a petty trespass in some inferior court? Or,
on the other hand, to descend to any puerile subtilties, and speak with
the indifference and simplicity of a frivolous narrative, when we are
lashing treason and rebellion?
_Here_, the indecorum would arise from the very nature and quality of the
subject: but others are equally guilty of it, by not adapting their
discourse either to their own characters, or to that of their hearers,
and, in some cafes, to that of their antagonists; and they extend the
fault not only to their sentiments, but to the turn of their expression.
It is true, indeed, that the force of language is a mere nothing, when it
is not supported by a proper solidity of sentiment: but it is also equally
true that the same thing will be either approved or rejected, according as
it is this or that way expressed. In all cases, therefore, we cannot be
too careful in examining the _how far_? for though every thing has it's
proper mean, yet an _excess_ is always more offensive and disgusting than
a proportionable _defect_. _Apelles_, therefore, justly censures some of
his cotemporary artists, because they never knew when they had performed
enough.
This, my Brutus, as your long acquaintance with it must necessarily inform
you, is a copious subject, and would require an extensive volume to
discuss. But it is sufficient to our present purpose to observe, that in
all our words and actions, as well the smallest as the greatest, there is
a something which will appear either becoming or unbecoming, and that
almost every one is sensible of it's confluence. But what is becoming, and
what _ought to be_, are very different considerations, and belong to a
different topic:--for the _ought to be_ points out the perfection of duty,
which should be attended to upon all occasions, and by all persons: but
the _becoming_ denotes that which is merely _proper_, and suited to time
and character, which is of great importance not only in our actions and
language, but in our very looks, our gesture, and our walk; and that which
is contrary to it will always be _unbecoming_, and disagreeable. If the
Poet, therefore, carefully guards against any impropriety of the kind, and
is always condemned as guilty of a fault, when he puts the language of a
worthy man into the mouth of a ruffian, or that of a wife man into the
mouth of a fool:--if, moreover, the artist who painted the sacrifice of
_Iphigenia_, [Footnote: Agamemnon, one of the Grecian chiefs, having by
accident slain a deer belonging to Diana, the Goddess was so enraged at
this profanation of her honours, that she kept him wind-bound at Aulis
with the whole fleet. Under this heavy disaster, having recourse to the
Oracle, (their usual refuge in such cases) they were informed that the
only atonement which the angry Goddess would accept, was the sacrifice of
one of the offender's children. Ulysses having, by a stratagem, withdrawn
_Iphigenia_ from her mother for that purpose, the unhappy Virgin was
brought to the altar. But, as the story goes, the Goddess relenting at her
hard fate, substituted a deer in her stead, and conveyed her away to serve
her as a Priestess. It must be farther remarked that _Menelaus_ was the
Virgin's uncle, and Calchas the Priest who was to officiate at this horrid
sacrifice.] could see that _Chalcas_ should appear greatly concerned,
_Ulysses_ still more so, and _Menelaus_ bathed in tears, but that the head
of Agamemnon (the virgin's father) should be covered with his robe, to
intimate a degree of anguish which no pencil could express: lastly, if a
mere actor on the stage is ever cautious to keep up the character he
appears in, what must be done by the Orator? But as this is a matter of
such importance, let him consider at his leisure, what is proper to be
done in particular causes, and in their several parts and divisions:--for
it is sufficiently evident, not only that the different parts of an
Oration, but that entire causes ought to be managed, some in one manner,
and some in another.
We must now proceed to delineate the form and character of each of the
three species of Eloquence above-mentioned; a great and an arduous talk,
as I have already observed more than once; But we should have considered
the difficulty of the voyage before we embarked: for now we have ventured
to set sail, we must run boldly before the wind, whether we reach our port
or not.