Who can endure that vast
redundance?
Tacitus
He saw that the
public ear was formed to a new manner; and eloquence, he knew, was to
find new approaches to the heart. In the early periods of the
commonwealth, a rough unpolished people might well be satisfied with
the tedious length of unskilful speeches, at a time when to make an
harangue that took up the whole day, was the orator's highest praise.
The prolix exordium, wasting itself in feeble preparation; the
circumstantial narration, the ostentatious division of the argument
under different heads, and the thousand proofs and logical
distinctions, with whatever else is contained in the dry precepts of
Hermagoras [b] and Apollodorus, were in that rude period received with
universal applause. To finish the picture, if your ancient orator
could glean a little from the common places of philosophy, and
interweave a few shreds and patches with the thread of his discourse,
he was extolled to the very skies. Nor can this be matter of wonder:
the maxims of the schools had not been divulged; they came with an air
of novelty. Even among the orators themselves, there were but few who
had any tincture of philosophy. Nor had they learned the rules of art
from the teachers of eloquence.
In the present age, the tenets of philosophy and the precepts of
rhetoric are no longer a secret. The lowest of our popular assemblies
are now, I will not say fully instructed, but certainly acquainted
with the elements of literature. The orator, by consequence, finds
himself obliged to seek new avenues to the heart, and new graces to
embellish his discourse, that he may not offend fastidious ears,
especially before a tribunal where the judge is no longer bound by
precedent, but determines according to his will and pleasure; not, as
formerly, observing the measure of time allowed to the advocate, but
taking upon himself to prescribe the limits. Nor is this all: the
judge, at present, will not condescend to wait till the orator, in his
own way, opens his case; but, of his own authority, reminds him of the
point in question, and, if he wanders, calls him back from his
digression, not without a hint that the court wishes to dispatch.
XX. Who, at this time, would bear to hear an advocate introducing
himself with a tedious preface about the infirmities of his
constitution? Yet that is the threadbare exordium of Corvinus. We have
five books against Verres [a].
Who can endure that vast redundance?
Who can listen to those endless arguments upon points of form, and
cavilling exceptions [b], which we find in the orations of the same
celebrated advocate for Marcus Tullius [c] and Aulus Cæcina? Our
modern judges are able to anticipate the argument. Their quickness
goes before the speaker. If not struck with the vivacity of his
manner, the elegance of his sentiments, and the glowing colours of his
descriptions, they soon grow weary of the flat insipid discourse. Even
in the lowest class of life, there is now a relish for rich and
splendid ornament. Their taste requires the gay, the florid, and the
brilliant. The unpolished style of antiquity would now succeed as ill
at the bar, as the modern actor who should attempt to copy the
deportment of Roscius [d], or Ambivius Turpio. Even the young men who
are preparing for the career of eloquence, and, for that purpose,
attend the forum and the tribunals of justice, have now a nice
discriminating taste. They expect to have their imaginations pleased.
They wish to carry home some bright illustration, some splendid
passage, that deserves to be remembered. What has struck their fancy,
they communicate to each other: and in their letters, the glittering
thought, given with sententious brevity, the poetical allusion that
enlivened the discourse, and the dazzling imagery, are sure to be
transmitted to their respective colonies and provinces. The ornaments
of poetic diction are now required, not, indeed, copied from the rude
obsolete style of Accius [e] and Pacuvius, but embellished with the
graces of Horace, Virgil, and [f] Lucan. The public judgement has
raised a demand for harmonious periods, and, in compliance with the
taste of the age, our orators grow every day more polished and
adorned. Let it not be said that what we gain in refinement, we lose
in strength. Are the temples, raised by our modern architects, of a
weaker structure, because they are not formed with shapeless stones,
but with the magnificence of polished marble, and decorations of the
richest gilding?
public ear was formed to a new manner; and eloquence, he knew, was to
find new approaches to the heart. In the early periods of the
commonwealth, a rough unpolished people might well be satisfied with
the tedious length of unskilful speeches, at a time when to make an
harangue that took up the whole day, was the orator's highest praise.
The prolix exordium, wasting itself in feeble preparation; the
circumstantial narration, the ostentatious division of the argument
under different heads, and the thousand proofs and logical
distinctions, with whatever else is contained in the dry precepts of
Hermagoras [b] and Apollodorus, were in that rude period received with
universal applause. To finish the picture, if your ancient orator
could glean a little from the common places of philosophy, and
interweave a few shreds and patches with the thread of his discourse,
he was extolled to the very skies. Nor can this be matter of wonder:
the maxims of the schools had not been divulged; they came with an air
of novelty. Even among the orators themselves, there were but few who
had any tincture of philosophy. Nor had they learned the rules of art
from the teachers of eloquence.
In the present age, the tenets of philosophy and the precepts of
rhetoric are no longer a secret. The lowest of our popular assemblies
are now, I will not say fully instructed, but certainly acquainted
with the elements of literature. The orator, by consequence, finds
himself obliged to seek new avenues to the heart, and new graces to
embellish his discourse, that he may not offend fastidious ears,
especially before a tribunal where the judge is no longer bound by
precedent, but determines according to his will and pleasure; not, as
formerly, observing the measure of time allowed to the advocate, but
taking upon himself to prescribe the limits. Nor is this all: the
judge, at present, will not condescend to wait till the orator, in his
own way, opens his case; but, of his own authority, reminds him of the
point in question, and, if he wanders, calls him back from his
digression, not without a hint that the court wishes to dispatch.
XX. Who, at this time, would bear to hear an advocate introducing
himself with a tedious preface about the infirmities of his
constitution? Yet that is the threadbare exordium of Corvinus. We have
five books against Verres [a].
Who can endure that vast redundance?
Who can listen to those endless arguments upon points of form, and
cavilling exceptions [b], which we find in the orations of the same
celebrated advocate for Marcus Tullius [c] and Aulus Cæcina? Our
modern judges are able to anticipate the argument. Their quickness
goes before the speaker. If not struck with the vivacity of his
manner, the elegance of his sentiments, and the glowing colours of his
descriptions, they soon grow weary of the flat insipid discourse. Even
in the lowest class of life, there is now a relish for rich and
splendid ornament. Their taste requires the gay, the florid, and the
brilliant. The unpolished style of antiquity would now succeed as ill
at the bar, as the modern actor who should attempt to copy the
deportment of Roscius [d], or Ambivius Turpio. Even the young men who
are preparing for the career of eloquence, and, for that purpose,
attend the forum and the tribunals of justice, have now a nice
discriminating taste. They expect to have their imaginations pleased.
They wish to carry home some bright illustration, some splendid
passage, that deserves to be remembered. What has struck their fancy,
they communicate to each other: and in their letters, the glittering
thought, given with sententious brevity, the poetical allusion that
enlivened the discourse, and the dazzling imagery, are sure to be
transmitted to their respective colonies and provinces. The ornaments
of poetic diction are now required, not, indeed, copied from the rude
obsolete style of Accius [e] and Pacuvius, but embellished with the
graces of Horace, Virgil, and [f] Lucan. The public judgement has
raised a demand for harmonious periods, and, in compliance with the
taste of the age, our orators grow every day more polished and
adorned. Let it not be said that what we gain in refinement, we lose
in strength. Are the temples, raised by our modern architects, of a
weaker structure, because they are not formed with shapeless stones,
but with the magnificence of polished marble, and decorations of the
richest gilding?
