I
omit the perpetual recurrence of the phrase, _esse videatur_ [c],
which chimes in our ears at the close of so many sentences, sounding
big, but signifying nothing.
omit the perpetual recurrence of the phrase, _esse videatur_ [c],
which chimes in our ears at the close of so many sentences, sounding
big, but signifying nothing.
Tacitus
Experience had then matured his judgement, and after long
practice, he found the true oratorical style. In his earlier
productions we see the rough cast of antiquity. The exordium is
tedious; the narration is drawn into length; luxuriant passages are
not retouched with care; he is not easily affected, and he rarely
takes fire; his sentiments are not always happily expressed [a], nor
are the periods closed with energy. There is nothing so highly
finished, as to tempt you to avail yourself of a borrowed beauty. In
short, his speeches are like a rude building, which is strong and
durable, but wants that grace and consonance of parts which give
symmetry and perfection to the whole.
In oratory, as in architecture, I require ornament as well as use.
From the man of ample fortune, who undertakes to build, we expect
elegance and proportion. It is not enough that his house will keep out
the wind and the rain; it must strike the eye, and present a pleasing
object. Nor will it suffice that the furniture may answer all domestic
purposes; it should be rich, fashionable, elegant; it should have gold
and gems so curiously wrought, that they will bear examination, often
viewed, and always admired. The common utensils, which are either mean
or sordid, should be carefully removed out of sight. In like manner,
the true orator should avoid the trite and vulgar. Let him reject the
antiquated phrase, and whatever is covered with the rust of time; let
his sentiments be expressed with spirit, not in careless,
ill-constructed, languid periods, like a dull writer of annals; let
him banish low scurrility, and, in short, let him know how to
diversify his style, that he may not fatigue the ear with a monotony,
ending for ever with the same unvaried cadence [b].
XXIII. I shall say nothing of the false wit, and insipid play upon
words, which we find in Cicero's orations. His pleasant conceits about
the _wheel of fortune_ [a], and the arch raillery on the equivocal
meaning of the word _verres_ [b], do not merit a moment's attention.
I
omit the perpetual recurrence of the phrase, _esse videatur_ [c],
which chimes in our ears at the close of so many sentences, sounding
big, but signifying nothing. These are petty blemishes; I mention them
with reluctance. I say nothing of other defects equally improper: and
yet those very defects are the delight of such as affect to call
themselves ancient orators. I need not single them out by name: the
men are sufficiently known; it is enough to allude, in general terms,
to the whole class.
We all are sensible that there is a set of critics now existing, who
prefer Lucilius [d] to Horace, and Lucretius [e] to Virgil; who
despise the eloquence of Aufidius Bassus [f] and Servilius Nonianus,
and yet admire Varro and [g] Sisenna. By these pretenders to taste,
the works of our modern rhetoricians are thrown by with neglect, and
even fastidious disdain; while those of Calvus are held in the highest
esteem. We see these men prosing in their ancient style before the
judges; but we see them left without an audience, deserted by the
people, and hardly endured by their clients. The truth is, their cold
and spiritless manner has no attraction. They call it sound oratory,
but it is want of vigour; like that precarious state of health which
weak constitutions preserve by abstinence. What physician will
pronounce that a strong habit of body, which requires constant care
and anxiety of mind? To say barely, that we are not ill, is surely not
enough. True health consists in vigour, a generous warmth, and a
certain alacrity in the whole frame. He who is only not indisposed, is
little distant from actual illness.
With you, my friends, the case is different: proceed, as you well can,
and in fact, as you do, to adorn our age with all the grace and
splendour of true oratory. It is with pleasure, Messala, that I see
you selecting for imitation the liveliest models of the ancient
school. You too, Maternus, and you, my friend, Secundus [h], you both
possess the happy art of adding to weight of sentiment all the dignity
of language.
practice, he found the true oratorical style. In his earlier
productions we see the rough cast of antiquity. The exordium is
tedious; the narration is drawn into length; luxuriant passages are
not retouched with care; he is not easily affected, and he rarely
takes fire; his sentiments are not always happily expressed [a], nor
are the periods closed with energy. There is nothing so highly
finished, as to tempt you to avail yourself of a borrowed beauty. In
short, his speeches are like a rude building, which is strong and
durable, but wants that grace and consonance of parts which give
symmetry and perfection to the whole.
In oratory, as in architecture, I require ornament as well as use.
From the man of ample fortune, who undertakes to build, we expect
elegance and proportion. It is not enough that his house will keep out
the wind and the rain; it must strike the eye, and present a pleasing
object. Nor will it suffice that the furniture may answer all domestic
purposes; it should be rich, fashionable, elegant; it should have gold
and gems so curiously wrought, that they will bear examination, often
viewed, and always admired. The common utensils, which are either mean
or sordid, should be carefully removed out of sight. In like manner,
the true orator should avoid the trite and vulgar. Let him reject the
antiquated phrase, and whatever is covered with the rust of time; let
his sentiments be expressed with spirit, not in careless,
ill-constructed, languid periods, like a dull writer of annals; let
him banish low scurrility, and, in short, let him know how to
diversify his style, that he may not fatigue the ear with a monotony,
ending for ever with the same unvaried cadence [b].
XXIII. I shall say nothing of the false wit, and insipid play upon
words, which we find in Cicero's orations. His pleasant conceits about
the _wheel of fortune_ [a], and the arch raillery on the equivocal
meaning of the word _verres_ [b], do not merit a moment's attention.
I
omit the perpetual recurrence of the phrase, _esse videatur_ [c],
which chimes in our ears at the close of so many sentences, sounding
big, but signifying nothing. These are petty blemishes; I mention them
with reluctance. I say nothing of other defects equally improper: and
yet those very defects are the delight of such as affect to call
themselves ancient orators. I need not single them out by name: the
men are sufficiently known; it is enough to allude, in general terms,
to the whole class.
We all are sensible that there is a set of critics now existing, who
prefer Lucilius [d] to Horace, and Lucretius [e] to Virgil; who
despise the eloquence of Aufidius Bassus [f] and Servilius Nonianus,
and yet admire Varro and [g] Sisenna. By these pretenders to taste,
the works of our modern rhetoricians are thrown by with neglect, and
even fastidious disdain; while those of Calvus are held in the highest
esteem. We see these men prosing in their ancient style before the
judges; but we see them left without an audience, deserted by the
people, and hardly endured by their clients. The truth is, their cold
and spiritless manner has no attraction. They call it sound oratory,
but it is want of vigour; like that precarious state of health which
weak constitutions preserve by abstinence. What physician will
pronounce that a strong habit of body, which requires constant care
and anxiety of mind? To say barely, that we are not ill, is surely not
enough. True health consists in vigour, a generous warmth, and a
certain alacrity in the whole frame. He who is only not indisposed, is
little distant from actual illness.
With you, my friends, the case is different: proceed, as you well can,
and in fact, as you do, to adorn our age with all the grace and
splendour of true oratory. It is with pleasure, Messala, that I see
you selecting for imitation the liveliest models of the ancient
school. You too, Maternus, and you, my friend, Secundus [h], you both
possess the happy art of adding to weight of sentiment all the dignity
of language.
