Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres: Lecture XXXII — Conduct of a Discourse — The Argumentative Part — The Pathetic Part — The Peroration
In treating of the constituent parts of a regular discourse or oration, I have already considered the introduction, the division, and the narration or explication. I proceed next to treat of the argumentative or reasoning part of a discourse. In whatever place, or on whatever subject one speaks, this, beyond doubt, is of the greatest consequence. For the great end for which men speak on any serious occasion, is to convince their hearers of something being either true, or right, or good; and, by means of this conviction, to influence their practice. Reason and argument make the foundation, as I have often inculcated, of all manly and persuasive eloquence.
Now, with respect to arguments, three things are requisite. First, the invention of them; secondly, the proper disposition and arrangement of them; and thirdly, the expressing of them in such a style and manner, as to give them their full force.
The first of these, invention, is, without doubt, the most material, and the ground-work of the rest. But, with respect to this, I am afraid it is beyond the power of art to give any real assistance. Art cannot go so far as to supply a speaker with arguments on every cause, and every subject; though it may be of considerable use in assisting him to arrange and express those, which his knowledge of the subject has discovered. For it is one thing to discover the reasons that are most proper to convince men, and another to manage these reasons with the most advantage. The latter is all that rhetoric can pretend to.
The ancient rhetoricians did indeed attempt to go much farther than this. They attempted to form rhetoric into a more complete system; and professed not only to assist public speakers in setting off their arguments to most advantage; but to supply the defect of their invention, and to teach them where to find arguments on every subject and cause. Hence their doctrine of topics, or ‘Loci Communes,’ and ‘Sedes Argumentorum,’ which makes so great a figure in the writings of Aristotle, Cicero, and Quintilian. These topics, or loci, were no other than general ideas applicable to a great many different subjects, which the orator was directed to consult, in order to find out materials for his speech. They had their intrinsic and extrinsic loci; some loci, that were common to all the different kinds of public speaking, and some that were peculiar to each. The common or general loci, were such as genus and species, cause and effect, antecedents and consequents, likeness and contrariety, definition, circumstances of time and place; and a great many more of the same kinds. For each of the different kinds of public speaking, they had their ‘Loci Personarum,’ and ‘ Loci Rerum.’ As in demonstrative orations, for instance, the heads from which any one could be decried or praised; his birth, his country, his education, his kindred, the qualities of his body, the qualities of his mind, the fortune he enjoyed, the stations he had filled, &c. ; and in deliberative orations, the topics that might be used in recommending any public measure, or dissuading from it; such as, honesty, justice, facility, profit, pleasure, glory, assistance from friends, mortification to enemies, and the like.
The Grecian sophists were the first inventors of this artificial system of oratory; and they showed a prodigious subtilty and fertility in the contrivance of these loci. Succeeding rhetoricians, dazzled by the plan, wrought them up into so regular a system, that one would think they meant to teach how a person might mechanically become an orator, without any genius at all. They gave him receipts for making speeches on all manner of subjects. At the same time, it is evident, that though this study of common places might produce very showy academical declamations, it could never produce discourses on real business. The loci indeed supplied a most exuberant fecundity of matter. One who had no other aim, but to talk copiously and plausibly, by consulting them on every subject, and laying hold of all that they suggested, might discourse without end; and that, too, though he had none but the most superficial knowledge of his subject. But such discourse could be no other than trivial. What is truly solid and persuasive, must be drawn ‘ex visceribus causae,’ from a thorough knowledge of the subject, and profound meditation on it. They who would direct students of oratory to any other sources of argumentation, only delude them; and by attempting to render rhetoric too perfect an art, they render it, in truth, a trifling and childish study.
On this doctrine, therefore, of the rhetorical loci, or topics, I think it superfluous to insist. If any think that the knowledge of them may contribute to improve their invention, and extend their views, they may consult Aristotle and Quintilian, or what Cicero has written on this head, in his Treatise De Inventione, his Topica, and second book De Oratore. But when they are to prepare a discourse, by which they purpose to convince a judge, or to produce any considerable effect upon an assembly, I would advise them to lay aside their common places, and to think closely of their subject. Demosthenes, I dare say, consulted none of the loci, when he was inciting the Athenians to take arms against Philip; and where Cicero has had recourse to them, his orations are so much the worse on that account.
I proceed to what is of more real use, to point out the assistance that can be given, not with respect to the invention, but with respect to the disposition and conduct of arguments.
Two different methods may be used by orators, in the conduct of their reasoning; the terms of art for which are, the analytic, and the synthetic method. The analytic is, when the orator conceals his intention concerning the point he is to prove, till he has gradually led his hearers to the designed conclusion. They are led on from one known truth to another, till the conclusion be stolen upon them, as the natural consequence of a chain of propositions. As, for instance, when one intending to prove the being of a God, sets out with observing, that every thing which we see in the world has had a beginning; that whatever has had a beginning, must have a prior cause; that in human productions, art shown in the effect, necessarily infers design in the cause: and proceeds leading you on from one cause to another, till you arrive at one supreme first cause, from whom is derived all the order and design visible in his works. This is much the same with the Socratic method, by which that philosopher silenced the sophists of his age. It is a very artful method of reasoning; may be carried on with much beauty, and is proper to be used when the hearers are much prejudiced against any truth, and by imperceptible steps must be led to conviction.
But there are few subjects that will admit this method, and not many occasions on which, it is proper to be employed. The mode of reasoning more generally used, and most suited to the train of popular speaking, is what is called the synthetic; when the point to be proved is fairly laid down, and one argument upon another is made to bear upon it, till the hearers be fully convinced.
Now, in all arguing, one of the first things to be attended to is, among the various arguments which may occur upon a cause, to make a proper selection of such as appear to one’s self the most solid; and to employ these as the chief means of persuasion. Every speaker should place himself in the situation of a hearer, and think how he would be affected by those reasons which he purposes to employ for persuading others. For he must not expect to impose on mankind by mere arts of speech. They are not so easily imposed on, as public speakers are sometimes apt to think. Shrewdness and sagacity are found among all ranks; and the speaker may be praised for his fine discourse, while yet the hearers are not persuaded of the truth of any one thing he has uttered.
Supposing the arguments properly chosen, it is evident that their effect will, in some measure, depend on the right arrangement of them; so as they shall not justle and embarrass one another, but give mutual aid; and bear with the fairest and fullest direction on the point in view. Concerning this, the following rules may be taken
In the first place, avoid blending arguments confusedly together that are of a separate nature. All arguments whatever are directed to prove one or other of these three things; that something is true; that it is morally right or fit; or that it is profitable and good. These make the three great subjects of discussion among mankind; truth, duty, and interest. But the arguments directed towards any one of them are generically distinct: and he who blends them all under one topic, which he calls his argument, as in sermons, especially, is too often done, will render his reasoning indistinct and inelegant. Suppose, for instance, that I am recommending to an audience benevolence or the love of our neighbour, and that I take my first argument, from the inward satisfaction which a benevolent temper affords; my second, from the obligation which the example of Christ lays upon us to this duty; and my third, from its tendency to procure us the good will of all around us: my arguments are good, but I have arranged them wrong; for, my first and third arguments are taken from considerations of interest, internal peace, and external advantages; and between these, I have introduced one which rests wholly upon duty. I should have kept those classes of arguments which are addressed to different principles in human nature, separate and distinct.
In the second place, with regard to the different degrees of strength in arguments, the general rule is to advance in the way of climax, ‘ut augeatur semper, et increscat oratio.’ This especially is to be the course, when the speaker has a clear cause, and is confident that he can prove it fully. He may then adventure to begin with feeble arguments; rising gradually, and not putting forth his whole strength till the last, when he can trust to his making a successful impression on the minds of hearers, prepared by what has gone before. But this rule is not to be always followed. For, if he distrusts his cause, and has but one material argument on which to lay the stress, putting less confidence in the rest, in this case, it is often proper for him to place this material argument in the front; to pre-occupy the hearers early, and make the strongest effort at first; that, having removed prejudices, and disposed them to be favourable, the rest of his reasoning may be listened to with more candour. When it happens, that amidst a variety of arguments, there are one or two which we are sensible are more inconclusive than the rest, and yet proper to be used, Cicero advises to place these in the middle, as a station less conspicuous than either the beginning or the end of the train of reasoning.
In the third place, when our arguments are strong and satisfactory, the more they are distinguished and treated apart from each other, the better. Each can then bear to be brought out by itself, placed in its full light, amplified and rested upon. But when our arguments are doubtful, and only of the presumptive kind, it is safer to throw them together in a crowd, and to run them into one another: ‘ut quae sunt natura nubecula,’ as Quintilian speaks, ‘mutuo auxilio sustineantur;’ that though infirm of themselves, they may serve mutually to prop each other. He gives a good example, in the case of one who had been accused of murdering a relation, to whom he was heir. Direct proof was wanting; but, ‘you expected a succession, and a great succession; you were in distrest circumstances; you were pushed to the utmost by your creditors; you had offended your relation, who had made you his heir; you knew that he was just then intending to alter his will; no time was to be lost. Each of these particulars by itself,’ says the author, ‘ is inconclusive: but when they are assembled in one group, they have effect.’
Of the distinct amplification of one persuasive argument, we have a most beautiful example, in Cicero’s oration for Milo. The argument is taken from a circumstance of time. Milo was candidate for the consulship; and Clodius was killed a few days before the election. He asks, if any one could believe that Milo would be mad enough at such a critical time, by a most odious assassination, to alienate from himself the favour of people, whose suffrages he was so anxiously courting? This argument, the moment it is suggested, appears to have considerable weight. But it was not enough, simply to suggest it, it could bear to be dwelt upon, and brought out into full light. The orator, therefore, draws a just and striking picture of that solicitous attention with which candidates, at such a season, always found it necessary to cultivate the good opinion of the people. ‘Quo tempore,’ says he, ‘ (Scio enim quam timida sit ambitio, quantaque et quam solicita, cupiditas consulatus) omnia, non modo quae reprehendi palam, sed etiam quae obscure cogitari possunt, timemus. Rumorem, fabulam fictam et falsam, perhorrescimus; ora omnium atque oculos intuemur. Nihil enim est tam tenerum, tam aut fragile aut flexibile, quam voluntas erga nos sensusque civium, qui non modo improbitati irascuntur candidatorum, sed etiam in recte factis saepe fastidiunt.’ From all which he most justly concludes, ‘Hunc diem igitur Campi, speratum atque exoptatum, sibi proponens Milo, cruentis manibus, scelus atque facinus prae se ferens, ad illa centuriarum auspicia veniebat? Quam hoc in illo minimum credibile '!’* But though such amplifications as this be extremely beautiful, I must add a caution, In the fourth place, against extending arguments too far, and multiplying them too much. This serves rather to render a cause suspected, than to give it weight. An unnecessary multiplicity of arguments both burdens the memory, and detracts from the weight of that conviction which a few well chosen arguments carry. It is to be observed too, that in the amplification of arguments, a diffuse and spreading method, beyond the bounds of reasonable illustration, is always enfeebling. It takes off greatly from that ‘vis et acumen,’ which should be the distinguishing character of the argumentative part of a discourse. When a speaker dwells long on a favourite argument, and seeks to turn it into every possible light,
* 1 Well do I know to what length the timidity goes of such as are candidates for public offices, and how many anxious cares and attentions, a canvass for the consulship necessarily carries along with it. On such an occasion, we are afraid not only of what we may openly be reproached with, but of what others may think of us in secret. The slightest rumour, the most improbable tale that can be devised to our prejudice, alarms and disconcerts us. We study the countenance, and the looks, of all around us: for nothing is so delicate, so frail, uncertain, as the public favour. Our fellow-citizens not only are justly offended with the vices of candidates, but even on occasions of meritorious actions, are apt to conceive capricious disgusts. Is there then the least credibility, that Milo, after having so long fixed his attention on the important and wished-for day of election, would dare to have any thoughts of presenting himself before the august assembly of the people, as a murderer and assassin, with his hands imbrued in blood?’
It almost always happens, that, fatigued with the effort, he loses the spirit with which he set out, and concludes with feebleness what he began with force. There is a proper temperance in reasoning, as there is in other parts of a discourse.
After due attention given to the proper arrangement of arguments, what is next requisite for their success is, to express them in such a style, and to deliver them in such a manner, as shall give them full force. On these heads I must refer the reader to the directions I have given in treating of style, in former lectures: and to the directions I am afterwards to give concerning pronunciation and delivery.
I proceed, therefore, next, to another essential part of discourse, which I mentioned as the fifth in order, that is, the pathetic; in which, if any where, eloquence reigns, and exerts its power. I shall not, in beginning this head, take up time in combating the scruples of those who have moved a question, whether it be consistent with fairness and candour in a public speaker, to address the passions of his audience? This is a question about words alone, and which common sense easily determines. In inquiries after mere truth, in matters of simple information and instruction, there is no question that the passions have no concern, and that all attempts to move them are absurd. Wherever conviction is the object, it is the understanding alone that is to be applied to. It is by argument and reasoning, that one man attempts to satisfy another of what is true, or right, or just; but if persuasion be the object, the case is changed. In all that relates to practice, there is no man who seriously means to persuade another, but addresses himself to his passions more or less; for this plain reason, that passions are the great springs of human action. The most virtuous man, in treating of the most virtuous subject, seeks to touch the heart of him to whom he speaks; and makes no scruple to raise his indignation at injustice, or his pity to the distressed, though pity and indignation be passions.
In treating of this part of eloquence, the ancients made the same sort of attempt as they employed with respect to the argumentative part, in order to bring rhetoric into a more perfect system. They inquired metaphysically into the nature of every passion; they gave a definition, and a description of it; they treated of its causes, its effects, and its concomitants; and thence deduced rules for working upon it. Aristotle in particular has, in his treatise upon rhetoric, discussed the nature of the passions with much profoundness and subtilty; and what he has written on that head, may be read with no small profit, as a valuable piece of moral philosophy; but whether it will have any effect in rendering an orator more pathetic, is to me doubtful. It is not, I am afraid, any philosophical knowledge of the passions, that can confer this talent. We must be indebted for it to nature, to a certain strong and happy sensibility of mind; and one may be a most thorough adept in all the speculative knowledge that can be acquired concerning the passions, and remain, at the same time, a cold and dry speaker. The use of rules and instructions on this, or any other part of oratory, is not to supply the want of genius, but to direct it where it is found, into its proper channel;
to assist it in exerting itself with most advantage, and to prevent the errors and extravagances into which it is sometimes apt to ruin.
On the head of the pathetic, the following directions appear to me to be useful.
The first is, to consider carefully, whether the subject admit the pathetic, and render it proper: and if it does, what part of the discourse is the most proper for attempting it. To determine these points belongs to good sense; for it is evident, that there are many subjects which admit not the pathetic at all, and that even in those that are susceptible of it, an attempt to excite the passions in the wrong place, may expose an orator to ridicule. All that can be said in general is, that if we expect any emotion which we raise to have a lasting effect, we must be careful to bring over to our side, in the first place, the understanding and judgment. The hearers must be convinced that there are good and sufficient grounds for their entering with warmth into the cause. They must be able to justify to themselves the passion which they feel; and remain satisfied that they are not carried away by mere delusion. Unless their minds be brought into this state, although they may have been heated by the orator’s discourse, yet, as soon as he ceases to speak, they will resume their ordinary tone of thought; and the emotion which he has raised will die entirely away. Hence most writers assign the pathetic to the peroration, or conclusion, as its natural place; and, no doubt, all other things being equal, this is the impression that one would choose to make last, leaving the minds of the hearers warmed with the subject, after argument and reasoning had produced their full effect: but wherever it is introduced, I must advise, In the second place, never to set apart a head of a discourse in form, for raising any passion; never give warning that you are about to be pathetic; and call upon your hearers, as is sometimes done, to follow you in the attempt. This almost never fails to prove a refrigerant to passion. It puts the hearers immediately on their guard and disposes them for criticising, much more than for being moved. The indirect method of making an impression is likely to be more successful; when you seize the critical moment that is favourable to emotion, in whatever part of the discourse it occurs; and then, after due preparation, throw in such circumstances, and present such glowing images, as may kindle their passions before they are aware. This can often be done more happily, in a few sentences inspired by natural warmth, than in a long and studied address.
In the third place, it is necessary to observe, that there is a great difference between showing the hearers that they ought to be moved, and actually moving them. This distinction is not sufficiently attended to, especially by preachers, who, if they have a head in their sermon to show how much we are bound to be grateful to God, or to be compassionate to the distrest, are apt to imagine this to be the pathetic part. Now all the arguments you produce to show me, why it is my duty, why it is reasonable and fit, that I should be moved in a certain way, go no farther than to dispose or prepare me for entering into such an emotion; but they do not actually excite it. To every emotion or passion, nature has adapted a set of corresponding objects; and, without setting these before the mind, it is not in the power of any orator to raise that emotion. I am warmed with gratitude, I am touched with compassion, not when a speaker shows me that these are noble dispositions, and that it is my duty to feel them; or when he exclaims against me for my indifference and coldness. All this time, he is speaking only to my reason or conscience. He must describe the kindness and tenderness of my friend; he must set before me the distress suffered by the person for whom he would interest me; then, and not till then, my heart begins to be touched, my gratitude or my compassion begins to flow. The foundation, therefore, of all successful execution in the way of pathetic oratory is, to paint the object of that passion which we wish to raise, in the most natural and striking manner; to describe it with such circumstances as are likely to awaken it in the minds of others. Every passion is most strongly excited by sensation; as anger, by the feeling of an injury, or the presence of the injurer. Next to the influence of sense, is that of memory; and next to memory, is the influence of the imagination. Of this power, therefore, the orator must avail himself, so as to strike the imagination of the hearers with circumstances which, in lustre and steadiness, resemble those of sensation and remembrance. In order to accomplish this, In the fourth place, the only effectual method is, to be moved yourselves. There are a thousand interesting circumstances suggested by passion, which no art can imitate, and no refinement can supply. There is obviously a contagion among the passions.
Ut ridentibus, arrident, sic flentibus adflent,
Humani vultus.
The internal emotion of the speaker adds a pathos to his words, his looks, his gestures, and his whole manner, which exerts a power almost irresistible over those who hear him.* But on this point, though the most material of all, I shall not now insist, as I have often had occasion before to show, that all attempts towards becoming pathetic, when we are not moved ourselves, expose us to certain ridicule.
Quintilian, who discourses upon this subject with much good sense, takes pains to inform us of the method which he used, when he was a public speaker, for entering into those passions which he wanted to excite in others; setting before his own imagination what he calls, ‘Phantasiae’ or ‘Visiones,’ strong pictures of the distress
* ‘Quid enim aliud est causae ut lugentes, in recenti dolore, disertissime quaedam exclamare videantur; et ira nonnunquam in indoctis quoque eloquentiam faciat; quam quod illis inest vis mentis, et veritas ipsa rerum? quare in iis quae verisimilia esse volumus, simus ipsi similes eorum qui vere patiuntur affectibus: et a tali animo proficiscatur oratio qualem facere judicem volet. Afficiamur antequam afficere conemur.’
Quint. Lib. 6
or indignities which they had suffered, whose cause he had to plead, and for whom he was to interest his hearers; dwelling upon these, and putting himself in their situation, till he was affected by a passion similar to that which the persons themselves had felt.* To this method he attributes all the success he ever had in public speaking; and there can be no doubt, that whatever tends to increase an orator’s sensibility, will add greatly to his pathetic powers.
In the fifth place, it is necessary to attend to the proper language of the passions. We should observe in what manner any one expresses himself, who is under the power of a real and a strong passion; and we shall always find his language unaffected and simple. It may be animated, indeed, with bold and strong figures, but it will have no ornament or finery. He is not at leisure to follow out the play of imagination. His mind being wholly seized by one object which has heated it, he has no other aim, but to represent that, in all its circumstances, as strongly as he feels it. This must be the style of the orator, when he would be pathetic; and this will be his style, if he speaks from real feeling; bold, ardent, simple. No sort of description will then succeed, but what is written ‘fervente calamo.’ If he stay till he can work up his style, and polish and adorn it, he will infallibly cool his own ardour, and then he will touch the heart no more. His composition will become frigid; it will be the language of one who describes, but who does not feel. We must take notice, that there is a great difference between painting to the imagination, and painting to the heart. The one may be done coolly, and at leisure; the other must always be rapid and ardent. In the former, art and labour may be suffered to appear; in the latter, no effect can follow, unless it seem to be the work of nature only.
In the sixth place, avoid interweaving any thing of a foreign nature with the pathetic part of a discourse. Beware of all digressions, which may interrupt or turn aside the natural course of the passion, when once it begins to rise and swell. Sacrifice all beauties, however bright and showy, which would divert the mind from the principal object, and which would amuse the imagination, rather than touch the heart. Hence comparisons are always dangerous, and generally quite improper, in the midst of passion. Beware even of reasoning unseasonably; or, at least, of carrying on a long and subtile train of reasoning, on occasions when the principal aim is to excite warm emotions.
In the last place, never attempt prolonging the pathetic too much. Warm emotions are too violent to be lasting.! Study the proper
* ‘Ut hominem occisum querar; non omnia quae in re praesenti accidisse credibile est, in oculis habebo? Non percussor ille subitus erumpet? non expavescet circumventus? exclamabit, vel rogabit, vel fugiet? non ferientem, non concidentem videbo? non animo sanguis, et pallor, et gemitus, extremus denique expirantis hiatus, insidet? Ubi vero miseratione opus erit, nobis, ea de quibus querimur accidisse credamus, atque id animo nostro persuadeamus. Nos illi simus, quos gravia, indigna, tristia, passos queramur. Nec agamus rem quasi alienam; sed assumamus parumper illum dolorem. Ita dicemus, quae in simili nostro casu dicturi essemus.’ Lib. 6.
i ‘Nunquam debet esse longa miseratio; nam cum veros dolores mitiget tempus‸ time of making a retreat; of making a transition from the passionate to the calm tone; in such a manner, however, as to descend without falling, by keeping up the same strain of sentiment that was carried on before, though now expressing it with more moderation. Above all things, beware of straining passion too far; of attempting to raise it to unnatural heights. Preserve always a due regard to what the hearers will bear; and remember, that he who stops not at the proper point; who attempts to carry them farther in passion than they will follow him, destroys his whole design. By endeavouring to warm them too much, he takes the most effectual method of freezing them completely.
Having given these rules concerning the pathetic, I shall give one example from Cicero, which will serve to illustrate several of them, particularly the last. It shall be taken from his oration against Verres, wherein he describes the cruelty exercised by Verres, when governor of Sicily, against one Gavius, a Roman citizen. This Gavius had made his escape from prison, into which he had been thrown by the governor; and when just embarking at Messina, thinking himself now safe, had uttered some threats, that when he had once arrived at Rome, Verres should hear of him, and be brought to account for having put a Roman citizen in chains. The chief magistrate of Messina, a creature of Verres’s, instantly apprehends him, and gives information of his threatenings. The behaviour of Verres, on this occasion, is described in the most picturesque manner, and with all, the colours which are proper, in order to excite against him the public indignation. He thanks the magistrate of Messina for his diligence. Filled with rage, he comes into the forum; orders Gavius to be brought forth, the executioners to attend, and against the laws, and contrary to the well-known privileges of a Roman citizen, commands him to be stripped naked, bound, and scourged publicly in a cruel manner. Cicero then proceeds thus: ‘Caedebatur virgis, in medio foro Messanae, Civis Romanus, Judices!’ every word rises above another, in describing this flagrant enormity; and, ‘Judices’ is brought out at the end with the greatest propriety; ‘Caedebatur virgis, in medio foro Messanae, Civis Romanus, Judices! cum interea, nullus gemitus, nulla vox alia istius miseri, inter dolorem crepitumque plagarum audiebatur, nisi haec, Civis Romanus sum. Hac se commemoratione civitatis, omnia verbera depulsurum a corpore arbitrabatur. Is non modo hoc non perfecit, ut virgarum vim deprecaretur, sed cum imploraret saepius usurparetque nomen civis, crux, crux inquam, infelici isto et aerumnoso, qui nunquam istam potestatem viderat, comparabatur. O nomen dulce libertatis! O jus eximium nostrae civitatis! O Lex Porcia, legesque Semproniae! Huccine omnia tandem reciderunt, ut civis Romanus, in provincia populi Romani, in oppido foederatorum, ab eo qui beneficio populi citius evanescat, necesse est illa, quam dicendo effinximus, imago: in qua, si moramur, lacrymis fatigatur auditor, et requiescit, et ab illo quem ceperat impetu, in rationem redit. Non patiamur igitur frigescere hoc opus et affectum, cum ad summum perduxerimus, relinquamus; nec speremus fore, ut aliena mala quisquam diu ploret
Quinct. lib 6
Romani fasces et secures haberet, deligatus, in foro, virgis caederetur !5*
Nothing can be finer, nor better conducted, than this passage. The circumstances are well chosen for exciting both the compassion of his hearers for Gavius, and their indignation against Verres. The style is simple; and the passionate exclamation, the address to liberty and the laws, is well timed, and in the proper style of passion. The orator goes on to exaggerate Verres’s cruelty still farther, by another very striking circumstance. He ordered a gibbet to be erected for Gavius, not in the common place of execution, but just by the sea-shore, over against the coast of Italy. ‘Let him,’ said he ‘ who boasts so much of his being a Roman citizen, take a view from his gibbet of his own country. This insult over a dying man is the least part of his guilt. It was not Gavius alone that Verres meant to insult; but it was you, O Romans! it was every citizen who now hears me; in the person of Gavius, he scoffed at your rights, and showed in what contempt he held the Roman name, and Roman liberties.’
Hitherto all is beautiful, animated, pathetic; and the model would have been perfect, if Cicero had stopped at this point. But his redundant and florid genius carried him further. He must needs interest, not his hearers only, but the beasts, the mountains, and the stones, against Verres: ‘Si haec non ad cives Romanos, non ad amicos nostrae civitatis, non ad eos qui populi Romani nomen audissent; denique si non ad homines, verum ad bestias; atque ut longius progrediar, si in aliqua desertissima solitudine, ad saxa et ad scopulos, haec conqueri et deplorare vellem, tamen omnia muta atque inanima, tanta et tam indigna rerum atrocitate commoverentur.’t This, with all the deference due to so eloquent an orator, we must pronounce to be declamatory, not pathetic. This is straining the language of passion too far. Every hearer sees this immediately to be a studied figure of rhetoric; it may amuse him, but instead of
* ‘In the midst of the market-place of Messina, a Roman citizen, O Judges! was cruelly scourged with rods; when, in the mean time, amidst the noise of the blows which he suffered, no voice, no complaint of this unhappy man was heard, except this exclamation, remember that I am a Roman citizen! By pleading this privilege of his birthright, he hoped to have stopped the strokes of the executioner. But his hopes were vain; for, so far was he from being able to obtain thereby any mitigation of his torture, that when he continued to repeat this exclamation, and to plead the rights of a citizen, a cross, a cross, I say, was preparing to be set up for the execution of this unfortunate person, who never before had beheld that instrument of cruel death. O sacred and honoured name of liberty! O boasted and revered privilege of a Roman citizen! O ye Porcian and Sempronian laws! to this issue have ye all come, that a citizen of Rome, in a province of the Roman empire, within an allied city, should publicly in a market-place be loaded with chains, and beaten with rods, at the command of one who, from the favour of the Roman people alone, derived all his authority and ensigns of power!’
f ‘ Were I employed in lamenting those instances of an atrocious oppression and cruelty, not among an assembly of Roman citizens, not among the allies of our state, not among those who had ever heard the name of the Roman people, not even among human creatures, but in the midst of the brute creation; and to go farther, were I pouring forth my lamentations to the stones, and to the rocks, in some remote and desert wilderness, even those mute and inanimate beings would, at the recital of such shocking indignities, be thrown into commotion ’
Inflaming him more, it, in truth, cools his passion. So dangerous it is to give scope to a flowery imagination, when one intends to make a strong and passionate impression.
No other part of the discourse remains now to be treated of, except the peroration, or conclusion. Concerning this, it is needless to say much, because it must vary considerably, according to the strain of the preceding discourse. Sometimes, the whole pathetic part comes in most properly at the peroration. Sometimes, when the discourse has been entirely argumentative, it is fit to conclude with summing up the arguments, placing them in one view, and leaving the impression of them, full and strong, on the mind of the audience. For the great rule of a conclusion, and what nature obviously suggests, is, to place that last on which we choose that the strength of our cause should rest.
In sermons, inferences from what has been said, make a common conclusion. With regard to these, care should be taken not only that they rise naturally, but, (what is less commonly attended to) that they should so much agree with the strain of sentiment throughout the discourse, as not to break the unity of the sermon. For in ferences, how justly soever they may be deduced from the doctrine of the text, yet have a bad effect, if, at the conclusion of a discourse, they introduce a subject altogether new, and turn off our attention from the main object to which the preacher may have directed our thoughts. They appear, in this case, like excrescences jutting out from the body, which form an unnatural addition to it; and tend to enfeeble the impression which the composition, as a whole, is calculated to make.
The most eloquent of the French, perhaps, indeed, of all modern orators, Bossuet, bishop of Meaux, terminates in a very moving manner, his funeral oration on the great prince of Conde, with this return upon himself, and his old age: ‘ Accept, O prince! these last efforts of a voice which you once well knew. With you, all my funeral discourses are now to end. Instead of deploring the death of others, henceforth, it shall be my study to learn from you, how my own may be blessed. Happy, if warned by those gray hairs, of the account which I must soon give of my ministry, I reserve, solely, for that flock whom I ought to feed with the word of life, the feeble remains of a voice which now trembles, and of an ardour which is now on the point of being extinct.’*
In all discourses, it is a matter of importance to hit the precise time of concluding, so as to bring our discourse just to a point; neither ending abruptly and unexpectedly; nor disappointing the expectation of the hearers, when they look for the close, and con-
** ‘ Agreez ces derniers efforts d’une voix que vous fut connue. Vous mettrez fin à tous ces discours. Au lieu de déplorer la mort des autres, grand prince! dorénavant je veux apprendre de vous, a rendre la mienne sainte. Heureux, si averti par ces cheveux blancs, du compte que je dois rendre de mon administration je reserve au troupeau que je dois nourrir de la parole de vie, les restes d’une voix qui tombe, et d’une ardeur qui s’eteint.’ These are the last sentences of that oration: but the whole of the peroration, from that passage, ‘Venez peoples, venez maintenant, &c. though it is too long for insertion, is a great master-piece of pathetic eloquence* tinuing to hover round and round the conclusion, till they become heartily tired of us. We should endeavour to go off with a good grace; not to end with a languishing and drawling sentence; but to close with dignity and spirit, that we may leave the minds of the hearers warm, and dismiss them with a favourable impression of the subject, and of the speaker.