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                <requestUrn>urn:cts:latinLit:phi1002.phi001.perseus-eng2:11.3.169-12.pr.4</requestUrn>
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            <reply>
                <urn>urn:cts:latinLit:phi1002.phi001.perseus-eng2:11.3.169-12.pr.4</urn>
                <passage>
                    <TEI xmlns="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"><text xml:lang="eng"><body><div n="urn:cts:latinLit:phi1002.phi001.perseus-eng2" type="translation" xml:lang="eng"><div n="11" type="textpart" subtype="book"><div n="3" type="textpart" subtype="section"><div n="169" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> There is also an entirely different tone, which might be described as
                            lying almost <pb n="v10-12 p.339"/> outside the range of the instrument.
                            The Greeks call it bitterness, and it consists in an extravagant
                            acerbity almost beyond the compass of the human voice. It is employed in
                            passages such as, <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">pro Rab. perd.</hi> vi. 18. </note>
                        <quote> Why do
                                you not restrain those cries, the proof of your folly and the
                                evidence of your small numbers? </quote> But the extravagance of
                            which I spoke will come in at the opening, where the orator cries,
                                <quote>Why do you not restrain?</quote>
                     </p></div><div n="170" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> The <hi rend="italic">peroration,</hi> if it involves a recapitulation,
                            requires an even utterance of short, clear-cut clauses. If, on the other
                            hand, it is designed to stir the emotions of the judges, it will demand
                            some of the qualities already mentioned. If it aims at soothing them, it
                            should How softly; if it is to rouse them to pity, the voice must be
                            delicately modulated to a melancholy sweetness, which is at once most
                            natural and specially adapted to touch the heart. For it may be noted
                            that even orphans and widows have a certain musical quality in the
                            lamentations which they utter at funerals. </p></div><div n="171" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> A muffled voice, such as Cicero <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">Brutt.</hi> xxxviii. 141.
                            </note> says was possessed by Antonius, will also be exceedingly
                            effective under such circumstances, since it has just the natural tone
                            which we seek to imitate. Appeals to pity are, however, of two kinds:
                            they may be marked by an admixture of indignation, as in the passage
                            just quoted <note anchored="true" place="unspecified">§ 162.</note>
                            describing the condemnation of Philodamus, or they may be coupled with
                            appeals for mercy, in which case their tone will be more subdued. </p></div><div n="172" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> Therefore although there is a suggestion of the chanting tone in the
                            delivery of such passages as <quote>In an assembly of the Roman
                                people</quote> (for he did not utter these words in a contentious
                            tone), or in <pb n="v10-12 p.341"/>
                        <quote>Ye hills and groves of
                                Alba</quote> (for he did not say this as though he were appealing to
                            them or calling them to witness), the ensuing phrases <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">pro Mil.</hi>
                                xxxvii. 102. </note> require infinitely greater modulation and
                            longer-drawn harmonies: <quote>Ah, woe is me, unhappy that I am!</quote>
                            and <quote>What shall I reply to my children?</quote> and <quote> You,
                                Milo, had the power to recall me to my country with the aid of these
                                men, and shall I be powerless by their aid to keep you in that same
                                country, your native land and mine? </quote> or when he offers to
                            sell the property of Gaius Rabirius at one sesterce, <quote>Ah, what a
                                sad and bitter task my voice is called on to perform!</quote>
                        <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">pro Rab.
                                    Post,</hi> xvii. 46. <hi rend="italic">addicit,</hi> lit.
                                    <quote>knocks down</quote> : <hi rend="italic">praeconium,</hi>
                                lit. <quote>the task of the public crier.</quote>
                        </note> Again, </p></div><div n="173" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> it is a most effective device to confess in the peroration that the
                            strain of grief and fatigue is overpowering, and that our strength is
                            sinking beneath them, as Cicero does in his defence of Milo: <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">pro Mil.</hi>
                                xxxviii. 105. </note>
                        <quote>But here I must make an end: I can no
                                longer speak for tears.</quote> And in such passages our delivery
                            must conform to our words. </p></div><div n="174" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> It may be thought that there are other points which should be mentioned
                            in connexion with the duties of the orator in this portion of his
                            speech, such as calling forward the accused, lifting up his children for
                            the court to see, producing his kinsfolk, and rending his garments; but
                            they have been dealt with in their proper place. <note anchored="true" place="unspecified">VI. i. 30.</note> Such being the variety
                            entailed by the different portions of our pleading, it is sufficiently
                            clear that our delivery must be adapted to our matter, as I have already
                            shown, and sometimes also, though not always conform to our actual
                            words, as I have just remarked. <note anchored="true" place="unspecified">§ 173.</note>
                     </p></div><div n="175" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> For instance, must not the words, <quote>This poor wretched,
                                poverty-stricken man,</quote> be uttered in a low, subdued tone,
                            whereas, <quote>A hold and violent fellow and a robber,</quote> is a
                            phrase <pb n="v10-12 p.343"/> requiring a strong and energetic utterance?
                            For such conformity gives a force and appropriateness to our matter, and
                            without it the expression of the voice will be out of harmony with our
                            thought. </p></div><div n="176" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> Again, what of the fact that a change of delivery may make precisely the
                            same words either demonstrate or affirm, express reproach, denial,
                            wonder or indignation, interrogation, mockery or depreciation? For the
                            word <quote>thou</quote> is given a different expression in each of the
                            following passages: <quote rend="blockquote"><cit><quote><l part="N">Thou this poor kingdom dost on me
                                        bestow.</l></quote><bibl default="false"><hi rend="italic">Aen.</hi> i. 78. </bibl></cit></quote> and <quote rend="blockquote"><cit><quote><l part="N">Thou vanquish him in song?</l></quote><bibl default="false"><hi rend="italic">Ecl.</hi> iii. 25.
                                    </bibl></cit></quote> and <quote rend="blockquote"><cit><quote><l part="N">Art thou, then, that Aeneas?</l></quote><bibl default="false"><hi rend="italic">Aen</hi> i. 617. </bibl></cit></quote> and <quote rend="blockquote"><cit><quote><l part="F">And of fear,</l><l part="N">Do thou accuse
                                            me, Drances!</l></quote><bibl default="false"><hi rend="italic">Aen.</hi> xi. 383.
                                    </bibl></cit></quote> To cut a long matter short, if my reader will take
                            this or any other word he chooses and run it through the whole gamut of
                            emotional expression, he will realise the truth of what I say. </p></div><div n="177" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> There is one further remark which I must add, namely, that while what is
                            becoming is the main consideration in delivery, different methods will
                            often suit different speakers. For this is determined by a principle
                            which, though it is obscure and can hardly be expressed in words, none
                            the less exists: and, though it is a true saying <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">de Or.</hi> I. xxix. 132
                            </note> that <quote>the main secret of artistic success is that whatever
                                we do should become us well,</quote> none the less, despite the fact
                            that such success cannot be <pb n="v10-12 p.345"/> attained without art,
                            it is impossible entirely to communicate the secret by the rules of art.
                        </p></div><div n="178" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> There are some persons in whom positive excellences have no charm, while
                            there are others whose very faults give pleasure. We have seen the
                            greatest of comic actors, Demetrius and Stratocles, win their success by
                            entirely different merits. But that is the less surprising owing to the
                            fact that the one was at his best in the rôles of gods, young men, good
                            fathers and slaves, matrons and respectable old women, while the other
                            excelled in the portrayal of sharptempered old men, cunning slaves,
                            parasites, pimps and all the more lively characters of comedy. For their
                            natural gifts differed. For Demetrius' voice, like his other qualities,
                            had greater charm, while that of Stratocles was the more powerful. </p></div><div n="179" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> But yet more noticeable were the incommunicable peculiarities of their
                            action. Demetrius showed unique gifts in the movements of his hands, in
                            his power to charm his audience by the longdrawn sweetness of his
                            exclamations, the skill with which he would make his dress seem to puff
                            out with wind as he walked, and the expressive movements of the right
                            side which he sometimes introduced with effect, in all of which things
                            he was helped by his stature and personal beauty. </p></div><div n="180" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> On the other hand, Stratocles' <hi rend="italic">forte</hi> lay in his
                            nimbleness and rapidity of movement, in his laugh (which, though not
                            always in keeping with the character lie represented, he deliberately
                            employed to awaken answering laughter in his audience), and finally,
                            even in the way in which he sank his neck into his shoulders. If either
                            of these actors had attempted any of his rival's tricks, he would have
                            produced a <pb n="v10-12 p.347"/> most unbecoming effect. Consequently,
                            every man must get to know his own peculiarities and must consult not
                            merely the general rules of technique, but his own nature as well with a
                            view to forming his delivery. </p></div><div n="181" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> But there is no law of heaven which prohibits the possession of all or
                            at any rate the majority of styles by one and the same person. I must
                            conclude this topic with a remark which applies to all my other topics
                            as well, that the prime essential is a sense of proportion. For I am not
                            trying to form a comic actor, but an orator. Consequently, we need not
                            study all the details of gesture nor, as regards our speaking, be
                            pedantic in the use we make of the rules governing punctuation, rhythm
                            and appeals to the emotions. </p></div><div n="182" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> For example, if an actor has to speak the following lines on the stage:
                                <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"> Ter. <hi rend="italic">Eun.</hi> I. i. 1. </note>
                        <quote rend="blockquote"><quote><l part="N">What shall I do then? Not go, even now,</l><l part="N">Now when she calls me? Or shall I steel my
                                        soul</l><l part="N">No longer to endure a harlot's
                                        insults?</l></quote></quote> he will hesitate as in doubt,
                            will vary the modulations of his voice, together with the movements of
                            hand and head. But oratory has a different flavour and objects to
                            elaborate condiments, since it consists in serious pleading, not in
                            mimicry. </p></div><div n="183" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> There is, therefore, good reason for the condemnation passed on a
                            delivery which entails the continual alteration of facial expression,
                            annoying restlessness of gesture and gusty changes of tone. And it was a
                            wise saying that the ancient orators borrowed from the Greeks, as is
                            recorded by Popilius Laenas, to the effect that there is too much
                                <quote>business</quote> in such delivery. </p></div><div n="184" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> The instructions given by Cicero on this subject, as on all others, are
                            quite admirable; I allude to the passages <pb n="v10-12 p.349"/> which I
                            have already quoted from his <hi rend="italic">Orator,</hi>
                        <note anchored="true" place="unspecified">§ 122.</note> while there are
                            similar observations in the <hi rend="italic">Brutus</hi>
                        <note anchored="true" place="unspecified"><hi rend="italic">Brut.</hi>
                                xxxviii. 141. </note> with reference to Marcus Antonius. But to-day
                            a rather more violent form of delivery has come into fashion and is
                            demanded of our orators: it is well adapted to certain portions of a
                            speech, but requires to be kept under control. Otherwise, in our attempt
                            to ape the elegances of the stage, we shall lose the authority which
                            should characterise the man of dignity and virtue. </p></div></div></div><pb n="v10-12 p.353"/><div n="12" type="textpart" subtype="book"><head>Book XII</head><head>Introduction</head><div n="pr" type="textpart" subtype="chapter"><div n="1" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> I now come to what is by far the most arduous portion of the task which
                            I have set myself to perform. Indeed had I fully realised the
                            difficulties when I first designed this work, I should have considered
                            betimes whether my strength was sufficient to support the load that now
                            weighs upon me so heavily. But to begin with, I felt how shameful it
                            would be to fail to perform what I had promised, and later, despite the
                            fact that my labour became more and more arduous at almost every stage,
                            the fear of stultifying what I had already written sustained my courage
                            through every difficulty. </p></div><div n="2" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> Consequently even now, though the burden that oppresses me is greater
                            than ever, the end is in sight and I am resolved to faint by the wayside
                            rather than despair. But the fact that I began with comparatively
                            trivial details deceived me. Subsequently I was lured still further on
                            my voyage by the temptations of the favouring breeze that filled my
                            sails; but the rules which I was then concerned to give were still of a
                            familiar kind and had been already treated by most writers of rhetorical
                            textbooks: thus far I seemed to myself to be still in sight of shore and
                            I had the company of many who had ventured to entrust themselves to the
                            self-same winds. </p></div><div n="3" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> But presently when I entered on the task of setting forth a theory of
                                <pb n="v10-12 p.355"/> eloquence which had been but newly discovered
                            and rarely essayed, I found but few that had ventured so far from
                            harbour. And finally now that the ideal orator, whom it was my design to
                            mould, has been dismissed by his masters and is either proceeding on his
                            way borne onward by his own impetus, or seeking still mightier
                            assistance from the innermost shrine of wisdom, I begin to feel how far
                            I have been swept into the great deep. </p></div><div n="4" type="textpart" subtype="section"><p> Now there is <quote rend="blockquote"><cit><quote><l part="N">Nothing before and nothing behind but the sky
                                            and the Ocean.</l></quote><bibl default="false"><hi rend="italic">Aen.</hi> iii. 193.
                                    </bibl></cit></quote> One only can I discern in all the boundless waste of
                            waters, Marcus Tullius Cicero, and even he, though the ship in which he
                            entered these seas is of such size and so well found, begins to lessen
                            sail and to row a slower stroke, and is content to speak merely of the
                            kind of speech to be employed by the perfect orator. But my temerity is
                            such that I shall essay to form my orator's character and to teach him
                            his duties. Thus I have no predecessor to guide my steps and must press
                            far, far on, as my theme may demand. Still an honourable ambition is
                            always deserving of approval, and it is all the less hazardous to dare
                            greatly, when forgiveness is assured us if we fail. </p></div></div></div></div></body></text></TEI>
                </passage>
            </reply>
            </GetPassage>