But even perfectly correct figures must not be packed too closely together. Changes of facial expression and glances of the eyes are most effective in pleading, but if the orator never ceases to distort his face with affected grimaces or to wag his head and roll his eyes, he becomes a laughing-stock. So too oratory possesses a natural mien, which while it is far from demanding a stolid and immovable rigidity should as far as possible restrict itself to the expression with which it is endowed by nature.

But it is of the first importance that we should know what are the requirements of time, place and character on each occasion of speaking. For the majority of these figures aim at delighting the hearer. But when terror, hatred and pity are the weapons called for in the fray, who will endure the orator who expresses his anger, his sorrow or his entreaties in neat antitheses, balanced cadences and exact correspondences? Too much care for our words under such circumstances weakens the impression of emotional sincerity, and wherever the orator displays his art unveiled, the hearer says, The truth is not in him.

IV. I should not venture to speak of artistic structure Composite in its widest sense means artistic structure. But in much of what follows it virtually = rhythm. after what Cicero has said upon the subject (for there is I think no topic to which he has devoted such elaborate discussion) but for the fact that his own contemporaries ventured to traverse his theories on this subject even in letters which they addressed to him, while a number of later writers have left on record numerous observations on the same topic.

Accordingly on a large number of questions I shall be found in agreement with Cicero and shall deal more briefly with those points which admit of no dispute, while there will be certain subjects on which I shall express a certain amount of disagreement. For, though I intend to make my own views clear, I shall leave my readers free to hold their own opinion.

I am well aware that there are certain writers who would absolutely bar all study of artistic structure and contend that language as it chances to present itself in the rough is more natural and even more manly. If by this they mean that only that is natural which originated with nature and has never received any subsequent cultivation, there is an end to the whole art of oratory.

For the first men did not speak with the care demanded by that art nor in accordance with the rules that it lays down. They knew nothing of introducing their case by means of an exordium, of instructing the jury by a statement of facts, of proving by argument or of arousing the emotions. They lacked all these qualifications as completely as they lacked all knowledge of the theory of artistic structure. But if they were to be forbidden all progress in this respect, they ought equally to have been forbidden to exchange their huts for houses, their cloaks of skin for civilised raiment and their mountains and forests for cities.

What art was ever born fullgrown? What does not ripen with cultivation? Why do we train the vine? Why dig it? We clear the fields of brambles, and they too are natural products of the soil. We tame animals, and yet they are born wild. No, that which is most natural is that which nature permits to be done to the greatest perfection.

How can a style which lacks orderly structure be stronger than one that is welded together and artistically arranged? It must not be regarded as the fault of the study of structure that the employment of feet consisting of short syllables such as characterise the Sotadean and Galliambic metres and certain prose rhythms closely resembling them in wildness, weakens the force of our matter.

Just as river-currents are more violent when they run along a sloping bed, that presents no obstacles to check their course, than when their waters are broken and baffled by rocks that obstruct the channel, so a style which flows in a continuous stream with all the full development of its force is better than one which is rough and broken. Why then should it be thought that polish is inevitably prejudicial to vigour, when the truth is that nothing can attain its full strength without the assistance of art, and that art is always productive of beauty?

Is it not the fact that grace always goes with the highest skill in throwing the spear, and that the truer the archer's aim, the more comely is his attitude? Again in fencing and all the contests of the wrestling school, what one of all the tricks of attack and defence is there, that does not require movements and firmness of foot such as can only be acquired by art?

Consequently in my opinion artistic structure gives force and direction to our thoughts just as the throwing-thong and the bowstring do to the spear and the arrow. And for this reason all the best scholars are convinced that the study of structure is of the utmost value, not merely for charming the ear, but for stirring the soul.

For in the first place nothing can penetrate to the emotions that stumbles at the portals of the ear, and secondly man is naturally attracted by harmonious sounds. Otherwise it would not be the case that musical instruments, in spite of the fact that their sounds are inarticulate, still succeed in exciting a variety of different emotions in the hearer.

In the sacred games different methods are employed to excite and calm the soul, different melodies are required for the war-song and the entreaty sung by the suppliant on bended knee, while the war-note of the trumpet that leads the army forth to battle has no resemblance to the call that sounds the retreat.

It was the undoubted custom of the Pythagoreans, when they woke from slumber, to rouse their souls with the music of the lyre, that they might be more alert for action, and before they retired to rest, to soothe their minds by melodies from the same instrument, in order that all restlessness of thought might be lulled to orderly repose.

But if there is such secret power in rhythm and melody alone, this power is found at its strongest in eloquence, and, however important the selection of words for the expression of our thoughts, the structural art which welds them together in the body of a period or rounds them off at the close, has at least an equal claim to importance. For there are some things which, despite triviality of thought and mediocrity of language, may achieve distinction in virtue of this excellence alone.

In fact, if we break up and disarrange any sentence that may have struck us as vigorous, charming or elegant, we shall find that all its force, attraction and grace have disappeared. Cicero in his Orator breaks up some of his own utterances in this way: Neque me divitiae movent, quibus omnes Africanos et Laelios multi venalicii mercatoresque superarunt. Change the order but a little so that it will run multi superarunt mercatores venaliciique, Or. 70, 232. Nor do riches move me, in which many a merchant and slave-dealer has surpassed all such great men as Africanus and Laelius. and so on. Disarrange these periods in such a manner, and you will find that the shafts you have hurled are broken or wide of the mark.

Cicero also corrects passages in the speeches of Gracchus where the structure appears to him to be harsh. For Cicero this is becoming enough, but we may content ourselves with testing our own power of welding together in artistic form the disconnected words and phrases which present themselves to us. For why should we seek elsewhere for examples of faults which we may all of us find in our own work? One point, however, it is enough simply to notice—that the more beautiful in thought and language the sentence which you deprive of such structural cohesion, the more hideous will be the effect upon the style, for the very brilliance of the words at once exposes the carelessness of their arrangement.

Accordingly, although I admit that artistic structure, at any rate in perfection, was the last accomplishment to be attained by oratory, I still hold that even primitive orators regarded it as one of the objects of their study, as far at least as the rudeness of their attainments permitted. For even Cicero for all his greatness will never persuade me that Lysias, Herodotus and Thucydides were careless in this respect.

They may not perhaps have pursued the same ideals as Demosthenes and Plato, and even these latter differed in their methods. For it would never have done to spoil the fine and delicate texture of Lysias by the introduction of richer rhythms, since he would thus have lost all that surpassing grace which he derives from his simple and unaffected tone, while he would also have sacrificed the impression of sincerity which he now creates. For it must be remembered that he wrote his speeches for others to deliver, so that it was right that they should suggest a lack of form and artistic structure: indeed his success in producing this effect actually shows his mastery of structure.

Again history, which should move with speed and impetuosity, would have been ill-suited by the halts imposed by the rounding off of the period, by the pauses for breath inevitable in oratory, and the elaborate methods of opening sentences and bringing them to a close. It is however true that in the speeches inserted by historians we may note something in the way of balanced cadences and antitheses. As regards Herodotus, while his flow, in my opinion, is always gentle, his dialect has such a sweetness of its own that it even seems to contain a certain rhythmical power hidden within itself.